Page 89 of Drop Shot
With one hand he reaches up to graze the length of my jaw. My stomach somersaults at the feel of his thumb there, my core aching for friction. It takes everything in me not to squeeze my thighs together, but he’ll know what he’s doing to me if I do.
It’s then that I realize it’s not my thighs rubbing I should be worried about, but instead the thick press of his erection pressing incessantly behind me.
Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.
I jerk away and I know my whole face is probably red, but thankfully he doesn’t see as I scurry hurriedly away and back to the bar.
“Water,” I beg the first bartender I see. “Water, please.”
He slides a glass over to me a moment later with a questioning gaze, but I’m gone before he can ask me anything. I’m sure Elias is right behind me and I’m not ready. I need more time to gather myself.
He washard.
Turned on by what we were doing.
Bymeandmybody.
The other time it happened I chalked it up to morning wood and nothing more. But this? There’s no denying what was going on out there.
I gulp some of the water down as I make my way along the outer rim of the club in search of the restrooms. My heart is beating incredibly fast, and I know it’s not from the dancing. It’s something more.
My water is gone by the time I locate the restroom, and I set the glass down on a nearby empty table.
I’ve just managed to duck down the hall when a hand grabs my wrist. I jerk away on instinct, but the pained, “Whim, it’s me,” has me instantly relaxing.
“Don’t scare me like that,” I scold as Elias tugs me down a more private hall. We’re probably not supposed to be down here.
“Sorry. You ran off so fast and I was worried.” He looks down, but not before I see a flash of shame in his eyes. “I didn’t mean … fuck.” He looks to the side, jaw working back and forth. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“Y-You didn’t,” I stutter. “I just … we have months of this tennis season left, and we can’t afford to fuck it up by sleeping together.”
Pain flashes across his face. “I know.” He takes a deep breath and says, “I know,” again with an even more somber tone. “You’re right.” He cages me in against the wall—one arm above my head, the other grazing my hip. I shiver at his proximity and feel my nipples harden. “Doesn’t change the fact that I really want to kiss you. That I wonder what you’d sound like moaning my name. I’ve dreamed of how well you’d take my cock. But you’re right.” He takes a step back, rubbing his hand against the back of his head. “This can’t happen.”
There’s a shared sadness that passes between us—an acknowledgment that the desire is mutual, but we both know we can’t fuck up this arrangement. I’m under no illusions, that even with the image Jackson’s trying to create of Elias settling down into a one-woman man, that he’d ship me back to America in a heartbeat if he even got a whiff of real feelings from us.
Elias’s shoulders droop and he mumbles, “Let’s find Ebba and get out of here.”
As much as I didn’t want to come to the club, I find myself sad that the evening is over, and I know that fact is only due to Elias’s presence. If he hadn’t show up, I would’ve already begged Ebba to leave.
I have to stop this.
Wehave to stop this.
I only hope we can make it through the rest of this season unscathed.
CHAPTER 29
WHIMSY
It’sdays after the club incident and it’s still awkward between Elias and me. I keep praying it goes back to normal because I’m not sure how much of this I can handle.
It’s especially awkward lying in the same bed together listening to Ebba and Keaton go at it like a couple of porn stars. It’s happened the pastthreenights since he actually managed to arrive.
I’m not even sure I can give Ebba credit for the performance, because really, it’s just a bunch of grunts on Keaton’s part and a lot of, “Suck my dick,” and ass slapping, oh and the incessant squeaking of the mattress.
“Make it stop,” Elias groans, covering his ears. “First round is intwodays. I need rest.” Letting his hands drop, he turns his traumatized gaze my way. “Besides, it’s my sister. My twin sister. I don’t want to hear this shit.” He gags a little. “Does his bitch ass not understand he’s here because ofmygenerosity and trying to make my sister happy? I’m an athlete—I need rest and I need my fucking sleep!” He yells the last part and there’s a pause in the mattress squeaking, but then it starts up again about ten seconds later somehow louder and more frequent than before. “I hope his goddamn dick falls off,” he mutters to me.
His genuine annoyance pulls a laugh out of me—not because I’m laughing over him being disturbed but hearing him so distraught and whiny over it is amusing.
