“You know it was way more than that, so don’t downplay it.”
“Fine, it was the best sex of my life.”
Sighing, he turns me in his arms so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. Uh-oh, serious conversation coming. I’m not sure I’m ready for this.
“Milly.”
“Yes.” I smile brightly.
Shaking his head, he lifts me up on the counter and then parts my legs so he can stand as close to me as possible, his hands on my lower back.
“You know about the locker room. We’ve talked about it.”
“Yeah, I know.” I look down.
“You know what it means to me, to have invited you back there.”
I nod.
“So talk to me, and tell me what you’re feeling.”
Given the impression this man conveys from a distance, I never would have pegged him as a touchy-feely, let’s talk about our emotions guy. And since I’ve spent my entire life around men, never really diving into feelings, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be.
“Well, I’m not good at this. I can tell you that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Relationship talk.” I rub the tip of my index finger, giving myself something to fidget with. “You know I’ve never been in a relationship before so feelings and all that is hard for me to talk about.”
“Let’s make it easy then. I like you, and you like me.”
I nod. “Yup, we established that.”
“And I’m serious about you, just like you’re serious about me . . . right?”
“Yes, of course,” I say, looking him in the eyes now.
“Good, and you know what it meant for me to invite you back to the locker room, right?”
“Yeah, that you’re really serious about me.”
“Exactly.” His hands slide under my shirt and bring the fabric up and over my head, exposing my pink sports bra. “I want you to know that I see a future with you, and that I’m serious about that future.”
“I’m serious about that future too,” I say, wanting to ease his mind as well. Because I can see it. This man means so much to me, and I can truly see us together for the long haul.
“Good.” He lifts my sports bra up and over my head, releasing my breasts from their confines. He doesn’t even give them a second to breathe before his mouth and hands are all over them. I lean back on my elbows, the cold surface of the counter arousing my body along with Carson’s kisses.
“We’re in agreement?” he asks, looking up at me, the peak of my nipple rubbing against his lip. “We’re going to add to the tally of locker room successes?”
The hope in his eyes, it’s almost too much to stare directly at, but I also can’t look away. I cup his cheek and bring him up to my mouth. Right before kissing him, I say, “I don’t want to be with anyone else . . . ever.”
“Perfect. Then let’s break in this apartment the right way, by fucking on every last surface. Let’s start in the shower.”
He lifts me up and over his shoulder and carries me to the large, glass-encased shower where he slowly heats up my body with water and then makes love to me. And I know it’s making love. It’s clear in his eyes, and it’s clear in my heart. My heart knows this man.
“What time do you have practice today?” I ask, pulling out the last waffle from the new waffle maker Cory bought me. I might have been a little irritated with all the new gadgets—because he spoils me way too much—but I’m not mad about this one. After we christened many surfaces with our naked bodies last night, we went to the grocery store and bought a lot of food to stock up the new place with, Kodiak Cakes Waffle Mix and dehydrated blueberries among the purchases.
Voila, blueberry waffles.
“It smells amazing in here,” Carson says, stepping into the room and rubbing a towel over his damp hair. He packed overnight clothes, so he’s in a new pair of athletic shorts and that’s it. I told him we had to clean ourselves separately to give my body a break. He reluctantly listened, but seeing him fresh from the shower, a light dew on his chest, his hair all cute and messy, I’m rethinking the break . . .
I pull my gaze away and say, “Thanks. But when’s your practice?”
“One, we have plenty of time if you want to rethink that whole our private parts are on a break thing.”
I hate that he can read my face so well.
“Vagina is still protesting, sorry.”
“Yeah, okay.” He laughs, coming up behind me. He slips his hands under the large shirt I’m wearing and past the waistline of my panties so he’s gripping my hips, his thumbs just above my pubic bone. I suck in a harsh breath as my entire core melts from his simple touch. “Tell me, if I reached down between your legs right now and slid my finger against your clit, what would I feel?”
“The Sahara Desert.”
His laughter rumbles against my back. “Liar.” He nips at my neck and his thumbs stroke my sensitive skin.
I am a liar, a giant liar because just from his touch I’m wet for him. It’s infuriating that he doesn’t even have to work for it.
His lips continue to work up and down my neck as he pushes my panties down my hips until they slide to the ground.
“Step out of them,” he whispers.
“Carson . . . waffles.”
“This won’t take long. Your hand is already shaking and your breath is coming in short spurts. You’re turned on, so let me ease that for you.” He lifts my shirt over my ass, exposing the morning air to it. He rubs one palm over each globe. “Spread them, Milly.”
Even though I want to hold strong, there’s no point. My body is already humming and I need the release.
I spread my legs, gripping the edge of the counter.
“That’s my good girl.”
From behind, I feel him slide below me until his head is between my legs.
“Wh-what are you d-doing?”
“Helping myself to breakfast.”
Before I can protest, his fingers are spreading me and he’s licking long strokes up my slit, and it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever felt. Something I’ve learned very quickly about Carson is he loves going down on me. No, he doesn’t just love it, he craves it. I swear his head has been between my legs more than any other part of his body. And every time he offers, there’s no stopping him, not that I want to because he’s so damn good at it, like he’s been practicing the act just as much as he practices his swing.
His mechanics are perfect.
His pressure is light and hard all simultaneously.
His precision . . . accurate as hell.
His strokes, the best flicks and sucks I’ve ever felt.
“Yes,” I whisper when he brings my clit into his mouth. “Yes, Carson.”
He glides his large, calloused hands up my thighs, the coarseness of his palms spurring on my arousal as he brings two fingers to my opening and inserts them the same time he sucks on me harder than ever.
“Oh . . . fuuuck,” I drag out, my orgasm teetering, collecting, building, so ready to burst any moment that my legs start to shake, my grip on the counter goes numb, and everything seems to pool at the pit of my stomach.