Page 38 of The Girlfriend Game
Eighteen
Kendall
“I want inside, Kendall. Just let me inside.”
I hum in pleasure as the tip of his erection presses at my entrance, his body towering over me, large and hot.
“Do you ache like I do? I can fix that, baby. Let me fix it with my cock. I can make that ache go away. You want that, baby?”
An urgent and fervent need overtakes me as my hands map the length of his torso, delighting in the flex of his masculinity and strength.
My body reacts with eagerness, the wet slickness between my legs a clear indication just how aroused I am. He strokes his cock through my folds, each time a strangled moan escaping my lips. He slides through my wet center, his eyes boring into mine with dark lust, a sensual smile crossing his mouth. I convulse in pure desire as he glides over my sensitive clit with his firm girth.
“Look how hard you made me, baby.”
My gaze darts between us and a moan rolls off my tongue. The same tongue that explored and laved his hard cock moments ago. I lick my lips, bucking upward in greedy haste, needing him to fill this empty, throbbing void inside me.
“Please…don’t tease me. I need it.” I sit up and support myself on one elbow. The other hand wraps around the back of his thick neck, pulling him forward so I can steal a kiss, sealing his mouth with mine.
My lips part and his tongue sweeps over mine, thrusting and probing, mimicking the way he owns my body. Sucking the air from my body as white-hot desire surges through me as he finally…finally breaches my entrance, thrusting inside my awaiting body. Claiming me as his.
A curse breaks free from his throat, his voice hoarse with arousal.
“You’re mine, Kendall. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Damn the consequences.”
I wake up with a start, the material of my nightshirt clinging to my breasts, sweat dotting my forehead and upper lip. The remaining traces of an orgasm linger between my legs. I stare motionless up at the ceiling, trying to piece together what just happened in my dream-induced fog. I find my fingers inside my panties drenched with my release.
And then the remnants of the dream come rushing back to me and my belly tightens. Zeke’s face as he hovered over me, his expression languid yet eager. His arousal-drugged gaze staring down at me as he entered my body. The delicious drag of his cock over my swollen clit. The intensity of the sensation.
I shake my head and throw off the sheet, grumbling to myself as I pad into the bathroom, working to deny what I know to be true. The psychological impacts of this dream and the link between my subconscious state of mind and my conscious desires.
Being with Zeke would be a mistake.
Lies.
Splashing cold water on my face to rid myself of the flush that spread across my skin from the intensity of the dream and the wake of the orgasm, I stare in horror at my reflection in the mirror.
The conversation I had with my sister last week continues to pop up, like a mantra on repeat.
“The connection between you and Zeke happened outside of the boundaries of the patient-therapist relationship. It didn’t happen within it. So why are you resisting this?” she asked, scolding me in that way only a sister can do.
“I disagree. I think it’s classic erotic transference brought on by the Florence Nightingale Effect,” I argued, with very little conviction. I wasn’t sure even I believed my psychobabble.
Maybe my sister is right. Regardless of how we got here, Zeke’s and my relationship developed online when there was no indication of who we were talking to, without any ties to our patient/therapist association. Our intimacy was created outside the strange familiarity that naturally occurs between a patient and his or her psychologist.
But it still doesn’t make this thing easy and the very reason I’ve neglected responding to Zeke’s messages to me on Heart and Soul.
He’s been in Atlanta over the past week, volunteering at a charitable basketball camp for underprivileged kids. We’d talked about it during one of our sessions, when I proposed my philosophy on kindness. There is evidence to link the benefits an individual can receive when actively helping others. Showing human kindness produces a boomerang effect on mental health and well-being, which is why I’ve incorporated the work with the homeless and prisons in my Rush Method theory.
Hearing that Zeke got involved with this charity through his former teammates and friend, Rashad, makes me extremely proud to know he applied that lesson in his own life.
I wanted so badly to reach out and tell him how much I admired his servant spirit and appreciated the work he was putting into helping others. Whether he knew it or not, it will bring him a meaningful sense of purpose to his life and leave indelible impacts on the lives of those children.
But I know if I texted or messaged Zeke after I told him I needed time to figure this out, it would only confuse matters between us. I don’t want to lead him on.
For my own sanity, I’m also avoiding social media and keeping myself busy. If I even got a glimpse of or image of Zeke working with kids, I would inevitably melt. There is nothing more powerful to a woman’s ovaries than seeing a man with a child. So, I vowed not to check his Twitter account or search his hashtag to avoid succumbing to any mention of his big heart.
The outlet I didn’t account for was the news media.
