"I love you, too."
She sinks down slowly, and I have to close my eyes against the overwhelming sensation. She feels perfect. She always feels perfect.
"Look at me," she whispers.
I open my eyes and meet hers. There's still hurt there. But there's also love, want, and trust that she's choosing to give me despite everything.
We move together slowly at first. Her hands are on my shoulders for balance. My hands are gripping her hips, guiding her. The locker room is silent except for our breathing and the quiet sounds of our bodies moving together.
She tilts my face up to kiss me. Her tongue tangles with mine. I’m almost embarrassed by how quickly she’s brought me to the brink. I’m so desperate for her.
I tighten my grip on her hips, pulling her closer, deeper. She gasps, and her head falls back, exposing the long line of her throat.
I kiss her there, tasting the salt on her skin, feeling her pulse racing under my lips.
I can feel her body tightening and nearly whoop with relief that it’s not just me. I move her against me, harder and faster, until we’re both crying out.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her close to me. Our hearts are beating fast, our breathing heavy.
And then she laughs.
I pull back a little to look at her. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s the sound a guy wants to hear after sex.”
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at us. Anybody can come in.”
“We’re alone. The janitor already left.”
“Still, maybe we could put our clothes on and go home? Doors that lock and all that.”
“I like the sound of that.”
She climbs off me, and we both hurriedly dress. I’m worried she might change her mind if I don’t get her home and naked again. I have no qualms about sexing my way back into her good graces. If multiple orgasms are the way to do that, I’m up for the task.
Chapter Six
SUTTON
We sneak into the house like teenagers breaking curfew.
The living room is dark. No sounds from upstairs. Everyone must be asleep.
Declan takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. We slip into his room, and he locks the door behind us.
For a moment, we just stand there in the darkness.
"I should take a shower," he says. “I’ve got to stink.”
“I don’t mind.”
He sits on the edge of his bed. "Come here."
I make my way over in the dark and sit beside him. Our shoulders touch.
“We should maybe talk,” he says. “I don’t want you to think it’s all about sex. I love sex with you, and I’m dying to be inside you again, but I want you to know it’s so much more than that.”
He’s right. We have to be mature. I want a real relationship with him, and that means actual communication. I need to be honest, even if it makes me uncomfortable.
"That photo—it triggered every insecurity I have about not belonging in your world."
