He goes deeper, and I’m being stretched.
It’s good, but uncomfortable too.
So much pressure, so much pushing, like an invasion.
My fingers dig in. I need to grip him, and as I grasp him tighter, he groans, a long, slow sensual sound that sends a wave of hot sparks across my skin.
From his reaction.
From his unrestrained response to sinking into me.
His noises help me to relax, and relaxing helps me to take him in.
He’s halfway there, maybe more, and I coax him deeper, my thigh hooking more tightly around him as I grit my teeth momentarily.
His eyes lock with mine. “Nadia, it’s hurting you. I can tell.”
Shaking my head, I breathe in, out. “It’s a good hurt. Let me feel it.”
“Are you sure?” His question is desperate, like his eyes, like his expression.
He wants this as much as I do. He wants me like I want him.
And I do want him.
In every way.
Deep in my bones, far into my heart.
Thank God I am a toy aficionado.
I’ve done this, I’ve been here.
Yes, the real thing is different, but I can handle this, and I want to.
I want to so much. I wrap both legs around him, hooking them over his firm ass, then I jerk him closer so he sinks deeper into me.
“Oh God,” I gasp.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, then grits his teeth, clenches his jaw.
The realization that he’s as affected, as lost, as I am unravels me.
It wrecks me and takes me apart.
I inhale deeply, slide my hands down his body, cover his ass, and hold on tight, closing my eyes as he sinks all the way in.
All. The. Way.
I tense, tremble, bite my lip at a rush of pain.
It radiates in my center, a burn, and a sting.
But I breathe through it, again, again.
And soon, the pain ebbs, like a tide flowing out to sea and leaving a gentle lull in its wake.
A tender push, a delicious pull.
And the sensation of being filled, of being one.
That’s how I feel with Crosby.
Connected.
And also insanely turned on.
I lift my hips, seek him out, ask for more.
He grits his teeth, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. He pulls out, inch by inch, until he’s almost all the way out, then he swivels his hips and sinks back into me.
“Oh!” I gasp, arching into him.
“Yes,” he grunts, then eases out, pauses, and slides back in, his shaft grazing my clit as he goes.
And that right there is better than a bunny.
Hotter than a dolphin.
And way more intense than any battery-operated little darling.
I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers playing with his hair as my legs slide up his body, my thighs gripping his ass.
He lowers himself onto his rippling forearms, his muscles taut. His expression is torture and bliss all at once, but then soon it’s sensual determination as we find a rhythm, hit a pace, and move together.
I moan, writhing under him, gripping him, loving this.
Savoring this connection.
What I love most of all is when he dips his face, brushes his lips against mine, and then sighs a needy, dreamy sigh, like he can’t get enough of me either.
My whole body is coated in bliss.
Dusted in desire.
I don’t want this to end, but I desperately crave the explosion of an epic orgasm.
And I think I’m going to need a little help to get there.
I lean my head back, part my lips, and ask for what I want. “Will you touch me? Play with me till I come?”
“Fuck yes,” he rasps out, then pushes up on one strong arm and slides the other down my body, between my legs.
Strokes me.
Oh God.
Yes.
That.
His fingers slide across my clit, and he rubs me where I want him most, faster, then faster still, pushing me, pressing, and taking me closer to the edge.
As he rolls his hips, as he fucks deeper, he strokes me, and I grip him. In a flash, the pleasure crackles in my veins, bursts like bright neon lights, and then flares all at once.
A bright, hot, powerful surge inside me.
I cry out as my whole body succumbs to beautiful, newfound bliss.
Coming with the man I’m falling in love with.
Part of me feels like an utter cliché—the virgin falling for the first guy she sleeps with.
Another part feels like the luckiest woman in the world.
And still another part is completely frustrated. Not over the sex, but over the absolute inconvenience of these feelings.
The terrible timing of my emotions.
Why now?
He’s leaving for spring training in a few more days.
He’s off the market.
I’m up to my earlobes in responsibility.
But those worries fade away as these luxurious sensations steal my senses, and I gladly let them go.
26
Nadia
I have a million questions.
But only one answer.
There is only ever one answer when life gets too complicated.
Okay, fine. Two answers—shoes and ice cream.
But since it’s late and shops are closed, Crosby and I are on my couch, cuddled in a blanket, sharing sea salt with caramel ribbons ice cream from Salt & Straw after he dashed down the street to fetch a pint.
Which certainly doesn’t make me want him any less.
Should I stop wanting him? Every logical part of me says yes, and every other part says I don’t want to stop anything.
The trouble is—I’m not sure where we go from here.
From cozy on a couch, noshing on post-sex dessert, to whatever’s next.
We’re a whirlwind. My brother’s wedding was only a week ago. I went into that feeling knocked flat and stomped on by Cupid, rejected even by the top matchmaker in Las Vegas. Now I’m having the time of my life with my good friend and new lover.
This is what I’ve wanted—the real deal.
I wanted this with a friend.
And I’m having it.
But can we trust something that ignited in a week? A week when we were supposed to be off the market?
Crosby dips his spoon in one more time. “Best ice cream
