“You’re so wet for me. Is that all from sucking my dick?” I ask, as I move her up and down.
She nods and pants, and then she does the sexiest thing. It’s like she’s not even thinking about it, which is what makes it so sexy. She drags her hand over her breasts as I thrust into her. She’s touching her own tits, and it’s fantastic. Everything inside me sizzles. My blood runs to Mercury levels as I watch her ride me, like a gorgeous, languid cowgirl. Her hands brush down her belly, that flat, soft belly I want to lick and kiss. She moans and pants, and it is the hottest thing in the world to witness—she’s touching herself as she’s fucking me.
She rides me, sliding up and down on my cock, finding her friction, chasing her release.
It’s like she’s masturbating with my dick.
I want her to use me. To do whatever she wants with me. To have me in any way that feels good to her. Her breath hitches, her shoulders tremble, and she starts to lose control. Grabbing her hips, I urge her on. “Let go for me, baby. You’re so beautiful when you come.”
“I’m close, so close,” she murmurs, grinding on me, taking me deep, her moans turning to cries.
I burn up all over as I watch her. I am comprised of nothing but heat. Her lips. Her mouth. Her eyes. Everything. She is my fucking everything.
Her hand flies into her hair, and she runs her fingers through it as her other hand plays with her tits. Her eyes are closed, and she’s completely lost in her own pleasure. She is beautiful and breathtaking as she fucks me to the edge. Soon she’s thrusting wildly on me, and now I need to be in this with her.
“Look at me,” I tell her, my voice hoarse.
Her eyes flutter open. They are hazy and full of lust and passion, and something more, something that feels incredibly new and yet intensely familiar. She starts to close them again.
“Look at me.” This time it’s a command, rough and heated.
“But I fall apart faster when I do,” she murmurs in protest, but it’s more of an admission, because her gaze locks to mine as she lowers her face close to me, her hands curling around my shoulders. “And I want it to last,” she says on a moan. I know she’s talking about sex, only I can’t help but think she means something else, too. Like I do.
We are tethered. She doesn’t look away, and I couldn’t if I tried. In her eyes, I see everything I never knew I wanted. Now I need it fiercely. She whispers my name. It sounds like honey on her tongue. I snap. My balls tighten, and I need her to come now because I’m seconds away.
“Come on me,” I rasp out, as my climax starts to tear through me. “Come on me now.”
And she does on a wild cry, coming with me. She leans into me, her mouth near my ear. The epic chant sounds, and this one is new. “I can’t stop. Can’t stop. Can’t stop.”
It’s so hot and so wild, the way she says it over and over. I love it. I love it when Charlotte comes. I love it when she’s happy. I love fucking her. I love everything right now, even my goose egg, even the elbow whack, even the bat that fell on my damn toe.
She collapses on me, nuzzling my neck, kissing my ear, whispering so good, so good over and over.
“It’s so good,” I echo, though that adjective feels insufficient for what this has become.
“Everything is with you,” she says, and when I wrap my arms tighter around her back, she snuggles into me.
“Every single thing,” I say.
I love every goddamn thing in the universe, and I am the happiest bastard in the world right now, here, in this room, with the woman I have fallen for.
That’s what this is. That’s what the alphabet soup spells.
I’ve broken the biggest ground rule of all.
I’ve fallen in love with my best friend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The bat connects with the ball with a resounding whack, and I tag up on third, waiting, waiting, waiting to see if it lands in the outfielder’s glove or sends me home.
Boom. Over the fence.
I pump a fist and shout.
Nick tosses the bat on the dirt and trots down the baseline as I run home. Watching him round the bases sends my father whooping from the makeshift dugout. Nick’s homerun has put Dad’s team ahead at the top of the ninth.
I hold out a hand and slap palms with our slugger as he nears the home plate. “Nice work, Grandslam,” I say, since he’s knocked out a few so far this season.
Once his foot hits the plate, the chorus from “Beautiful” by Christine Aguilera plays. Interesting choice. Not my first pick for Nick, but Mr. Offerman’s daughter appointed herself “announcer” for the game and has been picking the tunes for hits, homers, and strikeouts. Emily holds up a blue, oval-shaped handheld speaker that’s streaming music from her phone. She shakes her hips and encourages our team to rock out with her. Her sisters cheer her on from the three rows of creaky metal bleachers.
My father high-fives Nick as he walks off the field. “You’re my ringer. Your check’ll be in the mail,” my dad jokes as we head toward the team bench near the bleachers. Charlotte waves and smiles. My heart beats faster as I look at her.
Tonight, I tell myself. I’ve got it all planned. I’m taking her to her favorite Italian restaurant in Chelsea, and I’m going to put my heart on the line. I’ll tell her she’s the one and then hope to hell that the woman in the Page Six photo is the one who’s coming to dinner, not the woman who said she’s just my best friend. I have no clue if Charlotte only sees me as a friendly fling, or if she wants more, like I do. But I know how I feel—I want her to be my best friend, my lover, and my partner. I want her to be all mine, and that’s why this morning—after we brushed our teeth, of course—I asked her out on a real date.