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Am I too late?
My heart drops to my stomach faster than a brick in water, but I hold myself together because this feels like my last shot, and even if I’m too late, at least she’ll know where I stand.
Her foot hits the sidewalk before she looks up and sees me standing at her front door. She stops immediately, and her lips part slightly before her entire posture changes and becomes more guarded. Her shoulders are stiffer and higher than when she’s relaxed, her arms crossed in front of her.
Her body language screams closed off, but her eyes say something else. There’s a look there that I can feel in my own gaze—longing. Like the thing you want most in the world is standing right in front of you.
It’s been so long since I last laid eyes on her, and I feel every minute that’s kept us apart like it’s a visceral thing. Fuck, I’ve missed her.
Her expression goes neutral and then she’s walking toward me, and I can barely breathe with how badly I want to kiss her. She walks past me and sticks the key in the door, and for a minute I think she’s actually going to walk into her condo and leave me out here without saying a word to me.
I hear the lock turn and then she grabs the handle, but she doesn’t open the door, nor does she turn around. “What are you doing here?”
There’s no anger in her voice, but she’s not exactly welcoming me either.
“I thought we needed to talk.”
She opens the door and walks in, then turns around and stands there with the door wide open for me to follow her through. I don’t hesitate. I walk into her apartment and am immediately thrown back to that night.
To the taste of her on my tongue, her cries of pleasure, the feel of her pussy squeezing me so tight.
I close my eyes and soak in the memories until I can feel her standing behind my back clearly waiting for me to say whatever I came here to say. I can see I’m going to have to initiate.
But she surprises me. “That night,” she starts, and I turn around, my gaze intently focused on her. “…it wasn’t a mistake to me.”
Those words are fucking music to my ears, but it’s also a painful reminder that in my attempt to be noble and not fuck up our friendship, I actually ruined what could’ve been an amazing relationship this whole damn time. Because standing here staring at her now after an eight-month tour, I’m surer than I’ve ever been about anything in my life that Becka is it for me.
She’s everything. My friend. My lover. My whole fucking world.
She looks at me, indignation on her face like she’s ready for me to fight her on whatever she’s about to say. “I can’t be friends with you, Trent.”
I step toward her and don’t hesitate to grab her behind the neck and bring her mouth up to mine until our lips are only a breath apart. She inhales sharply, and her hands grab my biceps to brace herself.
“Good, because I don’t want to be your fucking friend.”
And then I kiss her.
I kiss her with eight months’ worth of pent-up need, desire, heartache. I put it all in my kiss, and with every touch of our lips, our tongues, I feel her give it all back to me. She moans low in her throat and then slides her hands around my waist while my hand buries itself deep in her hair. I hold her to me, my tongue sliding across hers and making love to her mouth the way I want to make love to her body.
Desire blooms fierce in my belly and with a growl, I move my hands to grip under her ass and lift her up. Her legs automatically go around my hips, and I continue to kiss her as I carry her through her condo to her bedroom. I place her next to the bed but still can’t force myself to break away from our kiss.
Fuck, her mouth is heaven.
I feel her long, delicate fingers reach for my belt buckle and quickly strip it off me. She pulls away and when I open my eyes, hers are liquid fire. Her lips are red and swollen from our kiss, and she’s panting as much as I am. Then her lips quirk up in a seductive grin at the same time that she unzips my pants and grips my cock over my boxer briefs.
I close my eyes and tilt my head back, fighting back a groan. God, it’s been so long since she’s touched me—since anyone has. My hand and memories of my one night with Becka have been the only company I had all tour, and I’m feeling it now as my balls tighten, my cock thickens, and my breath catches in my chest.
I don’t know if I’m going to last long.
“Becka…” Her name is a prayer from my lips. I’m torn between wanting her to stop so I can come inside her and wanting her to never stop because just having her touch me again feels like the greatest fucking gift I’ve ever been given.
“I’ve imagined this so many times,” she says so softly I almost don’t hear her.
I look down in time to see her push my pants and underwear off and then without any hesitation, she drops to her knees, swipes her tongue across the tip of my cock, and I’m lost to her. She licks me like she’s been on a diet and she’s finally getting to have some ice cream. Any attempts to fight my body’s response disappear and I groan loudly, but I can no longer look away. It’s a struggle to keep my eyes open because it feels so fucking good, but I also want to memorize every movement, every swipe of her tongue, how her cheeks hollow when she sucks on me, how her gorgeous lips part wide when she attempts to take me in farther.
When I hit the back of her throat, I come undone. I slide my fingers through her hair and guide her head as she bobs up and down on my cock. Her eyes heat and she lets out a moan that tells me she likes what I’m doing, so I don’t stop.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
