Page 63 of Before We Came

“That’s it, baby,” I growl. “Such a good girl.”

I realize I’m panting almost as hard as she is.

“Oh god, oh god,” she mewls as her orgasm flows through her. Her pelvis undulates as she rides out the waves of pleasure. Her clit pulses as arousal trickles out of her.

My pulse is still pounding in my ears. Her breathing regulates, and the smile that spreads over her face grows until she laughs. She’s breathtaking like this, relaxed and blissed out. I want to see her fall apart like this every day for the rest of my life.

“I’ve never done that in front of anyone before!”

Moving from my chair, I drop to my knees in front of her and cup her face, staring into the eyes with the power to both heal and break my heart. “You’re so damn beautiful when you come. You did so well.”

She bites her lower lip, and her eyes subtly glaze. I take her wrist and bring it to my mouth, sucking her fingers, then drop to the floor and lick her pussy clean. “Next time, you’re coming directly on my tongue.”

I stand, and hold out my hand. She takes it and follows me to the shower, where I turn on the steam and wait for the glass room to fill. I unzip the back of her dress, sliding it off her shoulders, where it drops to a small pool around her ankles.This body. I slide my palms from her shoulders to her ribs, sweeping my thumbs through my cum dripping down her chest and rubbing it across her nipples. She shivers. I continue my hands down to her waist and over her ass, watching the goose bumps break out across her skin. Her curves are so soft and grabbable. I can’t help but give a restrained slap on her ass.

“Get in.”

She steps inside, and the glass door closes behind her. After tossing her dress into my laundry basket with my shirt and pants, I stop and stare at it. I’ve never had a pink dress in my hamper, mixed in with my clothes before. It’s a quick glimpse into what a future with her might be like.If she would only let me in.

Before I step into the shower, I remind myself this is only aftercare. This is me rewarding her vulnerability and bravery. I want whatever this is to be different—so I need to treat her differently from the women before her—which is also why I purchased a new bed and mattress last week. Eventually, I’ll have her in my bed, and she deserves no one’s sloppy seconds.

I step into the steam behind her and adjust the water to fall from above. I slide the hair tie out of her updo and lean her back to wet her hair. I massage her scalp with shampoo and conditioner, spending extra time rinsing out all the suds. Then I wash her head to toe, stroking every inch of her body.

Afterward, I stand behind her and wrap my arms around her body, raising my hands to her breasts and kneading them before sliding them back down again. She is so goddamn irresistible—I never want to let go. My lips brush against the shell of her ear, and the smell of my shampoo on her is so sexy.

“This changes things, Little Bird. It might not be tonight, but this thing between us isn’t going anywhere.”

“Promises, promises,” she goads.

I slide my hand back up her body and wrap around her throat as I press a kiss to her neck right over her quickening pulse. Her jaw goes slack, and I chuckle against her skin, scraping my teeth over her jugular. She shudders.

After turning off the shower, I grab a towel and robe from the warmer. While she holds the robe, I dry her off with the towel, dropping to my knees to finish her legs.

“Why don’t you go pick out a bottle of wine and something for us to watch tonight? I’ll be out shortly.”

She wraps the thick fuzzy bathrobe around her and draws the thick ties into a bow around the waist. Her hands blot and squeeze her damp hair with a towel. Before she leaves, she does a one-eighty and returns for another kiss. Her tongue darts out to mine and she pulls me closer. Between kisses, she smiles against my lips, and it’s hard not to reciprocate. She whispers a quick “Thank you” and trots out to the kitchen.

Bridget is like a cyclone. I don’t know what she’s thinking or what direction she plans to take. I could be in her path of destruction and not even know it until it’s too late. All it would take is one rogue move for her to rip me apart. After today, my feelings for her have more depth. I thought watching her get off would be hot—and it was—but it was also emotional, seeing her work so hard to please me, trusting me, and baring her insecurities with me. It was a big step for her.

I still have my own demons to work through, but she’s made me feel more than I thought I could for one person. She’s this strange enigma, a Venn diagram of trust and lust—two things I’ve never had at the same time before. Two things I know for sure, is I share a past with Bridget, and I want to share a future too.

TWENTY-THREE

I’m finally home from my batch of away games. I’m exhausted. When I reach the penthouse, I toss my travel bags in the closet and strip down. I need a shower and a chance to sleep in my own bed. The hot spray from the shower is such a welcoming one. I look down and Bridget’s hair tie is sitting on the shower floor from the last time we were together in here.

My mind wanders back to the image of her here. Water sluicing her body in rivulets, over her breasts, down her thighs. Her creamy skin and soft area just below her belly button that stretches to her curvy hips. She’s so feminine, the soft to my hard. Our counterparts in perfect balance.

She’s been spending some extra time at the Hayeses’ now that the media is backing off a bit. Bridg and I spoke on the phone every day I was gone. Every day I ask her how her day is. Nothing more, nothing less. It helps her to focus on the present and not become overwhelmed. This way, she can just tackle what she’s feeling at the moment. Despite everything she’s been through in the last couple months, she seems moreher. It’s something I can’t describe, only sense. She’s been sharing more with me this last week than she ever has before. It gives me hope for us.

I open my phone to our text message thread and reread the last text she sent me.

Bridget: I miss you.

The flood of warmth those three words give me is torrential. I won’t get to see her much this week with my schedule, and it’s killing me, but I’m glad she’s taking some time to spend with her family. I know if I try to “keep” her, the results will be devastating. She’s been held hostage for the majority of her life without realizing it.

To add more madness, her birthday is on Tuesday. Her real birthday—and Valentine’s Day. I’ve got a game that day. I hate to miss it for a game, but I’ve already had her surprise in the works for a few weeks now.

After a little sleuthing, I found the famous Freya “Micky” McCoy on Facebook, and she and I have conspired to fly her in for Bridget’s birthday. Jack will pick her up from the airport. The whole family is in on it, and I’m excited; I just wish I could be there to see her face.

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