Page 90 of Sexting the Coach
Being with Weston makes me feel whole, and this isn’t the kind of sex we’ve had before. This is Weston Wolfe when he’s making love, burying himself inside me, grunting his pleasure and whispering in my ear how sweet I am, how tight I am for him, how much he loves being inside me.
It feels like slowly drifting to the bottom of a pool. Like rising up and out of my body, entering into a dream instead.
When I start to orgasm, my walls tightening in around his cock, Weston lets out a low groan from the back of his throat and quickens his pace only slightly, keeping his strokes long and steady, nearly pulling all the way out before sliding back in again, each kiss of fullness inside me temporary before it starts all over again.
This man keeps me wanting. He somehow manages to make me ravenous and fed, all at once. Supported and urged ahead.
I clutch tight to him, whimpering into his neck, and when I whisper, “I love you, Weston,” into his ear, his body starts to shake, his muscles tightening and contracting, and I feel the warm fill of him inside me.
He hums, nuzzling into me, holding me tight and staying buried inside me even as our orgasms subside, even as our heartbeats even out and there’s nothing but the slow sound of our breathing, coupled with the gently flickering fire in the background.
Weston disappears for a moment, returning with a warm washcloth. We clean up, then he slides into bed, pulling me against him and settling in, breathing deeply into my hair.
There are a lot of things we need to talk through, but right now, everything feels right with the world.
When I wake up at some point in the middle of the night, the fire is still dancing in the corner of the room, casting us in orange light. Weston is already awake, one arm behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling.
For a second, I just admire him—how handsome he is, and how good it feels to be here at his side.
“Hey,” I croak, and he reaches over to the bedside for a glass of water, handing it to me. I take a sip, my voice coming out smoother when I ask, “Everything okay?”
His smile is slow and easy, like maple syrup. “Yeah. More than.”
“More than?”
“I’m happy, Elsie,” he shifts, turning so he’s cradling me, looking me in the eye. “I mean, there are things we need to work out, but I just…I have you. And that’s enough.”
I smile and push my face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him—cologne and deodorant and laundry soap, all the little fragrances that create a smell all his own. Pieces of his life that I’m going integrate into.
Soon, I’ll know what brand he buys. We’ll go to the store together, we’ll pick out clothes for our baby and argue over hockey jerseys to dress them in. Obviously, they’ll have a Squids jersey, but I know Weston likes the Blue Crabs. I’m a through-and-through Bruins girl, because of my dad.
“You’ll need to keep up with your PT,” I say, after a moment, and though I’m not looking at Weston, I can feel him raising an eyebrow at me. “So, you can walk her down the aisle.”
“Oh, it’s aher, is it?”
“Of course,” I roll my eyes, looking up at him with knowing look. “A mother knows these things.”
The sound of that sends a shiver down the length of my back—I’m a mother. The feeling is warm and comforting, like coming home to a clean house and a lit candle.
“I’m talking to Karlee and the others Monday morning,” Weston says. “Before the game. Give them an ultimatum about offering you your job back?—”
“I don’t want it back.”
Now that I’m saying it out loud, I know it’s true. The job that I worked so hard to get, now something I don’t want to come back to.
“You don’t have to say that Elsie?—”
“Sports PT was never really my passion,” I say, and Weston nods, clearly remembering the other times we’d talked about it. “I’m…well, I’ve actually been thinking about opening up my own clinic. Focusing on pediatrics PT. I have enough money, with the trust from my grandpa, and my parents have been investing money for me from the time I was a little girl. I could live off interest forever if I wanted to. So, I was thinking, why go through with this job when it’s not what I want? For a long time, I was doing it because of Drew. But now, I could open the clinic, have patients pay what they can. Help kids who need it.”
I go quiet, and Weston raises his hand, running it soothingly over my back.
“Well, I think that’s a great idea,” he says, leaning over and kissing my cheek. “And, for what it’s worth, you’ve already got your first investor.”
“And client,” I say, laughing when his hands slip to my waist. “I’ll make an exception on age, just for you. I don’t trust anyone else with treating you.”
“Why is that?” he murmurs, his voice getting lower, thicker with the lust I can feel growing against my hip.
“Oh, please, Weston,” I laugh, turning in his arms, my own breath coming quicker. “You and I both know those PT sessions were rife with romantic tension.”
