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She moans as my fingers find that secret spot, her grip tightening in my hair as she writhes beneath me.
I lean down and capture one nipple in my mouth, letting my teeth graze the sensitive bud. Sophia gasps, her fingers fighting to hold me in place. I chuckle, knowing she’ll be able to feel the vibration against her skin. I keep fucking her leisurely with my fingers, feeling her walls flutter as she gets closer to coming.
I know her body so well by now. It’s so easy to tease her right to the edge of release. To hold her there until the anticipation reaches a breaking point.
And it’s so hard, after she comes, to not give her exactly what she’s asked for. We’re both naked, and I know she’s willing.
I’m selfish. I always have been—unapologetically so. Most people are looking out for themselves—they’re just less honest about it. But with Sophia, it feels like a chance I can’t take.
I’d rather she hate me than regret me.
So, I kiss her and then roll away.
TWENTY-EIGHT
WILL
Fritz walks into the locker room right as I’m zipping up my soccer bag, ready to head out. Sensation is slowly returning to my body after the ice bath I ended practice with, the sore ache of my muscles satisfying. Proof I worked hard. I had a good talk with Wagner after practice, my teammates passed to me every chance they had, and I’m headed straight to Sophia’s for dinner.
Life is good. I’m content, maybe even happy, and it makes me nervous something is bound to go wrong soon.
“You leaving?” Fritz asks.
I nod, slinging my bag over one shoulder. “Yeah. Have a good night.”
“You’re not coming to the club?” Fritz, and some of the other guys, made their evening plans common knowledge earlier.
Me, a year ago, me, a month ago, would have jumped on that. I’ve barely explored any of Kluvberg’s nightlife, and the city known for being a party destination in Europe. Since moving here, I’ve gone out twice. But no part of me is tempted to change my evening plans. “Not tonight,” I tell him.
Fritz smirks at me. “Too tired?”
For fuck’s sake. I’m not that much older than him. “Too busy,” I reply. “I’ve got other plans.”
His eyes light up with interest, and I swallow a groan. I don’t need Fritz—or any other guy on the team—poking around my personal life.
“Have fun. I’ll come next time, okay?”
Olivier and a couple other guys return from their training sessions, distracting Fritz and allowing me to leave without any other delays. I head to the parking lot, tossing my bag in the back of the sedan and then starting on the route that’s become very familiar. Heading to Sophia’s after practice has become my new routine.
When I walk into her apartment, I find Sophia standing at the stove, which is a surprise. Normally, her kitchen seems to get just about as much use as mine. As in not much. I might have some furniture now, but the cabinets in the kitchen are basically empty. Sophia has pots and pans and dishes, but I’ve become accustomed to only using them to eat the takeout that one of us picks up. She turned down my offer to grab something for us on my way here, but I assumed that meant she was picking food up.
“You’re cooking?” I ask.
I always thought I’d hate domesticity. In my mind, settling down was seeing my mom stare at the door, waiting for my dad to come home when he rarely did. It’s much easier to just not open yourself up to that potential disappointment.
But it wasn’t a conscious choice, opening myself up to it with Sophia. It just happened. Became harder to stay closed off than to let her in.
She shrugs casually, like it’s no big deal. But her cheeks are red, and I don’t think it’s because of the steam rising from the boiling water on the stove. “Pasta is one of the only things I know how to make.”
“Smells good,” I say, walking over to her. I lean down to kiss the top of her head, smiling when I hear her breath hitch, and then walk over to the sink to wash my hands.
“How was practice?” she asks.
“We don’t have to talk about football.”
“I know. I asked.”
“It was okay,” I tell her. Then add, “I might be starting next game.”
