Page 171 of Facing Off
I guess it works this way, he can shift to another position while he stays inside me. He teases a hand between my legs, where we’re joined together.
I clench, tipping my head back. “Why did you stop moving?”
“I’m checking,” he says, his voice frayed. “Are you—” He breathes in. “Am I making this good for you?”
“Hey, Adrian?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s my turn. To make it good for you, baby.”
He very nearly comes, his hands spasming on my body. “You called mebaby, Sonya?
I’m using the power of my legs, lifting myself up and down his cock. Our rhythm building, flesh meeting flesh, Adrian’s moans spilling freely. Shifting forward, I wrap my arms around his neck, threading my fingers through his impossibly soft hair. A light sheen of sweat beads on his forehead as his blue eyes lower and watch me ride him.
“Oh god, you feel so good,” he chokes out, his eyes glassy as his fingernails dig into my hips. “I’m g-going to lose it.”
“Lose it.”
He does and the sounds leaving his mouth are incoherent nonsense. And when he finishes, the feel of hisrelease gushing into me, tips me over. A shallower orgasm that feels so incredibly good, leaving me breathless like I’m lofting through the air.
Afterwards, cradled in his arms, we’re kissing each other and kissing some more. It’s going to be the kind of night where neither of us sleeps properly for too long, because we won’t want to.
We have sex again, momentarily rest speechlessly, then whisper to each other while we recover for a while longer. These bantering whispers.
“I want you in my mouth,” I demand.
“Be my good girl first. I’m licking your pussy.”
“Adrian.”
“Sonya!”
Fingers interlaced. More confessions.
“When you come into a room,” I try and articulate.
“When you grumble at me,” he tries to explain.
“When you say nothing and just smile,” I argue.
All half-sentences, unfinished. Mine more than his. He can say what he feels way more openly than I can, but I’m trying to show him. That I can’t be without him. If I’m his, he’s also mine.
67
ADRIAN
The first gameof the season, the Vancouver Wings are playing against the Stanley Cup defending champions. The whole stadium is abuzz, fans wondering who’s going to win.
During our pre-season games, we’ve picked up a lot of momentum. But today, we’re playing against the Denver Blizzards, the grittiest, most stacked roster in the league. They’ve been called a beacon of hockey excellence.
I breathe in, feeding off the energy crackling in the locker room.
“This is it,” I say loudly. “We have to prove to them we belong there on the ice. Our GM is watching, and we need to show him no one is fucking expendable on this team. To do that, it’s not enough to win. We have to dominate.”
I raise my hockey stick and bring it forward. Immediately hockey sticks descend, criss-crossing over mine.
“Together,” I shout.
