No. That’s not right. He’s not a consolation prize. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
Which is how, in maybe one of the most intense post-orgasmic hazes of my life, three little words that I’ve only ever uttered to a handful of people slip out of my mouth.
“I love you.”
The panic rises almost instantly, not just because I said it, but because I meant it, wholly and fully, without reservation.
I love him.
Ihaveloved him, maybe for years, and now he knows.
And he’s not saying anything.
He’s just staring down at me, hair a riot from the absolute vice of a grip I had on it just seconds ago when his mouth had sent me over the edge, just like everything else about him does, in all the best ways. Most of all, it’s how muchbeliefhe seems to have in me. It’s startling, every single time. And it doesn’t feel possible.
“Frankie . . .” he begins, and then stops, his eyes meeting mine with a question in them, like he’s not sure if I meant it or if I want to take it back or if maybe, just maybe, I’m terrified that he doesn’t feel the same way. So, he lets us both off the hook. “My mother always told me never believe what a woman says after you make her come twice.”
The tension eases and I can feel it as I leaves my body, though the sparks of pleasure from his efforts are still brushing up against my skin from within.
“Your mom was a wise woman.”
“It wasn’t actually my mom.”
“Shocking. Was it Javy?”
He shrugs one shoulder in admission of the truth.
“Same thing, then,” I tease, and love him even more because this is how it should be, an intoxicating mix of lust and friendship and knowing each other, maybe better than we know ourselves. That’s love. That’s what I want with him.
Charlie snorts and then falls down to the bed beside me and I roll over to rest my chin on his chest, looking up at him as his eyes fall shut, not in sleep, but in satisfaction, and when I press my lips to his skin and then trail a path down the center of his body to where his dick is still resting, hot and hard and leaking against his stomach, I watch him swallow roughly, clearly holding himself back, letting me take control.
When my hand finally circles around him, he lets out a wavering exhale and a soft, muffled groan.
Crawling down his body, I settle over one of his powerful thighs, the muscle well built from years behind the plate and perfect against me as I lean over to run my tongue along the sharp cut of his abdomen down to the underside of his dick. He’s thicker here than I imagined and my body clenches at the thought of him inside me, stretching me, filling me. My hips find a rhythm against his thigh as I lower my head to him withpurpose now, a solid grip at his base as I finally take him into my mouth. I raise my eyes to his and watch him, watching me.
I’ve never felt more powerful than in this moment, with him at my mercy, the weight of him in my mouth, the salty tang of him on my tongue and the fire in his eyes as I slowly drive him to the same heights he brought me to.
“Fuck,” he grinds out. “You’re so fucking pretty like that.”
And I punish him for it just a little bit with just the slightest nip of my teeth before I take him as fully as I can once more, losing eye contact as my hair falls over my face and my hips lose the rhythm I set before, wanting him to lose it, to come down my throat.
But before I can make that happen, his hand tangles into my hair, pulling me off him and meeting my mouth with his in a frenzy of lips and tongue and teeth. And when he releases me from the kiss, he dives straight for my neck, mumbling into the skin as his arms circle around me, pulling me closer, his dick trapped between us.
“I wanted—” I manage to gasp out.
“Later,” he insists, his mouth now at my breasts again, giving both equal attention. “I need to fuck you. Do you want me, Francesca?”
“Yes,” I whisper, pressing closer, my mouth at his ear. “Fuck me.”
His hands span my ass, holding me to him as my hand falls to his dick again, fingers trailing along it as he lets out a long hiss.
“Like this,” I say, bracing myself on his shoulder with my free hand and he lifts me up with ease just so I can lower myself down onto him.
My mouth falls open as my body stretches to accommodate him, a sweet tinge of fullness as he slides in completely. And it’s so, so good: my breasts against his chest, his thighs holding meup, my arms around him, his wide shoulders bracing me as his hands grasp at my hips while I grip him tightly inside.
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” he growls out, and with a thrust of his hips, he pushes just a little bit deeper and at just the right angle so that I see stars.
We find a rhythm, slow and grinding, sweat-soaked skin sliding against each other and gasping moans filling the air, no longer concerned with being overheard, just lost to sheer sensation and the overwhelming rightness of finally being together this way.
