Page 107 of Hard to Handle

The thought is like a vicious eddy in my mind but with each touch, each sigh, each tightening of her fingers on my skin, it becomes more of a possibility. More of a reality.

The dance to undress is slow. There is no seduction needed. There is no desire needing to be awakened.

It’s me as I grab her hips and sink down on the couch.

It’s her as she lowers herself painstakingly slowly onto my cock and stills so I’m forced to feel everything about her. The warmth. The wetness. The tightness.

It’s us as our eyes meet, fingers entwine, and Dekker leans forward to kiss me ever so slowly before begging to rock her hips over me.

Pleasure builds within. My balls tighten. My cock swells.

It’s the shame that I’m now setting free.

Her tits bounce with each grind. Her teeth bite into her bottom lip. Her juices begin to cover wherever she touches.

It’s the hope that I can believe them.

I reach out to touch. My thumb and forefinger over her nipple. My fingers bruising into her hips. My cock hitting the very depths within her.

And it’s the knowledge that someday I might be able to.

Our pace is slow and sensual, her giving me everything I need, and God, she’s so fucking sexy. Sitting atop me, working me out, with those innocent eyes and those vixen lips.

There’s a connection I want to shy away from but she doesn’t allow that. When I break my eyes from hers—to take in her fingers as she slides them between her lips and begins to rub slowly, to watch the pink of her flesh as it stretches to accommodate me, to watch her back arch as I run my fingers up the crack of her ass and tease the tight rim of muscles there—she moans my name and brings me back to her. To the emotions swimming in her eyes and the connection the two of us have that is so much more than the physical.

Hell yes, I need to lose myself here, but she’s also showing me that I feel so much more.

She’s showing me how to be found.

She’s demonstrating that it’s possible to find more than simple sexual gratification.

As my orgasm slowly builds, as our pace begins to pick up, as the frenzy starts to peak, I’m overwhelmed with a surge of emotions that bring tears to my eyes. When I try to turn away, when I try to close my eyes, Dekker leans forward, my name a moan on her lips before breathing life back into me with her kiss.

And I’m gone. Done. Restraint breaks and I empty myself into her—my head thrown back, my hips pushed up, my fingers gripped tight.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

She’s a savior and a sinner, and I’m not quite sure which one I need to hold on tighter to.

But I do know one thing. I want both.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

DEKKER

MY HANDS ARE THREADED THROUGH his hair as we lie in my bed. His head is on my stomach, and the covers are thrown haphazardly over our bodies.

I know he has to leave soon. He’ll need the time to take the train back to the Jacks arena in Jersey and get ready for his game tonight, but we don’t talk about that.

We don’t utter a sound about what he confessed to earlier and what we shared in the sex we had after that. Because it wasn’t just sex. It was so much more than sex and I think both of us have our reasons for being scared to admit to it.

So we lie in my bed, where we’ve been for some time, and let things settle around us in a way that it no longer feels like confused chaos but more like something we might be able to work with. Something we might be able to make something out of.

“He’s dying. My brother.” They’re the first words he’s said, and I’m sure they’re probably the hardest ones he’s had to admit to himself.

Yes, everything else earlier was difficult, but admitting your brother is dying means you’re acknowledging it. It means you’re realizing it.

“I know,” I murmur as I lift his hand and press a kiss to the palm. “I’m here for you. I’ll be here for you when the time comes.”