Page 96 of The Third Baseman

Fuck my balls, my heart was about to give way.

“Tell me who your pussy belongs to. Who it’s always belonged to.”

“You, Jupiter… always you.”

“Mine is going to be the only name you ever scream again. Understand?”

She couldn’t nod, she couldn’t move. She was too gone to do anything except come.

One final thrust was all it took.

She almost gagged when her orgasm hit; sucking as much air as she could into her lungs, and choked on the speed.

And I was undone.

I burst inside her, my balls emptying and my bones liquefying until I swear my soul was being extracted by force. Black dots swam in my vision, like she was sucking me into her center of gravity, never to return. I collapsed to the side, pulling her next to me. I wanted to feel her heart beat in time with mine, settle next to mine.

Sync with mine.

I’d never felt anything like it. Every cell, every atom in my body was dancing.

“Oh my God, Jupiter.” Every word punched out as she caught her breath, “I don’t… I don’t think I can move. I think you’ve killed me.”

“Funny,” I kissed along her shoulder, “I was going to say I’ve never felt more alive.”

* * *

Later, much later, I fell asleep listening to Marnie nestled into my chest breathing in and out for the first time since I was eighteen years old.

And my world righted itself.

14

MARNIE

Present Day

Turns out, sex is a lot like riding a bike. Once you know how to do it, it’s hard to forget.

And lying right next to me, one huge bicep curled into his side while the other was flung over his face, was the most elite, top-of-the-range bike I’d ever ridden.

My fingertips had been tingling since I woke thirty minutes ago. Even though we’d only collapsed a couple of hours ago, I was surprisingly full of energy. It was almost as though I hadn’t been fucked to within an inch of my life.

But I had, and I didn’t need to see my reflection to know I was a knotty, crumpled mess, while he lay there as though he’d just stepped off a catwalk; peaceful, content, his pouty mouth soft and quiet.

Blissfully quiet.

I held mine together to stop a giggle from erupting.

I was desperate to touch him, skate my fingers over the convergence of planets running across his impressive chest, follow the shooting stars down the thick vein running the length of his bicep. I didn’t need to look at the sky if I had him.

The set of eyes I could do without though. My eyes, tattooed on his triceps, made me feel like I was constantly being watched, like I was judging myself.

Maybe I was, but for now I was happy to soak in the bliss.

On those rare times we got to spend the whole night together, I’d wake up before him and trace the divots in his shoulders, the lines of his abs, and brush my fingers over the perfect dimple in his cheek.

I kind of missed that dimple, the one now covered in thick whiskers.

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