My jaw drops and my eyebrows zoom up to my hairline. “Holy crap. You swore.”
“What can I say? I’m a changed man. I feel safe with you. You accept me as I am. Good and bad. Up or down. Puritan or potty-mouthed.”
I can’t help chuckling. See what I mean about laughing during sex? It’s awesome. “I don’t think anyone would describe you as puritan.”
“Okay, chaste, then. Or decent. Or uptight. Take your pick.” I’m not sure any of those work either, but my protest dies when he lifts his hips off the bed, pushing me even deeper inside him. “Now are you going to do it or not?”
“Do what?” I ask, wanting to hear him say it again.
His eyes narrow to dark slits. “Fuck me, dammit.”
“Ooh, two swears in one sentence. Show-off.”
“Showstopper, remember?” he corrects me. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
“No, I’m not going to fuck you.” I brush my lips over his in the lightest of kisses. “Fucking is a physical activity. It’s mechanical. Insert tab A into slot B. This is more than that. It’s about connecting emotionally, not just physically. I’m going to love every inch of that beautiful body. And yeah, I’m going to make you come. But I’m also going to make you cry, that’s how good it’s going to be.”
And I do. For the next . . . I have no idea how long because time seems to stop when I’m buried deep inside him, it’s all gentle thrusts and sweet, slow caresses and long, lingering looks. When we finally orgasm, we do it almost simultaneously, me erupting inside him just before he lets loose all over his perfect abs and my muscled stomach.
After a few minutes, our heart rates slow and our breathing evens out. I carefully pull out and collapse on top of him, not bothering to remove the condom. There will be time for that later. Right now I not doing anything that requires me to leave this bed. Or his embrace.
I roll to my side, throwing a leg over his hips and an arm around his shoulders so he rolls with me. Our bodies go slack and melt into each other, and he tucks his head into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.
“I stand corrected,” he mumbles sleepily into my throat. “I don’t want you to fuck me. I want you to do that. That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
“That’s because it wasn’t just sex,” I say, resting my chin on his head. I close my eyes and breathe in the ocean-breezy scent of his shampoo.
“Then it was the best not-just-sex I’ve ever had.”
His breaths get slower and deeper, and he starts to snore softly. The sound is soothing, like one of those white noise machines. I smile over the top of his head and let it lull me into a state of peaceful relaxation until I drift off to sleep with him.
22
Kolby
“Which one is Adam again?” Hannah squints down at the players warming up on the ice. It’s a long way down, since we’re sitting near the top of the student section, behind the Bulls’ goal. Maggie invited me to sit with her and a couple of the other players’ girlfriends—they have great seats center ice—but they only had one extra ticket, so my sister and I are stuck up here with the peons.
“Number twelve. Green-and-white jersey.” I point to Adam, who’s zooming across the ice toward the net. He takes a pass from one of his teammates and slaps the puck between the goalposts.
“Nice shot.” She squints again. “They’re going so fast, it’s hard to read the numbers.”
“You think this is fast, wait until the game starts.”
“How do you follow it?”
“Truth?” She nods, and I shrug. “I don’t. I pretty much focus on Adam.”
She shakes her head and smiles. “Man, are you smitten.”
“Smitten?” I stare at her like she’s from a galaxy far, far away. “Who even says that anymore?”
“Isn’t it, like, Shakespearean or something? I thought you of all people would appreciate a theatrical reference.”
“I think it’s more Jane Austen than Shakespeare.”
She may be wrong about the reference, but she’s right about one thing. I am totally and hopelessly smitten with Adam. Not that I’m admitting that to her.
Heck, I haven’t even admitted it to him yet, not in so many words. Words aren’t something that come easily to me. Okay, that’s not entirely true. I’m not exactly shy and retiring. But when it comes to expressing my deepest emotions, really putting my heart on the line with someone I care about—well, I’ve been more than a little gun-shy since Layton ripped it out and stomped all over it.
