Jesus, Ellie. Pull yourself together.
“Like this. You want to make sure your forearms are flat and facing up, and you don’t want to do that.” He unweaves my fingers apart and kisses my knuckles before cupping them together. The featherlight touch has me completely flustered. “Make sure you hold your hands like this, so you don’t hurt yourself. I’d be happy to nurse you back to health, but my main goal is for you to stay uninjured.”
My cheeks blush, and I don’t understand how his words can have such an effect on me.
“O-okay.” My quippy responses are long gone.
Grabbing the ball, Patrick moves to stand about five feet in front of me. “Okay, bend your knees and try to keep your arms almost parallel with the ground.” He waits patiently for me to get into position. “When I toss this at you, you’re going to lift up with your legs, but you can use your arms to guide where it’s going.”
He throws the ball gently, and when I hit it, it just flops to the ground.
“Try again, but this time better.” A laugh comes out of him, and he tries his best to suppress it.
Even though I know he’s joking, I give a pouty frown to make him think that he hurt my feelings. “You know, it’s really mean to laugh at your girlfriend when she’s trying so hard.”
“Aw, Ellie baby, don’t be a poor sport.” That nickname immediately flips my stomach in the best kind of way. There is a familiarity to it, but I can’t quite place where it’s from.
He walks over to me and gets down on one knee beside me. “W-what are you doing?”
Smirking, he looks up at me, his eyes looking insanely green in this light.
“Calm down, El. I’m just helping you with your follow through. Get back in the position,” he demands, and I listen without hesitating.
When I squat, he places his hand under my thigh, making me jump. Doing my best to hide my discomfort with humor, I ask, “Are you even qualified to be giving volleyball advice? How do I know this isn’t some scam you’re running to have an excuse to touch random women?”
His gaze scans up my body before landing on my face, and all I can think about is how good he looks on his knees. “Weren’t you the one who said I didn’t have to ask before touching you?”
“Hmmm, valid point.”
“And actually, I used to play in both high school and college, but now I just play with a group of friends on Thursday nights.” For some reason, he sounds shy when admitting it. “It’s just for fun, but it keeps me active and helps with my stress. So, I would say my many years of experience would definitely qualify me. But, if you’re not comfortable with this, we can stop.”
Still kneeling in front of me, I pray that he can’t see the blush rising to my cheeks. His hand has been lingering on my thigh during our whole conversation, burning his touch into my skin, and I do my best not to squirm. Just the thought of him inching his fingers closer to my core is enough to mess with my head. “N-no, it’s fine. I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t giving illegitimate advice.”
“Okay, good!” He smiles, his hand squeezing my thigh softly. I'm sure it's meant to be encouraging, but it lights me on fire. “When you go to hit the ball, you want to keep your back straight and push up through your legs here—” His hand is firm as he pushes upwards to make my legs move up, and I do my best to stop them from buckling. “Perfect, just like that!”
Doing a cute little jog away from me, he moves to grab the ball, and I feel more anxious than I should.All of his focus is on me, but all I can focus on is the need pooling in my core and a trickle of sweat inching down the side of my face.
“You ready?”
With minimal confidence, I nod, and when he tosses it to me, I somehow manage to hit it directly back to him.
Shocked and surprised, I squeak out, “Oh my god! I did it!”
My body moves on its own, jumping up and down, when I feel Patrick’s arms around me lifting me completely off the ground, I freeze.
My body locks up, and I can’t stop myself from panicking.
There’s nothing I hate more than being picked up. While being perfectly content with how I look, I am still terribly self conscious about my weight. After some comments made by my ex, I actively work to avoid situations where someone will need to help me up or pick me up in any way.
Despite my past issues, I’m more shocked at how he is able to lift me with such ease, and when I realize he’s not struggling to hold me, I relax a little and enjoy the moment of weightlessness.
His body feels good pressed up tight against me, and it feels natural—just like it did this morning. His one hand is wrapped around my back and the other cupped under my ass. My arms wrap tightly around his neck as he lowers me to the ground. His face is so close to mine that I can feel his breath on my lips, so I lean in. Knowing that this is probably a bad idea, I can’t stop myself.
The kiss is delicate. It is soft and sweet, but I need more.
Like he could read my mind, he leans deeper into the kiss and tightens his grip on my body. I part my lips, and with the invitation, his tongue slips in. He tastes so good that I forget about everything around us. His movements are teasing andsensual, and I squeeze my thighs to try to alleviate the feeling. When he goes to break the kiss, I lightly pull his bottom lip with my teeth and am rewarded with a low moan.
Fuck, that is an addicting sound.
