He moves slowly.
“You feel so good, baby. Your pussy was made for me. Was waiting for me.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I like the words, but I’m not sure how to respond. I can tell, though, he doesn’t require a verbal response from me. What I’m giving him without words is enough.
He tells me when it changes.
“I’m going to lift this leg up, so you can feel more of me.”
When I need a second, he gives me a second, and it’s not a deal.
“Take your time. We’ve got all day.”
When I pull him closer, he groans like I did him a kindness. And he keeps talking the whole way.
“You feel that? That’s your pussy shuddering for me.”
Between the talking, the circular movement of my hips, and the strokes of him inside of me, the heat in my body builds into something I have no description for. Something climbing up my spine that I can’t stop or control. And for once, I release myself to the chaos building between my legs.
“Caleb, I–”
When my orgasm takes me, it’s nothing like the careful ones I give myself when I’m alone at home in the dark. It’s hard, and loud, and raunchy, and it’s got his name all over it.
“I’m coming, Caleb!”
And he follows with his own release, his face buried in my throat, saying my pussy, in a cracked voice that I’ve never heard him use before.
Afterwards, he doesn’t roll away.
He pulls me into his chest, where I can hear his heart still slamming, and he drags the blanket up over my shoulders. He doesn’t fill the quiet with anything. He lets it stay quiet. I love that he remembered. Quiet is how I come back down.
He traces something slow on my shoulder with one finger. Not a weird pattern, just steady contact, the kind I can stand.
“Did you like that?” he asks with barely a whisper.
“You know I did.”
“Yeah, but sometimes I need the words.”
“I loved it.”
I lie there with my ear over his heartbeat, and I do the math I’ve been dodging for weeks. The real math. The one I’ve been avoiding because I already knew the answer and was too scared to write it down.
I love him.
Like, I love this hockey god, all the way down.
And suddenly I’m scared as hell. What am I going to do about my father? He has the power to blow up this little corner of peace I’ve finally found.
“I can hear you thinking,” he says into my hair, sleepy and satiated. “Your thoughts are as loud as that light you hate.”
“I’m just thinking.”
“Yeah? About what? You want to do it again?” he laughs.
I’m not brave enough for the real answer yet. I get as close as I can.
“I’m just surprised at myself,” I whisper. “I stayed in the moment, with you the whole time.”
