Page 38 of Save the Game

“I know,” I say, feeling stiff and uncomfortable. This would be so much easier if I could just tell him; if I could explain why certain things bother me, and why having sex makes me nervous. But I can’t, I fucking can’t. Luke already treats me like a vulnerable virgin. If he found out that I was roofied and taken advantage of, he’d never touch me again.

“And yet, I apparently did,” he says ruefully, reaching up and pressing a thumb to the frown line between my brows. “I’m sorry, Max.”

“For a playboy, you do know how to ruin the mood,” I joke, and his lips quirk upward.

“I take offense to that, I’m not a playboy.”

“Sexual connoisseur?”

“Boyfriend,” he answers, winking and leaning forward to kiss my collarbone. Closing my eyes, I rest my chin on his head and enjoy the way my skin tingles after his lips graze me. I wish I could disassociate from my body and just feel; let go of all the anxiety, shame and fear, and simply bask in how wonderful it feels to have my bare chest pressed against Luke’s.

He continues kissing every inch of skin he can reach, which isn’t much from this position; even so, my heart is pounding, and my fingers are shaking slightly when I tuck them between our bodies and into the waistband of his pants. I hope he mistakes the tremor for something other than what it is, and doesn’t make us stop again.

“Move back, love,” he murmurs into my neck, and applies pressure to the front of my pelvis.

I slide off of him, giving him enough room to lift his hips and push his pants down his legs. I help him, standing up and tugging them all the way off before doing the same with my own. He left his briefs on, so I do the same, feeling absurdly grateful that I’m not standing buck ass nude in front of him. It’s madness—if I’m planning on having sex with him, I’m going to have to take them off eventually.

Putting off that eventuality, I climb back onto the bed just as Luke reaches for me. He pulls me in with both hands cupping my face, lying back until he’s flat on the mattress and I’m on top of him once more. He sighs into my mouth and arches upward, pelvis colliding with mine. I get my hands on him, finally, and trace my fingers carefully over the lines of his stomach.

“This is so sexy,” I mutter, watching my finger as I trace the line of dark hair below his bellybutton. I adjust my positioning enough that I can do the same thing with my mouth, kissing down to where his boxers are riding low on his hips. I slide my tongue under the waistband and he arches upward again.

With my face down by his crotch, I can hardly help but notice how he’s straining at his briefs; the thin fabric leaving nothing to the imagination and the sight practically making my mouth water. My own dick is painfully hard, balls drawn up tight, and even though I was hoping to stretch this out, I think if I don’t come soon, I’m going to combust.

Praying that he doesn’t notice how badly my hands are shaking, I tuck my fingers into the soft band at his waist and look up at his face. A jolt of longing hits me as violently as a lightning strike. Please don’t let me fuck this up.

“Off?” I ask, trying to keep it short, knowing that if I speak in a full sentence my voice will tremble.

“Yes,” he says, eyes dark and intent on mine. He lifts his hips again, giving me room to pull them down. I take a good look at him, and now my mouth really is watering; I clear my throat, heat rising to my face for some unknown reason. I’ve seen plenty of dicks that weren’t my own, but it’s been a long time and I don’t remember ever feeling quite so…off-balance.

“My turn,” I say, and then flinch, not having meant to say the words out loud.

“If you want,” Luke says, nonchalant, lying naked on the bed with all that brown skin on display, like my own personal wet dream come to life. He lifts an eyebrow at me, smirking. “Lots I can do even without you taking those off.”

The knot of anxiety loosens once more, and I laugh. Bending at the waist, I quickly remove my briefs and immediately move to get back onto the bed and on top of him. I don’t want to just stand there naked, letting him get an eyeful; I’m afraid I’m running on borrowed bravery, and every minute brings us closer to the time when I finally lose my nerve.

“Hello, you,” he says, fingers in my hair and a smile on his face as he looks up at me.

I kiss him, because my throat feels too tight to force words through and I want so much I can’t think around it. His hands slide through my hair and come to rest on my shoulder blades, fingers fanned out as though he’s searching for every inch of reachable contact. I’m hyperaware of the path they take down my back, but he stops before he gets to my ass; instead, he leaves one hand resting at the base of my spine, and uses the other to brush slow strokes up and down my back.

I bear down on him, slightly, rocking my hips against his and rubbing our erections together. We groan at the same time, the sound reverberating between our mouths and making me huff a soft laugh. I pull away and kiss across his jaw, rolling my hips again and dropping more of my weight down. He tips his head up in a silent request, and I’m all too happy to oblige: turning my face, I apply myself to the very serious business of sucking on every inch of his neck I can reach.

I’m so focused on the taste of his throat, I barely notice that he’s pushing his hips upward, in sync with my own. Already, after only a minute of slow frotting, I’m in danger of coming. I can feel it—that pressure building at the base of my spine, where Luke’s hand is still pressed. Not yet, not yet, I chant to myself, not wanting this to end too quickly even though my heart is pounding and I’m lightheaded with nerves. Luke’s calloused palm makes another slow path from the top of my spine to the base, and I’m eternally grateful for whatever motivation possessed him to perform the motion.

He pushes upward against me and groans at the friction. I can feel a damp sensation on my stomach where one or both of us is leaking, and I wonder if this feels as good for him as it does for me. I wonder if it’s enough for him, and if I even have it in me to do more tonight.

“Max,” he breathes, as the roll of our hips changes pace. I lift my head from his neck and take a good look at his face—at the long black lashes surrounding blown out pupils, and the soft lips parted slightly as he tries to even his breathing.

“Is this okay?” I whisper, and hate myself for the tendrils of fear that twine their way around the words.

“Yes,” he replies, palm sliding up my spine and neck until he’s cupping the back of my head. “Yes.”

Thank god. I drop my head back down to his shoulder, unable to maintain eye contact amid the emotions crashing through me right now. His hand on my lower back is flexing and releasing, as though he’s trying to grab me and pull me closer; I wish there was a way he could. An embarrassing sort of moan escapes me as the pressure peaks.

As though he knows, Luke gasps out a single, breathless instruction: “Come.”

We come at the same time, as though both of our bodies were simply waiting for permission. Luke wraps his arms around me, hugging me close as we come down from the high. We’re both damp with sweat and cum, breathing ragged even though we were barely moving—the anxiety and dread that live in my chest are all but gone. I feel boneless and spent; I feel happy, and, inappropriately, like I want to cry. In case this is a bodily function I can’t control, I tuck my face into Luke’s neck where he wouldn’t be able to see. The added bonus of this being that now I can smell him without even trying.

“Thank you,” I whisper into his skin, and squeeze my eyes shut against the burning. Fuck! Do not cry, Max, do not fucking cry. I probably also shouldn’t be thanking the man after getting me off, but I couldn’t contain it. I’m really goddamn grateful for him, and I don’t know how else I’m supposed to express that.

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