“Wait—where are you going?”
Seconds ago, her eyes were clouded with sleep, but she had renewed energy as her hand gripped my dick, sliding slowly up and down in a fucking torturous rhythm.
“To take care of you. The way I want to.”
She hit me with a look of pure heat, her dark pupils blown out, overtaking her light brown irises. Her tongue swirled around the tip of my cock.
“If it’s okay with you, of course.”
This woman will be the end of me.
With the heat of her mouth around me, I didn’t last long. Brenna climbed up my body, curling against me, her back to my front. My arms wrapped around her, my head resting in the crook of her neck.
“The power’s not back on yet. Should we resume our game?”
Her laugh reverberated against me. “You want to play a drinking game before noon? Is there something I should know?”
I shook off the laughter, not wanting to lose my chance. “I want to keep talking, Bren.”
She angled her head to look at me. “We don’t need a game to talk, Nate. Ask me something. I’ll answer.”
“Why did you end your engagement?” I regretted the question when she stiffened. Maybe it made me a bastard to bring up her ruined relationship right now, to talk to her about another man while we were in bed together, basking in each other post-orgasm. But I needed to know. I couldn’t go forward with her, bare more of myself to her until I did.
“It wasn’t right.” The room descended into an extended silence. I thought that was all she would share until she started talking again. “He was a good guy, but I don’t think he understood me. Something was missing, and when I moved, the distance highlighted it. I wasfinewithout him, but I shouldn’t have been, you know? I dragged it out too long… well, you know how I am.”
I nodded. Brenna despised confrontation. It was partially how the two of us had managed to live in a house together for more than seven weeks without addressing our issues or the blazing attraction between us.
“Wait… I thought you were living in Chicago. You’re not?”
“Oh. No. I’ve been living with my mom and Molly in California for three months.”
“What happened to PT school?”
“How did you know I was studying physical therapy?”
I shrugged. “My dad must have mentioned it.”
Her hand snaked between us, tickling the side of my stomach, drawing an embarrassingly high-pitched choking laugh from me.
“Okay, okay. Imighthave checked in on you sometimes.”
“I read your box scores every now and again,” she admitted quietly. “I couldn’t watch, but… I liked checking in on you too.” I had one moment to bask in her revelation before she turned the conversation to the topic I least wanted to discuss. “That’s how I know your shoulder isn’t what it used to be, Nathan.”
“It’s fine,” I said stiffly. “I’m taking care of it.”
The room fell quiet again. Not even Brenna could get me to talk about my shoulder.
Baseball was my true north. No matter what else was fucked-up in my life, I always had the game. I couldn’t face thepossibility of needing shoulder surgery, of losing the game forever. I knew the stats on players who had my likely injury. Only about a third returned at the level they were before, and the recovery was even worse for my position. I was nothing if I couldn’t pitch.
A loud, angry gurgle interrupted my thoughts.
“Was that your stomach?” I asked, relieved to have something else to focus on.
“Yes,” she replied sheepishly, then turned in my arms to face me. “Someonehasn’t fed me yet.”
I shook my head, my nose rubbing against hers. “Unforgivable.”
“I’ll let you make it up to me.” She grinned. “Guess how?”
