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And maybe it was.
I wanted it to be. Forever.
But I’d settle for it to be my job right then, water flowing over her body, over mine, soaking through my clothes. Giving her what her body needed.
Her juices on my tongue, my chin, in my beard.
I didn’t give a fuck, not when my name was rolling off her tongue. Not when her hips were bucking against my mouth. Not when she was throwing her head back, hitting the wall with acrackthat almost pulled me off her.
Probably would have if not for the fact that she was coming.
On my face.
Calling out my name.
Melting in my arms.
And I was really, really glad that she hadn’t texted me back.
Twenty-Eight
Billie Rose
Iwas still half-convinced that I’d passed out, hit my head on the tile, and lost consciousness.
That this was all a dream.
But I wouldn’t be cold in a dream, right?
It would all be rainbows and sunshine and orgasms.
Not goose bumps prickling on my arms.
Not my breath whooshing out of me as Joel scooped me up, carrying me out of the showers, only pausing where my towel was hanging to yank it off the hook.
A moment later, I was on the bench, the cotton wrapped tightly around me, Joel in dripping clothes kneeling in front of me. His eyes were…on fire. Blazing for me. Blazingthroughme even as a puddle formed around him on the black skate mats.
His hands moved brusquely, rubbing the cotton over my skin, drying me, warming me, making those goose bumps disappear.
As he bent close, taking care of me, I could see behind him, see the open doors to the locker room.
See the trail of belongings that led to the showers.
His phone.
His keys.
His wallet.
My fantasy played out in real life.
Something sharp and painful pulsed deep inside me.
This couldn’t be.
Itwouldn’tbe.
But then Joel was tugging on my shirt, dragging it over my head, pulling it down my body. My sweats joined the party next, tugged over my feet, up my thighs, settling over my waist.
