expression. “I’m seeing a therapist. That’s why I haven’t been in class.”
“I see.” She kisses my forehead. “I’m glad.”
“I think with the NHL looming, I’m losing my cool, but my guilt somehow makes it worse. If she’d lived, I’d be a dad right now.”
She grows still, and my breathing deepens, worried. She’s seeing it all, all the ugly, awful parts of me, but I can’t stop talking.
“Maybe I deserve the panic attacks. It’s like God saying, You can’t have the NHL because you ruined her life.”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
“That’s like telling the night not to be black.” My voice cracks.
She’s got her entire body wrapped around mine, her legs thrown over my thighs, and she alternates between rubbing my scalp and tracing the dragon on my skin. She toys with the medallion around my neck.
I turn to face her, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
“Don’t cry for me.”
She shakes her head. “Ignore me and just keep talking. Tell me about Willow.”
I freeze, and here it is—the opportunity. I swallow. “She was pretty and outgoing. She wanted to move to Hollywood and be an actress. Everyone loved her because she lit up a room when she walked into it.” My hands clench in my lap, trying to work up the nerve to finish.
Sugar holds my gaze, sincerity there. “I’m sorry.”
I close my eyes. Sugar has a way of saying the simplest things and they are just right. She doesn’t have to elaborate.
I ease down to lie back on her bed, and several minutes go by as we hold each other. My head—shit, my brain is urging me to tell her the one thing I’m holding back, the one thing that’s going to slay her when she finds out…
But maybe she’ll never know, I think as my hand rests on her stomach, flicking her belly ring.
“Z,” she whispers huskily as she squirms under my hands, her voice breathy. “I’m not sure if this is the right time, but…”
I flip over until she’s underneath me and I’m lying between her legs, my jeans already tight.
She’s pliant, her skin soft as silk as I remove her camisole and expose her breasts. Soft and round and creamy, they quiver as she breathes, her gaze daring me to take what I want.
I trace my fingers over the outline of her face and kiss her, my tongue dueling with hers, dancing and sparring until the past is gone, until all I see in my head is her. “Fucking you is everything.”
“Poetry, Z. Pure poetry.” She gives me a hot look and licks her upper lip, and I groan and take her mouth again as she says, “Fuck me. Please.”
“I love it when you talk like that. I’ll never get enough.” I suck on her tits, palming them. “I had a physical after my anxiety attack. I’m clean. Are you on something?”
“I’m on the pill, and I’m also disease-free.” She bites her lip. “I got tested after I broke up with Bennett.”
“Don’t say his name,” I growl and shove down my jeans and fight with them until they’re finally at my feet. I give them a good kick off to the floor.
Looking back at her with her blonde hair everywhere, my body quakes, throbbing with desire.
“Julia’s working,” she says as I slide my hand inside her shorts and find her pussy dripping wet.
“Too bad. That closet was hot,” I say, watching her squirm under my touch. She’s writhing, biting her lip, and her tits bounce as she moves her hips to keep up with my finger moving into her.
I can’t breathe for the thought of my bare dick inside her. Fuck, this intensity with her is scary, so new, and what if I do it wrong? What if I messed up already from the get-go with my lie of omission?
“What’s wrong?” she says, and I come back and kiss her.
“I don’t want to scare you, but I want you rough.” I bite my bottom lip on purpose and give her a heavy-lidded look. I know she likes it. “I want to hold you down so you can’t move. I want to make you come hard while I fuck you…”
Her eyes dilate.
I suck her nipples, moving from one to the other.
“I like it.” She moans as I bite down. “Do it. Do whatever you want, but I refuse to use coconuts as a safe word.”
My cock jerks and I laugh.
“Put your hands up around the headboard,” I say, and she does, excitement flashing across her face. Naked,