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She writhes beneath me as she yells affirmations, and I fall off the edge with her. If I didn’t have a condom on, her channel would be flooded.
I lie on top of her, fully aware that my weight may make it difficult for her to breathe. Yet, as I shift into a push-up position, she pulls me closer, embracing me tightly. In that moment, a sensation envelops me, like a protective cloak I’ve never experienced before. It weighs upon me, not as a burden, but as a comforting presence, a sense of belonging and an intangible feeling of being home.
What? Did that thought seriously cross my mind? Yes, it did.
Tracing the shell of her ear with my tongue, I give her a wet willy to break the tension.
She giggles, pleading with me to stop. Images of her on a bed, giggling with a child beside her, as I bring up pancakes, flash through my mind.
I must be in a delirium until she snaps me out of it with her soft, hesitant voice. “Where were you today? Yesterday?”
It throws me off my game. This isn’t a conversation during sex. It’s just intermission. When I remain silent, she says, “My dad was worried. I was worried. I had to find a reason to come over and check on you.”
“And what reason did Harper fall for?”
“The fundraiser. The basketball team is doing a skit.”
Acknowledging her gesture, I gaze deeply into her expressive eyes. "So, you paid a special visit to my place just to check up on me?"
She responds with a subtle but noticeable tilt of her head.
"I assure you, I'm fine, and I don't require someone to watch over me like a babysitter."
"My father disagrees," she murmurs.
Confusion settles in as I question her choice of talking with her father about me. "Why are you discussing me with your dad, Cookie?"
"I casually mentioned meeting Logan and Harper at the bonfire, which prompted him to call and ask if I had seen you. He wanted to know where you were," she explains. The tone of her voice is caring and empathetic. “Where were you?”
Our legs become entangled, and though I’m hesitant to engage in this conversation, especially with someone unfamiliar, I find myself unable to conceal the truth.
"Everywhere and nowhere,” I confess, my words spilling out without further explanation.
A heavy gulp escapes her, and her eyes wander from my face to my chest. Her voice adopts a soft and tender tone. "Did you skip practice because of me? Were you angry with me?"
“Yes.” Her eyes widen as she quickly lifts them. “Wait. What I meant to say is I needed some space to think. I was angry but not at you. I thought Coach being your dad meant we couldn’t pursue whatever this is between us.” I pause, rolling us onto our sides, keeping us connected at our core. I trace her face, and she draws circles on my arm.
“Am I off track? Do you not feel what I’m feeling?” I sigh as I place her hair over her shoulder. “Of course, you don’t.”
“I do, but I’ve been trying to tell you that I…”
“Hold that thought. I need to get this off.” Disconnecting our bodies, I roll over, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and pace into the bathroom to clean myself. Under the sink, I find a washcloth and wait for the water to warm up. It takes forever but if I’m correct, she’s going to be sore. I want to show her how much I appreciate her body, and my number one concern is to take care of her.
She’s gotten under the sheets and comforter and has rolled on her other side, facing the window. For a moment, I drink in the scene—a beautiful woman with shimmering, untouched skin and dark strawberry-blond hair lying in a bed with twinkle lights ghosting over her body.
Her eyes are shut, so I scoot into the bed and tuck my arm around her, bringing her back into my chest. She lets out an appreciative moan and sighs.
“Are you asleep?” I ask, kissing her upper arm that’s folded over the tan comforter. A few minutes go by before I mumble, “Missionary with you felt so intimate. Better than any sex I’ve ever had. I hope it was for you too.”
“The best I’ll ever have,” she says, yawning. “My old boyfriend only lasted fifteen minutes.”
“Do you want me to be your boyfriend?”
“I wish you could. I think we make each other happy, but I have something to tell you.”
I gently stroke her arm, wanting to convey my intense craving to be her boyfriend and my desire to eradicate all the hidden truths and barriers that exist between us. “Me too,” I say, but she’s already purring and hopefully dreaming about how good we are together.
Her body is the perfect complement to mine. I twist her hair gently in my hand before letting it tumble freely. I can’t count how many times I kiss her shoulder, her ear, her hair. It feels good to be at peace and completely sated as I drift to sleep with Brooke’s skin pressed against mine.
