Thursday, September 22, 2011

New Story - Texas was You

Time to go back to the 'Burgh for my next story... I hope you'll like it.  He doesn't get enough attention.

Texas was You - ft. James Neal

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

chapter twenty-two

Tazer gives me the look.  The one that says he’s knows what’s best for me, even if it’s going to hurt.  The extra sprints, the bag skates; that stare says more than any lecture he could ever give and I’ve heard it so many times.

Only this time he’s leaning over Kristen.  I bristle at the thought of him invading my space - maybe knowing he wouldn’t dare, maybe knowing that he could if he wanted to.  He would be better for her, he wouldn’t have to work so hard to be the kind of boyfriend she deserves.

Jonathan would never have to ask her twice.

So I interrupt them, wind my arm possessively around Kristen’s waist and pull her in close.  Jon leads the team by example and he’ll do the same here.  I have more than one standard to live up to.

“Dance with me,” I say to her.

The floor is crowded but we carve out a tiny space - the smaller, the better.  She moves right into me without hesitation.  Kristen’s hands rest on my hips but I keep my hands knitted behind her neck, never letter her more than a few inches away.  She dances well, rocking and dropping to the bass that pounds through the floor.  I don’t know the song; I can’t even hear it.  I just feel the pulse and know she’s moving against me.

“Is that how your friends keep you in line?” She nods toward where I’m sure Toews is watching us, watching her and thinking that she’s wasted on me.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warn her jokingly.  If she were really thinking it, she wouldn’t be saying it.

“Hmmmm,” she smiles.  “Too late.”

All it takes is a tug to pull her in.  My mouth covers hers and she doesn’t resist me.  Her kiss has never turned me away.  Instead she closes the space between us and rolls her hips into mine so firmly that I have to break away.

Luckily I’ve only had one drink, so she’ll know I mean exactly what I say.

“It’s midnight.”


I nod.  “Means I haven’t asked you yet today.”

Once a day, every day for the last two weeks I’ve asked Kristen to be my girlfriend.  Every day she says it’s not time yet.  I’ll keep waiting, but I will always ask.

Her chest grazes mine as she swivels her lower body against me, in perfect rhythm to the music.  I run my hands over her flat sides and rest them where her hipbones fit into my palms, my fingers brush against her ass as she moves.  It’s the lowest my hands have been in weeks.  But it makes her turn her face up and then my hands are moving on their own, until they hold handful of her hair and her face in close to mine.

We come to a complete stop: still and kissing.  She gives what she gets - her lips part and that soft pink tongue slides against mine.  Old Me roars.  New Me whimpers.  In real life it’s all I can do to keep kissing her back.  Her dark hair is so silky and thick, it’s like a real hold on the girl who always runs.  But tonight she’s right here with me.

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” I say before my lips move down her neck.


The words are a reflex; the obvious answer to the full canon assualt my body fires toward his.  I don’t even think them, just hear them.  They sound true.  So I repeat them.


Patrick lifts his head from my shoulder, where his lips were signing his name.  Surprise is all over his face.  “You will?”

What a silly way to ask, I think.  It’s like asking me to go steady and wear his high school ring.  But after everything, basics are best for me and Patrick.  I may be soaked from the waist down but a couple of burn marks will leave you careful about touching hot surfaces.

“Yes,” I tell him again.  Third time’s a charm.  And so he stops dancing, stands up straight and kisses me deeply.

“I won’t let you down again,” he promises.

I brush my mouth gently over the perfect Cupid’s bow rise of his lower lip.  “I trust you, Patrick.  Everybody makes mistakes.”

His blue eyes are so serious they’re dark.  “Not that kind.  Not anymore.”

I know he means it.  It doesn’t mean he’ll never screw up again but he wants to be good.  And I want to be good for him.  The season is coming and we’d both do better to be excited than afraid.  I slide my hand down his arm, appreciating the heavy bulge of muscle, and twist my fingers into his.  Time to make this official.

“Take me home.”

I go right for the door.  Kristen giggles but doesn’t protest as we leave without a word to anyone.  The valet has my car up in seconds and I squeal out of the parking lot.  Adrenaline pumps through my system.  I’ve waited and I’ve won and there is a prize to be claimed.  

But the hallway to my door slows me and once we’re inside, I wander toward the huge windows that overlook the Chicago skyline.  A lot of girls have been through this apartment.  I used to bring them here to showoff, as if that mattered when they were already stripping naked and moaning.  It was more about inflating my own ego, but it sold me out. I gave everything away, even my own little private space, for the thrill of the moment.

Then I stopped.  I hadn’t brought a girl here in a long time before Kristen came over.  And that night she became the first girl to ever just sleep in my bed.  Of course the morning had been a different story.  Then she’d come back on that night two weeks ago when she agreed to give me a second chance.  That made her one of only a few girls to ever be here twice.

Now she was here a third time.  That might be a world record.

Her heels stop clicking; she’s watching me from across the room. I don’t need to turn to know how she’ll look in the soft recessed lighting that I left on and the twinkle of the city outside.  Her watery silk dress will catch the shimmer, her skin will sheen smooth.  My mouth will go dry and I’ll lose the ability to tell her anything.  But I want to tell her everything.

“Hey,” she says, right behind me.  Her arms twine around my waist, her shoulders press below mine. Those heels are gone and she snuck up on me.

Kristen holds me from behind, her cheek pressed to the back of my neck.  It’s like being the little spoon standing up, feeling protected and stronger because someone’s holding you up.  I turn and bring her to my chest, kiss the top of her head.

“There’s something I want to give you.”

It hurts to let her go, but I cross quickly to the fridge and pull out a small plastic container.  I went through one of these a day over the last two weeks but I am grateful for it now.  Inside is yet another perfect lily.

She ducks her head when she sees it, smiling shyly and looking away.  I go back to her and hold it up between us.  There are a lot of things I’ve already said - I’m sorry, I won’t mess up again - and a lot of things I haven’t said yet - I hope you’re as scared as I am, I think I’m falling in love with you.  Somewhere in between are exactly the right words for this moment. Kristen gently brushes a fingertip over one soft flower petal, waiting, then does it perfectly for me.
“Patrick,” she says quietly.  “Are you going to kiss me or what?”

My body aches where his lips graze my skin, kissing softly over the curve of my ribcage and down the hollow inside my hip.  Those strong arms and both hands hold me down firmly while he takes his sweet time tasting every inch of my skin.  The soft tip of his tongue drag up, leaving a fever trail, and circles the nipple of one bare breast.  I rise to meet him.

We made it to the bedroom where he stripped me down like unwrapping a present on Christmas morning.  Patrick and I have been urgent and angry and sorry and surprised but we have never been gentle with each other.  Now as he nudges my thighs apart with his knee and teases the tip of his cock along my throbbing entrance, I’m not sure I can handle the slow burn.

When he opens me with hardly any pressure, it ripples through my body like an earthquake.  Barely pushing, he takes my body inch by glorious inch, his mouth on mine to swallow my sounds.  I push my ass hard into the mattress to keep from twisting myself down onto him. I feel ready to explode.

His first stroke is perfect, filling and dizzying.  The next makes a matching set - slow and steady.  My heart flutters like a bird in my chest.  Patrick passes his mouth to my neck, creating hot spots where none existed before.  His heavy, strong form holds me still as he takes his sweet damned time.  The thick length of his cock stirs my body like he’s baking a cake and can’t wait to lick the bowl.  I move my hands over his sculpted back, feeling every muscle as he drags his body along mine.

Patrick puts his lips to my ear.  “This is all I want.”

For the first time in forever I feel sure about what I’m doing.  Patrick could have anyone and he wants me - just me.  That is enough to heal most of the wounds left by my last relationship.  I know that Patrick isn’t perfect, but nor is he the callous jerk I assumed.  He’s not the fame and the game and the craziness.  He’s just human, just like me.  We’re here together in the dark and nothing else matters.

“I know,” I whisper back.


Tuesday, September 20, 2011

chapter twenty-one

“So, you coming out tonight?”

Seabrook’s voice is all tentative and he makes a big show of stuffing things in his locker as he asks.  Last time I went out with him and Duncs, it was almost the last time I ever saw Kristen.  He’s been tiptoeing around since.

“Yeah, sure,” I decide it’s time cut him some slack.

“What, your girlfriend let you out for good behavior?” Duncan asks, no problems at all with leaving me out to die.

“One, I want to go out, just not always with you assholes.  And two, she’s not my girlfriend.  Yet.”

They don’t bother to look at each other, they just laugh.

“Right.  She’s got you more whipped than Tazer and that’s just because gay marriage isn’t allowed here yet.”

I land a sock right between his eyes, then finish pulling on my sweatshirt.  An early cold snap has sucked the summer right out of Chicago, making it feel like hockey season.  And it almost is.

It’s been two weeks since the press conference, since Kristen gave me a second chance that I didn’t deserve.  I’m doing a pretty good job of making up for it though, if I do say so myself.  Turns out there are a lot of fun things to do around here that don’t require condoms or blocked phone numbers.  I actually am having fun.  What I’m not having is any sex.  At all.  We make out like teenagers and then Kristen sends me home so horny I need a binder to cover my lap.  It’s become like a drill at practice that I have to master - mind over matter.  If there were a prize for celibacy, I’d win it again.  Wait till you see what the fucking trophy looks like.

Before, I literally chased Kristen more than once.  I find the figurative chase much more enticing.  Every night I think might be the night - and I’m salivating at the thought of it.  Every morning I wake up gasping from a wet dream hoping today is the day.  I want her more than any girl I’ve ever wanted, and it’s not just physical.  Well, it will be the first two hundred times she lets me get in there.  But once I’m finally drained of frustration and come, I fully expect to realize I’m in love with her.

So yeah, I’m pretty whipped.  Hit me again.

“She’s way more fun than Tazer,” I tell them with a smile.

“So bring her,” Duncan suggests.  

“Maybe I will.”  Maybe it’s time.

September is hard to ignore.

Hockey season is right around the corner - training camp has started and it’s all over the news, the TV, the internet.  The Blackhawks PR machine is in full swing and everywhere I turn I see Patrick’s face, his name, that huge 88 staring back at me.

Thank God we met in summer.  There’s no way I could withstand this onslaught.

Oddly, it seems to weigh differently on Patrick too.  I always thought of him as the swagger type, rolling in the pre-season praise because it’s all free - there’s nothing to deliver for weeks yet. Just adoration and promise to bask in.  But Patrick slips out from under it whenever he can - and he comes to me.

We stay in a lot, at his place or mine, eating and watching movies and hanging out.  He’s wary of throwing any fuel on the fire before the season starts.  Maybe too wary - I don’t want him scared.  I just want him smart.

It’s not easy, of course.  Sometimes he must think I am a nun for the way I refuse him - if he knew how many pairs of underwear I’ve thrown away in the last two weeks, he’d buy stock in Victoria’s Secret.  Staying in means staying closer to beds, couches, hell even floors and tables.  

Last night as dinner arrived, I followed him into the kitchen to get utensils.  Hunger lowered my defenses and I turned my back on him.  A second later I was pressed against it, Patrick’s mouth on my neck and his hips grinding mine against the counter.  He held onto the edge, trapping me, and worked against my ass like he was going to tear my pants off and fuck me standing up.  I think I gouged finger marks into the marble.

“Kristen,” he finally growled, taunting, in a low voice.  “How about today?”

Surely I was the one in danger of being sawed in half over the kitchen counter.  So I tossed my hips back into his lap, making him grunt.

“Not yet.”


I knew he’d only ask once.  He always asked only once.  Then he’d go right on groping and kissing me as long as I let him.  He wasn’t asking for sex - well not exclusively.  He was asking me to be his girlfriend.  Once a day, every day, for two weeks.

Patrick eventually gave up with a sigh.  I let him believe it was easy for me to deny him while I tried not to have an orgasm every time he picked up a fork.

Now I’m halfway through a status report when my cell phone rings.  Without even looking, I answer.  “Kristen’s House of Whores and Pancakes.”

He just laughs for thirty seconds.  “I will make the pancakes if you let me stay over.”

I say the same thing I say every day.  “Maybe.”

Then he says something he never says.  “Let’s go out tonight.”

“Okay,” I answer too quickly.  It’s been too long since I’ve been out, and I’m pacing the cage.  Of course there’s an actual tiger in the cage with me and he’s very horny.  It would do us good to get out.

“I want you to meet the guys.”

Ah, the moment of truth.  Patrick talks about his teammates non-stop, and of course I feel like I know them all just from living in Chicago.  What I’m betting they don’t know if how New Patrick is spending his free time not fucking his non-girlfriend.  They’d never believe it.

What the hell.   You don’t get involved with Patrick Kane to be bored.

“You’re on.”

Tell her?  Or don’t tell her?
I’m driving to Kristen’s house, wondering how much to warn her about my teammates.  They are my best friends.  They want to see me do well.  They are also over-privileged cavemen who will never believe for a second I’m not all up in this hot girl I see every day.  They know I fucked up royally and that she took me back.  They know I’m crazy about her.  So they obviously think she is my girlfriend.

Of course, I want her to be.  Maybe today’s the day.

I made the boys choose somewhere swanky so they couldn’t behave too badly.  And I made Jon agree to join us.  Kristen is no fool but I don’t need them rubbing her face in the way they party.  The way I used to behave.

I won’t warn her.  She knows.  She’ll do fine... gulp.

“Hey! You look great,” she says as she opens the door.

How I look is dumbstruck, with my mouth open and my tongue rolled out like a cartoon red carpet.  She’s wearing a scarf.  Well, I suppose it’s a dress in that it comes to mid-thigh and has holes for her arms.  But it’s one not-overly-large square of patterned silk tossed over her body like a bed sheet she’s barely wrapped in.  It shows nothing and yet it hints at everything.  Literally everything.  When she steps toward me I see that it is indeed quite short - a solid span of creamy thigh flashes as she moves.

It’s going to be a long night.

“You... you...,” I stutter.  She laughs.  “Let’s stay in.”

Kristen shakes her head.  “Nope.  Let’s go meet these friends of yours.”

Oh Jesus.

The silk makes a faint, watery rustling noise as she slides into the front seat of my car.  Her dress is orange with white, her shoes high thin heels in an almost nude color.  Endless legs, endless.

“You look incredible,” I finally find the words.  She leans over the console and kisses me, sliding her tongue across mine like she’s some kind of medieval torturer.  Then she settles back into her seat, crosses her legs at the thigh and laughs when I groan out loud.

As we walk into the bar, every head in the place turns and for once they are not looking at me.  We climb two steps into the VIP section and I nearly crash into Seabrook’s massive chest on his way to see her.

“Hi, you must be Kristen, I’m Brent, it’s nice to meet you,” he says all at once, like a puppy tripping over his own ears.

“Back off, Seabrook,” I joke lamely, not kidding at all.  Kristen gives me a shut-up-Patrick look and shakes his hand.  He drags her toward the Duncan and the bar.

“Shit, Kaner.  You shoulda left her for me.”  Jon appears behind me, in that one gray suit he always wears.  I order a drink from a passing waitress.  Kristen’s between Keith and Seabrook at the bar, they’re so tall-short-tall they look like a bar graph.

“She is your type,” I admit.

“By that you mean she’s too good for you?”

I nod.  That’s exactly what I mean.  Jon gives me a punch in the shoulder.

“You’re gonna have to give her my extra house key,” he says.  “‘Cause if you fuck up again she can come right over.”

I take slow sip of my vodka soda and pretend to listen to what Brent is saying.  I started watching his mouth to understand him over the loud music.  Then I got distracted by his lips and forgot to pay attention.  Duncan laughs, so I laugh too.  They’re so tall.

I shift my weight from one high heel to the other - good thing I wore them or I’d be like a child around here.  But the movement just serves to remind me I’m wearing next to nothing under a dress that’s little more than an oversized t-shirt.

Every slut Patrick ever picked up probably wore less than this, something with a high hem and a low cut.  I didn’t want to be that obvious.  But I also want his teammates to know that I am not some chick you keep at home while you run wild on the road.  I may not be a stripper but I can hang with the big kids too.  So I went for the sexiest thing I own, paired it with some skyscraper heels and underwear barely fit to carry the name.

Patrick’s hand slides up my arm.  Even as I follow his tug, I’m looking at Brent’s mouth over my shoulder.  He stops and I bump into his shoulder.

“Kristen, this is Jon,” Patrick says sarcastically.

“Ah, the best friend.”  I don’t know where the words come from but I doubt they cover my gawking stare.  Captain Seriously Fucking Hot, thank you very much.

“Pleasure,” Jon says, and it sounds like a promise.  Patrick makes a snotty face and clears his throat.  I drape my arm over Patrick’s shoulders and bet that every girl he ever brought around smiled at Jon the same way I am.

“You two going to behave if I go to the bathroom?”  Patrick doesn’t wait for an answer.  We both watch him till he’s out of earshot.

“So you’re the girl who’s going to make Kaner give up the wild life, eh?” Jon says it playfully, but those big brown eyes roll over my body just the same.  He’s very tall and looks sturdier than I would have guessed.  Patrick wasn’t the only one making good use of the off-season.

I try to focus the image of Patrick in my mind.  “That’s up to him.  You going to keep an eye on him on the road?”

Jon smirks like he’s learned a few things from Patrick over the years.  Like there’s nothing in it for him if Patrick keeps it in line, because then Patrick keeps me.  Who would have thought - Toews looking at me like I’m going cheap in the sales while Patrick Kane worships the ground I walk on.  These guys are full of surprises.  And shit.

“On second thought, don’t,” I tell Jonathan.  “I trust you guys about as far as I trust that slut with the cameraphone.”

His smirk becomes a genuine smile and I know that he, like Patrick, is not used to being called out on his shit.  These guys really do get away with murder.

“There’s one difference between us,” he says, leaning in like it’s a secret.  “I always finish what I start.”

I laugh.  It’s a nervous, gut reaction but I burst out laughing at his sexual innuendo.  It doesn’t match his public personality or the little boy face, but it definitely goes with the look in his dark eyes.  Either Jonathan Toews is an undercover manwhore or he’s the smartest guy ever. Patrick saunters back up with a suspicious look on his face, wondering why we’re both cracking up.  I wish I knew.  Toews either just asked to sleep with me or he gave me a gift.  Well maybe both would be gifts.  But his argument is invincible - and it’s aimed at Patrick.  

Treat her right, or I’m taking her for myself.

The best friend, indeed.

Friday, September 16, 2011

chapter twenty

This isn't the end, but I'm going away for the weekend. More in a few days!

As soon as the conference wraps up, I do what girls do best in awkward situations - I hide in the bathroom.  It’s easy to hear the press tromping out and I wait an extra five minutes, then stick my head back inside.  Patrick is sitting on the table, swinging his feet in an otherwise empty  room.

“Hey.”  He uses his hands to push off the table, dropping to the floor in front of the stage.  I expect him to wince at the pressure on his wrist but he doesn’t even flinch.  He just stops where he lands.  “You came.”

I nod, bobbing my shoulders too.  A full-body nod.  Now that I’ve done it I’m not sure what to say about it.  He looks nice, clean cut; dressed like a regular guy going to an office job.  I stop alongside the front row of chairs, it’s close enough.

“Thank you,” Patrick says.

“You were doing so well,” I shrug.  “They should know it.”

I can tell he wants to walk toward me - his heels lift and he bounces on the balls of his feet.

“I could do well again.”

Thank God for the chair beneath me or I might have sunk to the floor.  I drop into it like a balloon collapsing.  Patrick steps forward and hesitates, unsure of which seat to take - step, stop, step.  He settles on three chairs away and turns toward me.  His arm extends along the top of the chair backs, just shy of touching my shoulder.

Just out of reach.

“What can I do?  Please, Kristen.  I want this.”

His fingers twitch in the last empty inch of space between us.  Patrick hangs his head a little as he talks, like he doesn’t want me to get a full view of the pain in his eyes.

“I know, Patrick but for how long?  And under what circumstances?  I can’t be afraid to let you out of my sight.  You’re on the road so much and....”

“All the time.  I want this all the time and I need to be more in control all the time.  On road trips the guys will back you up - Tazer already wants to kill me for what I did.”

He tries a smile and I give him half back.  The idea of Toews badgering Patrick like a school principal is funny in any situation.  But it’s not enough.

“But I can’t rely on them.  You talk about being in control, well you have to be the one doing this.”  My voice gets a little quieter before it asks for a lot.  “I have to be able to trust you, Patrick.”

The movement ripples down the row of chairs, one jostling the next, shaking the seat I’m in as Patrick slides across until he’s right next to me.  I can’t look at his face, so he leans in a little and speaks closely.

“I know I hurt you, Kristen.  I know I did the worst possible thing and I don’t deserve another chance.” He uses his healed left hand to tilt my chin up, then brings his other hand up to my cheek.  It’s the first time he’s ever really touched me with both hands.

“But remember the night we met?  When you already knew I was a fuck-up and for some crazy reason, you decided to try anyway?”

I want to tell him that’s exactly why I can’t do it again.  That limb was precarious enough and it broke, I’m not willing to climb again when I don’t even know what I was after.

But that’s a lie.  I was after the chance.  The chance that I could take a chance, that it might work, that maybe it wasn’t me after all.  I was after something that felt like this does: solid.  Even when it hurts.  

“Please,” he says so softly that I’m surprised to find him right against my ear.  His face is alongside mine and turned down.  Heat radiates from him like it’s trying to pull me under, the hypnotize me.  My body aches.

“Patrick.  I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.”  He brings his eyes up to mine - they are clear as water, nothing to hide.  “Just try.  We can go all the way back to the beginning and I will prove it to you, Kristen.  I will earn your trust back.”

“I disappointed you, and I let myself down too.  I promised you the bad things were over and I was wrong.  Let me try to make it right.”

Kristen sits so still I think she might be made of glass.  She may as well break a piece off and stab me for how raw and bloody I feel.

There’s nothing left for me to say.  I could keep talking, keep apologizing for hours but it would mean the same thing.  If I had any balls I’d leave now and let her think, the way I did this morning.  But I’m too scared she might not turn up again.  So I hover there, close without touching, and wonder if she can hear my heart pound.

She looks down; long eyelashes flutter against her cheeks.  Please don’t cry, I think.  Anything but that.  She blinks once and lifts her eyes slightly.  I let everything show on my face, every ounce of apology and hope.  Kristen will see me and she’ll know what I mean every word.

But her gaze only moves to my lips.  And then her mouth follows.

It’s a hard, panicked kiss.  She’s forcing herself to do it.  She’s dropping everything and stepping over it to reach this point.  I slide my hands - both of them now - into her hair and hold on to that.

“Baby,” I say when she finally lets up on the pressure.  There are tears in her eyes, our foreheads almost touch.  I press my lips back to hers, intending to be quick but sure.  Only Kristen is more sure.  She opens her mouth and pulls me in to a real kiss.  It’s like a tidal wave and I swim, hauling her right into my lap as if she weighed nothing.  Her arms slide around my shoulders and we are hot and heavy, instantly.

“Go,” I croak.  “We gotta go.”

Without a word she takes my hand and we fly down the hallway.  The place is nearly empty now.  Three minutes later my tires squeal against the pavement.  Kristen holds my hand on the gearshift, but looks away out the window.

“Do you have to go back to work?”  Please say no.  Please say no.

She smiles to herself.  “I’ll have to make it up to my boss.”

“We’ll get Tazer to bring her coffee tomorrow.”

Her laugh is magic.  “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

I take us home as quickly as I can.  In the elevator, we both squirm instead of touching. Even this security camera footage could end up somewhere - Old Me was warned once or twice by the building management.  That little ding takes a hundred years to sound our arrival.

I have every intention of throwing her against the wall inside the door.  But she’s quick - all that running paid off - and three steps ahead.  As she moves through the living room, she pulls her blue silk top off and throws it across the room.  By the time I have my tie off, she’s hopping out of her pants while maintaining forward motion.  Right into the bedroom.

At the door, I stop.  Kristen stands at the foot of the bed in just her dark blue bra with pink polka dots and plain blue underwear.  Her hair is tousled, her posture playful.  Then she smiles.  Someday, maybe long from now, I will tell Kristen that I love her.  This is the moment I’ll be referring too.

With a little ‘whoop!’ she dives onto my bed.  I’m right behind her.  We roll around giggling and grappling for a minute until we go still, breathing hard.  Kristen tilts up onto an elbow and sets her chin on my chest, looking at me.

“I’m not giving up this easily,” she says with just enough seriousness in her voice.

“I would be disappointed if you did.”

“I want to believe in you, Patrick.  I want you to be worth it.”  She gives me wide eyes that leave no room for mistakes.  “Please be worth it.”

It’s so easy to move her with two good hands.  She lands atop my body with her lips to mine, already kissing before she’s come to a stop.  I turn us over and take advantage of every soft curve she has to offer.  My thigh slides between hers, then presses her legs apart as it slides home.  She hooks her calf over and grinds her hip against my growing need.  

“Baby,” I say, working my mouth down her neck, across her chest.  I unclip her bra and lift that softest of skin to my lips.  The nipple tenses quickly beneath my tongue, not half as hard as I am.  The soft round shape traces away before I slide my kiss down her ribcage and into the hollow at her side.  She smooths her fingers over my short hair, tracing the hairline across my neck, around my ears.  Her fingers grip at my tendons and pressure points.  Every touch reverberates through my entire body.

Gently, I hook fingers into the soft fabric of her panties.  I have to grind my lap into the mattress to keep from coming as the cotton slides free of her hips.  She lifts her butt and lays naked before me.  Feels like our first time all over again.

“Kristen,” I kiss the inside her knee, then a little higher.  She giggles.  My thumb rubs deeply at the arch of her foot, so small in my hand.  “I think I owe you one from last time.”

“You owe me a lot of ones.”

“Well, please,” I move my mouth higher along her creamy thigh, “make sure I pay you back.”

She is silky under my tongue.  I slowly draw it along the length of her slit and revel in the hissing sound she makes, the way she bucks toward my mouth.  Her hips fall back to the mattress and before I can go again she says, “With interest.”

Holy fuck.

Patrick has me seeing stars in seconds flat.  He flicks my clit with his tongue before rolling it against my groove.  When he does it again, one finger slides inside me.  I’m so surprised I moan like a whore.  Of course he does it again, with two fingers.

His slightly rough fingertips find the most sensitive places. That tongue does the rest.  When he moves them in unison I can’t help but roll my ass against the bed.  With a twist of his head, Patrick is licking across me instead of along and I squeeze against his hand.  The vibration from his laugh nearly makes me scream.

They rhythm is quick - I don’t think he’s going to make it very long either.  But he pulled that trick on me last time and is doing a fine job of making up for it now.

His short hair is bristley under my palms.  Wide shoulders work my thighs open.  Patrick stops with his fingers, leaving me empty, and goes hard for my little button.  My hips flick and grind.  I am so close, if he’d only...

“OhGodplease,” I hear in my own voice.

That laugh again, so evil, tears across my body like wildfire.  One more of those and I’ll be screaming his name instead.  But Patrick keeps licking and sucking and rolling until I’m shaking.  My eyes close themselves.  My hands lock onto his scalp.

I’m going over.  Just hanging in midair waiting for gravity to arrive when he thrusts those two fingers back inside me and I drop like a rock.  I come so hard I wail.  His fingers and mouth catch it all, still working for every last drop of my orgasm.  Finally I float the last foot to the ground, shuddering, as he pulls from from my body.

Patrick presses his lips to my forehead and uses his knees to spread mine wide.  I am not going to get the chance to catch my breath.

I can’t help myself - I’m scared and exhilarated, buzzing like a live wire.  Kristen is gasping for air with my name on her tongue and I taste the sweetness of this one small victory.  

There have been a lot of girls.  Everyone knows it.  But what they don’t know, what even the girls don’t know, is the way I am with other girls.  They all think they’re special, working so hard and showing off.  It’s fun.  It’s empty.  

This is different.

I look at Kristen - actually look into her eyes.  There’s life there, and confusion, relief, fear.  She’s a real person in three dimensions; maybe four if you consider how lucky I feel.  I can’t tell her how rare she is, but some twisted part of me hopes that she knows.

Her dark eyes never leave mine, just pool with heat as I lower my body into place.  My tip grazes her slick spot and we both draw a tiny breath.  Then I push just enough to open her door.  Her head nods slight permission, so I take another step instead.  Already my head swims.

With her eyes still open, Kristen kisses me the way she did in the conference room.  The kiss that says do this now.  Before I talk myself out of it.  I want this more than I want to be right or sure or anything other than here with you.

Slowly I sink into her body.  The dark heat and the tight squeeze are exquisite, the height of sensation.  All the blood in my body fights to be closest to her and I feel lightheaded as I come to rest inside her.  She sighs quietly, letting out the breath she didn’t know she was holding.  My body draws earns another inch from her, and then there’s no more.

Kristen strokes my back with open palms, over my hips and sinks her fingers into my backside.  It’s time.

I slide myself along her lower body, coming out almost all the way, before ringing back in like a cash drawer sliding closed.  It’s the perfect combination of push and pull, I can’t decide which feels better.  Her hands pull me back in against.

“Oh God,” Kristen whispers as she raises her hips to meet me.  She wasn’t kidding.  That one little swing runs her body over my cock like two hands twisting.  I bury my face in her neck and moan.  She does it again, twisting harder, then again, twisting the opposite way.  I sink my teeth into soft skin to stop the sound

Together we move faster, then harder, then both.  She sobs out tiny breaths as I ramp up speed, driving them from her lungs every time our bodies crash together.  The slap of her ass against my thighs rings out.  Her hands move to my biceps and she does her best to bruise me where everyone can see.

I hope she does.

My chest falls against hers and my arms wrap behind her back, holding her upper body off the mattress.  She holds me too, and nips at my earlobe as I drive my need home at a new angle.  Her ass is wedged beneath me, her legs spread wide and I’m holding her down onto my cock.  She breathes in my ear.

“So good.”

I want to pull her on top.  I want to flip her over and flatten her down.  I want to stand her up, tie her up, lift her up.  But I can’t bring myself to do anything other than hold her down and ride her hard.  Her hips buck faster, shortening their stride, and her pussy pounds against my shaft.  Thank God, I almost say out loud.

Instead I grunt, “baby” and encourage her my hammer home the deepest thrusts yet. Two, three and she’s moaning low.  Using her arms around my waist, she holds herself as still as possible and gives me a great big target.  Six, seven...

“Patrick.”  It’s all breath and maybe she doesn’t even say it, because it curls from her throat into a noise that’s half-pleasure, half-pain.  The sweet suck of her body goes slack, then locks down tight and twists the roof off.

“Ohhhhfuck.”  I don’t make it through the first wave of her orgasm before mine bursts so hard I nearly faint.  With another muffled obscene comment into her neck, I drain three hot loads of every emotion I’ve ever felt right into her core.

Beneath my lips, her pulse races.  My own heartbeat throbs through my entire body.  The edge of sleep is right there, blissfully pulling me over, but not yet.

I grin up at Kristen and she smiles back.  There’s a tiny hint of hesitation in the way her lips draw tight.  You’d only know that if you’d see her real smile before.  If you’d had that, once, and screwed it up.  This smile is my second chance, my hill to climb.

I kiss it, and the smile that follows.