Page 92 of Changing the Playbook
“Be specific.” She tightens her grip, and I brace against the wall.
“That first night. How you looked spread out on your bed, so goddamned perfect I forgot how to breathe. The sounds you made when I was inside you. How tight you were. How perfectly you fit against me.”
She presses closer, her free hand tracing patterns on my chest. “What else?”
“I think about having you everywhere. Against my apartment door because I can’t wait. On my kitchen counter while dinner burns. In my bed for hours until neither of us can form words.” The fantasies spill out uncensored. “Everywhere.”
“Mike…” Her breathing matches mine now, ragged and desperate.
“I think about waking up with you. Making you come before you’re fully conscious. Hearing my name while you’re still half-asleep. Everything, everywhere, all the time, for as long as you’ll let me.”
She gasps, her hand moving faster. “I want you inside me right now.”
“Condom,” I manage, because apparently some part of my brain still functions.
“Bedroom. Top drawer.”
We exit the shower, leaving puddles across her bathroom floor, but neither of us cares. I follow her to the bedroom, where she tears through the drawer with urgency that matches my own, finally producing a foil packet with a triumphant sound that shouldn’t be as adorable as it is.
I watch as she rolls it on, and the confident way she handles me makes my chest tight with something deeper than lust. “How do you?—”
She cuts me off by backing me toward the wall. Apparently vertical surfaces are becoming our thing, not that I’m complaining. Wordlessly, she hooks one leg around my hip, arms circling my neck. I lift her easily, her back against the wall, both legs locked around my waist.
And when I slide into her, we both freeze.
It’s deeper this way, more intense, her body taking me perfectly.
“Oh,” she breathes, nails biting into my shoulders. “That’s…”
Words abandon me. All I can do is hold her steady and fight the urge to lose it immediately. She uses the wall for leverage, rolling her hips in a way that whites out my vision. Her tightness. Her wetness. Her. It’s a combination so perfect that it destroys me.
“The vibrator,” she pants. “Can you?—”
I’m confused for a second, then I realize she brought it into the bedroom with us. I grab it from the bed, and she shows me exactly where to position it between us. The added sensation makes her eyes roll back, a string of profanity falling from her lips that I file away for later.
“Look at me,” I tell her, echoing my earlier demand. “Need to see you.”
Her eyes snap open, locking onto mine. What I see there stops my heart. Trust, complete and devastating. Want without reservation. Hope without fear. Trust without boundaries. A combination that looks dangerously close to what I feel every time I look at her.
“Mike,” she whispers, and it’s question and answer and prayer all rolled into one.
The vibrator hums between us, adding layers of sensation to every movement. Sophie sets the pace, taking what she needs, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than this, Sophie Pearson chasing her pleasure without apology or hesitation.
When she comes, it’s with my name on her lips and her face buried in my neck. Her whole body clenches around me in waves that trigger my own release. The pleasure slams through me with devastating force, making me grateful for the wall’s support because my legs have given up entirely.
“Holy shit,” Sophie breathes against my throat.
I manage something between a grunt and a groan as I carefully lower her feet to the floor, keeping my hands on her waist until her legs look steady. When she looks up at me, shelooks triumphant and content and utterlyfuckingdestroyed, and I love it.
“You OK?” My voice sounds wrecked.
“I’m… I don’t know.” She laughs, bright and genuine. “That was incredible.”
“Incredible good or incredible ‘what have I done’?”
“Definitely good.” She kisses me. “Though my neighbors might have opinions.”
“You weren’t that loud.” I brush wet hair back from her face.
