Page 125 of Beyond the Lines
She shifts, positioning herself over me, and I feel the wet heat of her against the tip of my cock. My brain short-circuits for a moment, and I want nothing more than to thrust up and fill every inch of her, but then my mind screams and reality crashes back.
“Wait,” I say, reaching for her hips to stop her. “Condom.”
She bites her lip, cheeks flushing. “Actually, I started the pill.”
My hands freeze on her hips. “You did?”
She nods, suddenly shy. “I figured… you’ll feel more…”
My chest feels tight, like something’s expanding inside it. “But what about?—”
“STDs?” she finishes, and I nod. “I’m clean.”
“I got tested a few months ago.” I shrug. “And I haven’t been with anyone else…”
Her eyes widen slightly. “I trust you.”
Three simple words that punch straight through me. I swallow hard, struggling to contain the emotion welling up in my throat. There’s something monumental about this moment that has nothing to do with the physical act we’re about to perform and everything to do with what it represents.
Trust.
After everything, she trusts me.
I pull her down for a kiss and, at the same time, she slowly lowers herself onto my cock. The sensation is overwhelming—hot and tight and perfect. It’s like seeing color when before, with the condom, all there had been was black and white.
She sets a slow pace at first, experimenting with angles, and watching my reactions. I try to keep my eyes open, to memorize every detail—the way her curls bounce with each movement, and the perfect curve of her breasts. It’s overwhelming.
I grip her hips with my hands, helping her maintain the rhythm. Her fingers dig into my chest, and she throws her head back. The orgasm hits her suddenly—I can feel it in the way she tightens around me, see it in the way her mouth falls open in silent ecstasy.
The sight of her coming undone above me, combined with the rhythmic pulsing around my cock, sends me over the edge. I thrust up into her, hard, as my release tears through me. I gasp her name, my fingers digging into her hips, probably hard enough to leave marks.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing. Then she collapses onto my chest, her face tucked into the crook of my neck. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close as our heart rates slowly begin their return to normal.
I love you.
The words rise in me, pressing against my teeth, desperate to be spoken. But I swallow them back. Not now. Not in the aftermath of mind-blowing sex, when she could easily mistake the declaration for post-orgasm euphoria.
When I tell her—and I will tell her—I want her to know it’s real.
That I’ve thought about it.
That it’s not just my dick talking.
The other words can wait. For now, this is enough.
twenty-seven
DECLAN
“Eight ball, corner pocket.”
I line up my shot, ignoring Maine’s attempts to distract me with what he calls his “psychic warfare”—basically, clapping and making fart noises. Real mature for a college senior. The cue slides through my fingers, and my shot sends the black ball into the pocket with a satisfying thunk.
“Damn it,” Maine tosses his cue onto the table. “That’s three in a row. You’re a shark, Andrews.”
“Nah,” I say, collecting the twenty bucks he slaps into my palm. “Just better than you are.”
Linc leans against the wall, nursing his beer and watching our exchange. “Maine, when will you learn that Dec’s got those artist hands. Steady.”
