Page 126 of Cherry Picking

“You clinched,” I say.

“We did.”

“That’s very sexy. I want you to know I found that extremely sexy.”

“Yeah?”

“The defensive play more than the pass, actually.” I trace a line down the center of his chest. “You looked like you were going to die, and you did it anyway.”

He pushes my hair back from my face. “I was really hoping you’d come tonight. I think I wanted you there more than I wanted to win.”

My stomach flutters. “You did?”

“Don’t think I could handle another week of silence.” His thumb moves against my cheekbone. “I’ve been missing you so fucking badly.”

I could deflect. There’s a joke somewhere well within reach.

“I drafted you eleven different replies.”

He licks his lips. “Eleven.”

“That’s an approximate number, and I’d like it treated as such.”

“Hmm.” He’s smiling now, slow and pleased. “What did they say?”

“Mostly that the dog picture was a low blow.”

He smirks. “Please. It was just a dog.”

“You knew what you were doing.”

“I sort of knew.” He runs both hands down my sides and settles them on my hips. “Are we talking, or are you going to sit on me?”

“See, this is your problem. No patience.”

“I have been extremely patient. I’ve been such a good boy, haven’t I?”

“You lasted nine seconds earlier.”

“I lasted longer than nine—”

I take his dick in my hand, and he stops talking entirely.

Going slow is a decision I make on purpose. My knees shift wider on either side of his hips, and I hold him steady and sink down an inch at a time. He grips my hips but doesn’t push or rush me. Instead, he watches with his teeth in his lower lip, chest heaving.

“Oh, fuck—”

“Still with me?”

“Barely.”

I get all the way down and stay there, his hands flexing on my hips. “Look at me.”

“Oh, I’m looking.”

“Keep looking.” I start to move, watching his face do things I want to memorize. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He gets it about a second later, his throat working. “I’m right here. I’m staying here, baby. I promise.”