“You feel so good inside me,” she moans, rolling her hips. “So deep. Is this what you wanted? To fuck the mysterious girl from the bar?”
“Fuck, yeah,” I choke out, my hands gripping her hips, guiding her.
My control unravels with every roll of her body, every breathy cry that falls from her lips. My fingers dig into her flesh, urging her on, driving her down to meet my thrusts.
The rhythm we create is a frantic, pounding, desperate beat that shakes the bed. Tension coils tight in her body, and her pussy flutters around my cock.
Her head falls back, a string of broken pleas falling from her lips. “Nova, I'm so close.”
A low groan rumbles in my chest. “Do it. Shatter for me, beautiful.”
Avery’s body seizes up, and a sharp, beautiful cry tears from her throat as she orgasms. She convulses around me, and I hold her hips firmly, driving into her through the waves of her climax, drawing it out until her cries soften into whimpers.
The sight of her completely lost in pleasure pushes me over the edge.
“Fuck, Avery.” My release crashes over me, my thrusts turning jerky and deep as I follow her into the abyss.
She collapses on top of me, her skin slick with sweat. For a long time, the only sound is our ragged breathing slowly returning to normal.
And that’s usually my cue. The moment the high fades, I’m already calculating the exit strategy. A polite kiss, a vague promise to call, the quiet relief of hearing the door click shut. Space is what I need. What I always need.
But right now, the Avery’s weight on me feels right. Her hair is a mess against my shoulder, smelling of sex and her shampoo. I should be feeling that restless need to be alone.
Instead, I’m mapping the curve of her spine with my hand, and my body is already thinking about round two. And three.
Fuck.
This is new. This is a problem. I don't do sleepovers. I don't do morning afters. But with Avery, the idea of her being gone in an hour feels all kinds of wrong.
I want to flip her over and fuck her into the mattress again right now, and then I want to fall asleep with her tangled up in these sheets.
It’s not romance. It’s possession. A hunger that hasn’t come close to being satisfied. I’ve never had sex like that, and I don’t want the source of it walking out my door. Tonight, the rules have changed.
3
Avery
Three months later
“I'm going to throw up.”I stare at the boxes scattered across my nearly empty living room floor, each one’s contents labeled. Kitchen, Bedroom, Office Supplies.
It’s the kind of organization that usually calms me down. Today, it's doing absolutely nothing for the nausea rolling through my stomach.
I turn to my ongoing FaceTime call with Sadie. My own face fills the screen, except this version has paint streaks on the hair.
“Why?” she announces cheerfully. “Still worrying about the best sex of your life guy?”
“I'm meeting him in two hours.” I sink onto my couch, which is the only piece of furniture not wrapped in bubble wrap. “What if he brings it up? What if he makes some comment about Chicago in front of Jennifer?”
“He won't,” Sadie says. “Real men don’t talk about their conquests, and from how you described him, he’s a real man.” She draws out the last two words.
“But what if?—”
“Avery.” Sadie's voice goes firm. “You're spiraling. Take a breath.”
I do, but it doesn't help much. “I should have researched the roster before I signed the contract. I should have known.”
Liam Novak is a forward for the New York Renegades. I'm supposed to meet him to discuss his image rehabilitation. I bury my face in my hands.I’m such an idiot.
