Page 92 of Coach
His eyes were closed, his face serene.
I knew I should let him have his practice, his peace.
But I found myself climbing out of bed, grabbing a condom, then padding across the floor and moving to straddle him.
He smiled but didn’t open his eyes, didn’t seem to break his concentration.
So I got a little inventive.
My lips kissed down his jaw, his ear, his neck.
The rest of him stayed still.
But his cock was pressing hard against me as my hips started to rock against him.
“You are one hell of a distraction,” Saul said, his voice husky. His hands went to my hips, pulling me down against him, making me let out a long, deep moan.
He’d had several opportunities to explore me. It was my turn to take my time with him.
I pressed him flat and moved over him, exploring his tattoos, asking about their stories, learning which he’d gotten before prison and which ones he’d gotten inside. I learned where all his scars came from and grew to care for the helpless little boy dealing with a violent father, and I admired the man who occasionally used his fists in defense of women.
I found a ticklish spot near his lowest rib.
I found he nearly went feral when I kissed his hipbone.
When I felt like I’d gotten to know every inch of him, I leaned down to kiss his neck as he reached between to protect us.
Then I lifted up.
I slid down.
I rode him slowly, feeling something deeper than the orgasm building.
It was this deep, solid knowing in my chest.
I knew if I let myself, I would recognize it for what it was.
But that was too risky.
So I shook it off and rode him harder, faster, until we were both wet with sweat and panting for breath, then crying out as we came.
“You okay?” Saul asked afterward as his fingers sifted through my hair. “Coulda sworn you were working through something there.”
“Just working my way toward an orgasm,” I said, wincing as I lied to him. Again.
“Este…”
“Not everything has to mean something deeper.”
My tone was too sharp.
And the look on Saul’s face said he wasn’t immune to the cut, to the sting.
“Okay,” he agreed, reaching for my hips.
But I was lifting off of him, knowing my shell was too fragile. Even the slightest bit of pressure would make me crack. And some secrets had to be kept. Whether I liked that or not.
“Honey…”
