I let go of his erection. Drag his face up to mine. Stare into his eyes and whisper, “Words can’t say how much I’ve missed you, Spencer.”
You. Him. All of him. Not just his cock or his mouth or that large body. Everything from his scowls to his cusses to those little smiles he sends me when no one’s watching. I know this Spencer. I crave this Spencer. This man who, every day, is always on my mind and in my heart.
“What do you want?” I ask, not sure how much more waiting I can take. “You can have anything. I’m yours. All of me.”
It doesn’t take him long to tell me.
“This weekend,” he starts, throat bobbing with a swallow. I pet my fingers over his neck. Savoring the fact he’s nervous. That even if I’ve given him permission for anything, he still wants to make sure I’m okay with it. “You and me. We’re together. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”
I nod, eyes filling with tears because it sounds so, so perfect.
He parts my folds with the head of his cock. His bare cock. And I know, I know, what he wants. What I told him I’d do only in a committed relationship. Which we’re in, if only for the weekend.
“I want to feel you, Kennedy,” he hisses as I wrap my legs around his hips and take that first inch of him inside me. “I want you to feel me.”
“Yes, Spencer, yes, please,” I moan, and his mouth crushes mine. He thrusts into me in a single stroke. I cry out, at his size and his warmth and how exquisite it feels to have all of him and all of me joined. At his body covering mine and the way he moves it exactly the way I need him to and how he kisses me so thoroughly with each jerk of his hips.
I wrap my arms around him. Dig my fingers into his shoulder blades. Hold him and grasp him to me, intending to never let go so long as our bodies stay entwined. We gasp each other’s names. Murmur and moan and pant and permeate the air surrounding us with the sounds of us reuniting.
I writhe beneath him, feeling that familiar pressure winding in my core. It’s too soon and not soon enough. Because after a month, I need him to free me from the tension of waiting. But I also want this to last forever, for as long as it takes until he’s ready, too.
The words form on my lips. To ask him to make me come. To plead that he finishes with me.
He groans my name in that husky voice. “Kennedy Fucking Walsh.”
And my words change.
“Spencer, I—I—”
I love you.
“FUCK!”
I scream the word as I come apart. As that tension breaks, uncoiling every chord of carefully maintained balance in me. Flips everything, my head and my heart and my body, upside down, and I fall, fall, fall into something wonderful and terrifying and beautiful.
“Fuck,” I sob again, legs twitching and knees turned to jelly as Spencer continues crashing into me. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck.”
Urged by my cries, Spencer repeats the word after me, then bellows my name as he thrusts one final time. He claims my mouth as he buries his cock, emptying himself inside me. I press my lips to his, needing to impart my newfound emotions.
To show him everything I can’t say in words.
32
Kennedy
It’s incredibly annoying, how easily the phrase wants to slip off my tongue. How there’s no hesitation between my beating heart and my traitorous mouth, which try to express the sentiment as simply as I take each breath.
At the post-wedding brunch with my family. Can you pass me the butter, Spencer? By the way, I love you.
Catching the return flight back to campus. Thank you for the window seat. Also, I love you.
Dropping him off half a block from his house. Don’t forget your keys. Did I mention I love you?
I sit in Tipsy Turvy’s driveway late at night, resting my forehead on my steering wheel. Breathing slowly in the quiet of my car, alone in the dark.
Crying.
Because I’ve done something immensely stupid.
Fallen in love with Spencer Armstrong.
And all I want to do is tell him. When I have no idea if his response will be a grunt or ‘This is just sex’ or ‘Fuck off’. As much as the thought leaves me breathless, I can’t fully imagine him saying ‘I love you, too’.
This is nothing like what I felt when I thought I’d been in love with Ashton. What I feel for Spencer, it’s stronger. Hitting me in the chest. Knocking the wind out of me. Like a punch.
You’re just overcome by the wedding, I try to tell myself. With build-up from a month of no sex and Spencer teasing you with words and all that champagne and probably a little bit of jet-lag, too.
“Give it a few days, Kennedy,” I say, blowing my nose in a tissue. “This will pass.”
Deep down, something in me cries. Because I don’t want it to. As hopeless as this is, as much as I wonder what he feels for me, I never want to stop feeling like this. Like I could pack every minute of my life with Spencer, and it still wouldn’t be enough time. I want to share every moment with him.
Deciding I should get in before either of my roommates comes out to check on me, I make sure I don’t look too much like I’d been bawling. There’s nothing to do for the dark circles under my eyes, but after a busy weekend and coming home late, they’ll hardly question why I look so tired. Definitely not because Spencer
