Page 32 of Sideline Play

“That’s a pretty safe bet. If you’d like though, I’ll comb it out for you.”

“Mmm…” she hums. “Yes, please.”

Guiding her back under the shower head, I rinse her hair. Then holding up both bottles of conditioner, hand her the one she picks and say, “It’s probably best you tell me how much to use.” I comb my fingers through the nest of knots I made once she gives me the proper amount before handing her the clip she keeps amongst the collected bottles.

“Any requests?”

Looking over her numerous bottles of body wash, she shrugs, “Pick your favorite.”

Without even looking I say, “The one that smells like roses and vanilla.”

“Stolen Embrace—that’s my favorite.”

Drizzling the shimmering soap into my hands, I murmur, “Mine too; it smells like home.” Starting at her shoulders, I knead each muscle and memorize the sounds she makes as I work my way down her back.

At her hips, I circle my hands around to her front, caressing her stomach and up to her ribs. As my fingers trace under her breasts, her breath stutters, halting my movement.

“That feels good,” she whispers, my dick a fucking bastard who can’t read the room, jumping over how airy she sounds.

Continuing the path to the outer curve of her small swells before going under her arms, I kiss the side of her temple and murmur more to myself than her, “Later, I promise.”

Then moving with a little more purpose than when I started, I sweep the soap along her chest and circle her neck before mapping my way down each of her arms. Using what remains, Icant my hips back as I curl over her and wash the outside of her thighs, my hands reaching down to ghost along the back of her knees.

The more of her I touch, the shorter each of her next breaths become. Her neck elongates as she tilts it to the side, opening up for me. Following the rivulets of water, I trail my lips down their path, stopping at the top of her shoulder. When her head falls back, her body languid against my own, I wrap my arms around her torso, covering from below her breasts to just above her hips, content to hold her for however long she needs me.

“Remi?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you… for everything.”

“No baby girl, thank you.”

Later, with Scarlet bathed and the stubborn knots released from her hair, I’m pulling back the sheets and duvet of my bed as she speaks to a disgruntled Winnie on the floor.

“It’s not my bed, sweet girl. I can’t put you in.” Getting a huff in response, she gives just as much attitude back, saying, “Well aren’t you a sassy little miss this afternoon.”

“All set,” I announce, stepping aside so she can climb in.

Rubbing her dog’s head, she stands up, the sight of her hitting me like a freight train. Naked face, long hair loose and damp, her short frame swimming in the shirt I wore earlier, climbing into my bed on what she has deemed her side if the stack of books on the nightstand is any indication. I want to see her like this every day for the rest of my fucking life. First thingin the morning, last thing at night, having her, loving her each and every day. Everything else is second, so distant it hardly registers, to the visceral swell in my chest over seeing her like this. As my future.

Shaking my head clear of the thousands of visions circling through it, I resume tucking her in, about to step back when she grabs my hand.

“Don’t go.”

I don’t think the Devil or God himself could pull me away.

It’s only when she says, “You shouldn’t say things like that, Remington. It’ll go to my head and make me want more of you,” that I realize I've spoken out loud.

Putting my knee on the bed, I lean over her and after capturing her gaze and making sure it stays on me, say, “Want more; want it all. Ask it. Demand it. I’m yours.”

Just as quickly, I stand back up and earn a sharp reprimand of my name for squatting to pick Winnie up. One I ignore.

Once she’s in the bed though, a safety blanket within reach of Scarlet, I climb in and move towards the center of the bed. Propping up several pillows, I open my arms and direct, “Come here.” I feel full and light as she scoots in and pillows her head on my chest, an arm across my abdomen and a leg hooked over my own.

As her fingers climb up the ladder of my ribs and slide back down, the house grows quiet. The only sound eventually coming from a sprawled out Winnie as she snores like an old man. When Scarlet’s hand stops its cartography of my body, I think she’s fallen asleep. Her body is relaxed, her breath even and steady, hard earned tranquility floating free from her.

I’m just about to disentangle myself from her to go wear the simmering tension within me into the ground in the gym when she speaks, stopping every twitch in my body, my breath, my very heart.

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