Page 38 of On the Edge of Scandal

Fucking hell, I want fast. I want close, I want hard, and I want it sweaty and brutal. I want it now, I want to ride him, and I want to be worn out. We can save the swoony lovemaking for later. But Ash isn’t having it. He kisses me all over, thumbs and pinches my nipples, kneads my breasts and my butt, rocks me against him until I’m mewling and pressing up against him with hunger. When I get so very desperate that I’m practically in tears with frustration, he pets my hair and holds me tight. “Close enough for you?”

“No.” I pout and wrap my arms around his neck, kiss him and just about die when he works his tongue into my mouth, teasing me with thrusts that I want elsewhere. Which is when he finally gives in with a sigh and a theatrical roll of his eyes.

“Fine, fine, you determined little thing.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I push up onto tiptoes and slip a hand between us to grip him so I can sink down, a hot, slick slide into fullness. Into getting what I want, which is him inside me. Thank god I’m on the pill and we were both in the clear on our latest STI tests, because I would not have the patience for the minute it would take for him to roll on a condom.

When he’s fully seated, he wraps his arms around me and holds me still against him, running a hand over and through my hair. “Satisfied now?”

“For the moment.”

For the moment, I can be happy just feeling his heart beat against me, inhaling his scent, and the taste of his skin as I lick and lightly bite the crest of his trapezius. It’s funny, but for as desperate as I am, as much as I want him, I want this just as badly. To be close to him because we’ve been kind of deprived of a normal relationship—whatever that is.

We can’t go out on dates, we could barely see each other during the rest of the season because of practices and weekends away for games, and even when BC and BU played against each other, it was more an exercise in frustration because we had to tread so very carefully.

We haven’t told anyone else, he can’t come visit me at school and I could only sneak out to Carlisle so often without my roommates getting suspicious. Not to mention right after the season was over, he finally got his surgery and I couldn’t even be here to help as much as I wanted to be. He was allno, no, you have to graduate, blah blah. Him and his being responsible and still being a bit touchy about being taken care of. Pfft.

It’s luxurious, this, and I let myself melt into him while he holds me, talks to me and tells me how proud he is and all the other things he probably would’ve said yesterday but couldn’t because we had to settle for a brief hug.

“Ash.” I don’t mean for it to come out as half a sob, but it does. He doesn’t panic, though, doesn’t push me away to see my face. Doesn’t even ask me what’s wrong, because I think he knows. Maybe he feels the same way.

“Hey, baby. It’ll be better now. Easier. I’m not going to go shouting it from the rooftops just yet, even though I’d like to, but we could go out now if you wanted. I can come visit you in Brighton. You can come out here more often. It’s going to be better.”

Something inside me unravels and I realize exactly how tightly wound I’ve been and how all that mental and emotional tension has invaded my muscles. For someone who’s so in tune with their body—has to be, even when I’m not competing—I sure feel like an idiot for not realizing it before. Maybe Ash has, though, because that’s his job, and he takes it to heart. “Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise. We could even get ice cream tonight. Want to?”

Ice cream. With Ash. In public. What a treat in so many ways. “What about my cake?”

He shrugs, and it makes me laugh as my head bobs with the movement. “It’ll keep. We can have it for breakfast.”

“No. I want my cake and to eat it, too.”

“Silly. Anything else you want?”

Just like that, my engine that had settled into an idling purr revs. “Yes.”

I can think of a lot of things, but right now I’ll settle for an orgasm, and when we’re through, some cake. So I lift my head from his shoulder, wipe the corners of my eyes where there’s a little bit of moisture I haven’t managed to blink away, and then I’m kissing him again and he’s digging his fingers into my hips, pulling me closer and starting a rocking motion that I keep up as our tongues tangle and my hands wander into his hair.

It’s not long before everything has built up into a peak. A peak of needing, a peak of wanting, a peak of finally having, and my climax washes over me. He pulls me down hard and chokes out the words while he’s in the throes of his own satisfaction. “You’re mine, baby. Mine. Love to make you mine.”

I love it, too. Love him. That’s what I tell him while I rock out the last beats of my orgasm, and he says it back.

When our heartbeats have returned to near normal, I lean up and smile at him. “Now how about that cake?”

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