My voice is almost a yell as I gasp, “Ready, Colson. I’m ready.”
I’m not even done answering when his fingers replace his tongue, filling me as his lips go to my clit. His massive hands, long fingers work me—hitting the right spot. His lips suck on me before pressing his tongue into me.
I move my hips, one hand grabbing the back of his head, and I start fucking his mouth. It’s only a few thrusts before it hits me. A tidal wave of pleasure. There are no sounds, the room spins as he goes faster. Harder. I feel the explosion in my low belly and I pull his mouth to me as he pulls the orgasm out of me.
The yell that starts in my chest, comes out all guttural and raw. “Colson!” His name on my lips and his tongue on my clit has the tremors rocking me from the inside out. My entire body feels like a vice, energy zapping through the whole thing.
When I’m finally able to see straight, Colson climbs over me. His arms are on each side of me, my breathing still shallow and quick.
“You are fucking unreal. Like—”
I interrupt him with a kiss, saying all the things my orgasm-strained mind can’t formulate into words. He doesn’t rush it; his kiss is slow, full, and more than I could’ve hoped for.
I knew Colson was different. But this thing between us? It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
And I can’t get enough.
thirty-seven
Colson
Thenextday,myeyes burn from reading all the fine print of my contract and at this point, my eyes hurt. Basically, if I want to play in the NBA next season, I should be able to do that.
Though I was dismissed, the structure of the deal means I’m still getting paid, am still movable, still valuable. Productive player. Still would start on most rosters. Plus, my shoulder injury isn’t going to be an issue. It’s rare that I even feel the twinge, the one that would flip my stomach on a whim a few months ago.
There are roster spots out there. I know that. My agent knows that. Hell, half the league probably assumes I’ll land somewhere without much trouble.
The problem is I don’t know how picky I’m allowed to be. Or how honest. Teams will want to know what happened, which means I’ll have to open a can of worms.
There’s a secret sitting in my ribs like a cracked bone, and every time I think about walking into a new facility, shaking a new trainer’s hand, I feel it all over again. The sting of betrayal. The heaviness of trusting someone only to find out they don’t have your best interests in mind.
I flip my phone over, then back again. Kevin’s name is already pulled up. I haven’t talked to him properly since my last game and it’s hurt me more than I realized. We were teammates but we were also friends. Hewas always there, checking in, making sure I didn’t go too many days in my depressive hole once my mom was gone.
I hit FaceTime before I can overthink it. It rings twice.
“Holy shit—” Kevin’s face fills the screen, eyes wide, grinning. “Colson? Is that really you?”
I roll my eyes in fake desperation. “Obviously.”
“Man,” he says, sitting up like he just won something. “I was starting to worry. Where are you?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to put you out or anything,” I answer, guilt prickling at the tips of my ears. Kevin’s a good guy, one of my real friends, and I left him behind too. “I’m in Michigan. Needed a minute.”
His expression softens. “Yeah. I get that.”
There’s a beat of silence. Comfortable. Kevin’s been my guy since my second season—the one who knows when to push and when to leave me be.
“So,” he says, leaning back. “What’s up? You're calling to tell me you’re signing with a rival team and I have to pretend not to be jealous?”
I look down at the table. “I don’t know what I’m doing yet.”
That wipes the smile clean off his face.
“Okay,” he replies carefully. “That’s not nothing.”
“I keep thinking this is the moment,” I admit. “Like… if I don’t decide now, I never will.”
“Decide what?”
