“I spent the whole day imagining you moaning onto me,” he tells me. “With your arms above your head, your breasts against my chest.”
“Is that all you think about?” I ask, letting a small smile creep across my lips.
I want to turn toward him, want to kiss him, let him claim my lips as his like he is my body, but he doesn’t let me.
“Every fucking minute. It’s been hell without you.”
“Even while you were training?”
“Especially while I was training.”
“Even while you were giving your interview?”
“I think he noticed.”
I laugh at the thought, Duncan sitting there with an erection while getting asked inane questions.
“You must be frustrated, then,” I say, gripping onto his manhood harder through the towel. I find the edge of the cloth, slip my hand inside, and there wrap my fingers around him.
“You have no fucking idea,” he breathes.
I start to slowly caress him, stroke his cock. I can feel his pulse in my fingers… or maybe it is my own racing heart? I can’t tell.
I bring my hand up and over his tip, feel a dab of wetness on my fingers. Slowly I rub my thumb against the back of it, and I hear him exhale slowly, know that what I’m doing makes him feel good. There’s one rule on fight nights: He can’t come. He says it helps his testosterone levels immediately before the fight.
“Do you enjoy doing this?” I ask him. “Even if you don’t get to—”
“Every fucking second.”
His hands move inward from my sides, cup my breasts, and I sigh as he massages them, kneads them hungrily. I feel the press of his teeth against the skin of my neck, the dab of his wet tongue.
“Some girls wanted to get in,” I say slowly. “They said they wanted to give you kisses for good luck.”
“Fuck those skanks,” he says, his voice deep. “I only want you.”
“Just me?”
“Just you.”
“But for how long?” I tease. “What about when I get older?”
“Then I’ll get old with you.”
I smile, push my head against his. “What if I don’t want you anymore when you’re older?”
“Well, tough shit because I’m not leaving you.”
He’s more emotional today, I can pick up on it. Maybe he senses the news, somehow. Maybe, on some intuitive level, he knows.
“You still don’t know what you do to me, Dee.”
“I can feel what I do to you.”
I take his hand, push it down over my belly, then lower, and he dips it below my skirt, brings it up, cups me.
I gasp at the heat in his palm. I feel it so acutely, and through my underwear he starts to rub me slowly, pull sighs and soft moans from my lips.
His body language, even just the aura of lustful energy he has speaks only of his desire for me, and it makes me feel so attractive, so wanted, makes me want him more in turn. He wants me bad… it’s not just fight nights. It’s every single night. Every waking moment.
I hear him inhale beside me. He always likes to smell me, right by my ear. I don’t wear perfume on fight nights because he doesn’t like me to. He says he loves the way I smell.
I know what he means. I love the way he smells, unmasked, unaltered, uncovered. I love to wear his gym hoodies… he thinks its gross because he sweats into them, but I like it. Maybe it is gross, but I don’t care.
He starts to rub me faster, settles into a rhythm, and he pulls back my hair again, turns me so we’re facing the full-body mirrors that line the wall.
With him behind me, his lips against my neck, his hand beneath my skirt, and all in clear view in the mirror… I never expected watching myself and him to be hot, but it is. It’s really hot.
“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he asks.
I nod.
“Say it.”
“I want you to make me feel good,” I say breathlessly.
Already I can feel my knees growing weak. Already I’m starting to sag in his arms as he plays me expertly, his chosen instrument.
My breathing quickens, my temperature rises, and in his arms I feel so safe, and in his arms I feel so wanted.
“Yes,” I hiss at him, letting my eyes fall shut. He rubs me slowly, drags his tongue up the skin of my neck, squeezes my breasts, plays me so deftly, sends a mild and budding pleasure thrumming through my body.
I squirm in his arms, push my ass back against him so I can feel his hardness. I’m his willing captive, letting him touch me, and he pulls soft moans from my lips, makes me feel those hints of bliss, behind which is the promise of so much more.
“Mmm,” I moan, and he bites the back of my shoulder, sends goose bumps erupting all over my body, and sends shivers shooting down to my toes.