Page 80 of Losing a Piece of Me

I jump up and down and clap my hands. “I can't wait to see what comes out of them!” I grab his hand and turn to walk to the field, but he doesn't move. Instead he pulls me toward him. I fall into his chest and smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Is something wrong? You don't usually drink.” I search his eyes, looking for any clue.

“Nothing's wrong. I just thought that I needed a little liquid courage to do the next step in my plan.” He has a wicked gleam in his eye.

I raise an eyebrow. “What's the next step?”

He shrugs. “A little fun of our own on the fifty-yard line.”

I can't hold back my smile. “I can't wait.”

“Why wait? Let's start now.” He lets the bottle fall from his hand and grabs me by my sides. He lifts me up and places me on the hood of his truck. The truck is rather large, so he has to step on the old metal bumper to climb up himself.

He covers my body with his as his lips move against mine. I'm pinned between the cool metal of the truck and him. There's no give to the metal beneath my back and he feels even heavier than usual, but his weight pressing against me feels right.

I wrap my legs around his hips and grind against him as his hand covers my breast, squeezing softly. Our lips never leave each other’s as we unabashedly explore one another.

Suddenly, we hear a snicker. We stop and look around in time to see two boys run off from behind the old chain link fence. I can tell Striker wants to yell at them for being creeps and watching, but he runs his hand through his hair and laughs.

“Let's go see those cannons go off.” I hold out my hand.

He hops off the truck and reaches for me. For fun, I stand on the hood and jump. He catches me in his strong arms and places me softly on my feet.

I wake up to a dark hotel room. I can feel Striker next to me. His heat is radiating off him and warming the deepest, darkest parts of me. I roll to my back and find him laying with his arms stretched out above his head. His chest is slowly rising and falling with his deep, even breathing.

The memory brought up by that dream sets my body on fire. I remember how much love and need I had for him that night. That night, he gave me everything. He saved me.

I had gotten into another fight with my mom. I don't remember what it was about, but I remember it was bad. I was emotionally wrecked and was doubting everything in my life. I went to that game to see him, knowing he would make it better, fix the broken pieces inside of me. And he did. By getting too close on the hood of his truck, filling the confetti cannons with ketchup and mustard, he did just what I needed. I needed to see how much he loved me. I already knew, but after that fight, I just needed a reminder that someone loved me.

Right now, I’m feeling the same insecurities as that night. All the emotion bubbles to the surface and I need him again. I trail my fingertips up his chest and his eyes flutter open. His lids are heavy from sleep, but his eyes find mine. He studies me for just a minute, reading me. Without a word, he places his hand on the side of my face and rolls over. His lips crash into mine and I can feel all the love and devotion that he has for me.

He knows me so well, knows my body completely. He doesn't have to ask questions, he just automatically knows I need him and he openly gives himself up.

I tangle my fingers into his hair and pull him on top of me. He settles between my legs and grinds his hips against me while his hands roam my body, pulling clothes away.

I keep my eyes closed. I don't need to see him. I just need to feel him.

His lips press kisses over my collar bone and down my chest, but he doesn't stop there. He descends lower and lower until his head is between my thighs.

He flicks his tongue against me and every nerve ending is ignited. It feels like my body has erupted in flames and I'm burning from the inside out. Every muscle in my body tightens as my legs shake from the pleasure he's bringing me.

I can feel my release getting closer; it's building stronger with each motion of his tongue.

Just as it's about to shatter me, he slides his fingers into me, throwing gasoline on the flames. I'm tingling from my head to my toes; I can feel myself shaking as it tears through me. I dig my nails into the back of his shoulder and call out his name.

As soon as my pleas go quiet, he pulls away, only to slide deep inside me. He fills me completely as his weight presses down on me. I'm completely wrapped up in him, inside and out. He owns me in every way possible and he knows it. He always has.

“I fucking love you, Lex,” tells me passionately without breaking his pace.

I'm so lost in overwhelming pleasure that I can't even find my mouth to respond to him.

I do the only thing I know how, I show him how much I love him. We don't need words to communicate, we just need to be able to touch each other. When he touches me, all the feelings flow through his fingertips and into me. A simple touch is all I need.

* * *

We drive back to my apartment the next morning. The store is done, the wall is up and painted, and the floor looks perfect. Hannah is unbelievably happy with the work. So much so, that she's re-organizing the store.

We haven't talked about what will happen when he finishes his work at the store. Does this mean he's going back home? I've been dreading asking him that question because I don't want him to leave. Now that I have him back, I don't want to go a day without him.

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