by Mariah Dietz
Where I’m physically aching. My breasts. My nipples. My waist. Somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. I’m so desperate to feel him I don’t even care if it’s on my legs. I just want to feel him against me, watch the way he looks at me as he touches me, as though mesmerized by the act.
I can feel his smile as he kisses my neck. “Stop thinking, it’s just me. I know you want me. Your breasts are heavy. I know that you’re wet and aching and waiting for me to slide my fingers inside of you and make you come. All you have to do is tell me if you want me to finger fuck you or play with your gorgeous tits.” He dots a line of kisses over my shoulder and then straightens, eyes hooded as he looks at me, waiting for my direction.
“I want your hand between my legs.”
A slow grin stretches across his face, and he releases himself and methodically moves his hand, tracing over my seam, making my entire body tremble with desire and need, and then he stops, applying only enough pressure to feel like torture.
“Pax,” I growl, my entire body on fire, my muscles strained and threatening to snap. I move my hips over his hand, trying to create the friction I’m so desperate for.
He kisses my mouth, sliding his tongue between my lips and fucking my mouth, making my entire body jealous. Then he presses against my core and moves his fingers over my slit, making me gasp and moan as I feel the quick fissures of pleasure easing that ache. He kisses my lips. “Do you want me to finger you?”
“God, yes,” I say, tipping my head to the side, wanting his mouth on me, but too distracted to kiss him.
“Tell me,” he says, obliging and kissing my neck.
“Finger me, Pax. Please. God, now.”
He circles my clit through my underwear, then grabs the lacy material and slips them down my legs, leaving them to pool at my ankles. He slips his fingers over me, tracing circles over my entrance in a slow and teasing pattern. “You’re so wet,” he says. “God, I want you.” He growls and kisses my neck, his teeth intensifying the sensations, and then he moves over my clit, and I can hear my desire as he traces back over me and slides his finger inside of me. I moan, arching my back, wanting to feel every part of him.
“Turn around, put your hands on the bed.” His voice is a demand, a tone that anywhere else would have me furrowing my brow and asking questions, but here without clothes or rules, it’s so ridiculously sexy that I don’t question it. Instead, I do what he asks.
Pax places his hand on the globe of my ass, kneading his fingers into my flesh, and then slides his other hand between my legs, rubbing over my clit in a mind-bending pattern that has my legs struggling to maintain my weight as my muscles start to tremble. I am so close to coming, but before the pleasure swallows me, he moves his hand to my entrance and slips two fingers inside me, a delicious wave of pleasure ripples through me that has me raising my hips to get a better angle and feel him. He slips his fingers in and out of me, my breaths growing ragged as I climb back to that pinnacle right before an orgasm, but once again, he stops.
“Paxton,” I beg.
He leans over me, kissing along my spine. “Tell me what you want,” he says.
“I want to come,” I tell him, my voice treading on frustrating and desperate.
He presses another kiss to my back. “That’s my girl.” His fingers play me like an instrument that he’s been playing his entire life—like he knows every note, every secret. I fist his sheets, my body vibrating, fearful he’s going to stop again and also fearful he won’t and that this pleasure is going to end because this feeling of being on the edge of bliss and the after is so damn addictive and consuming that I never want it to end. Then he moves his hand from my ass to my clit, while he’s still fingering me, and the world turns dark, and I see stars as I cry out my release.
I’m pinned against his bed, my face buried in his comforter as I try to recover when I hear the sounds of a condom ripping open, and I look over my shoulder at him, watching as he rolls it over his length. My breath hitches with anticipation that I’m going to feel that same wave of pleasure again.
He places a hand on my back, slowly drawing his fingers over me, reawakening every inch of my body, and drawing me to place my knees on the mattress. He kisses the middle of my back, then a little higher and higher until he reaches my shoulder, and then he presses against my entrance, pausing a moment.
I look over my shoulder again. He watches himself lower into me, and it’s the most erotic and sexy thing I’ve ever seen. I move my hips, and his gaze finds mine. He places his hands on my waist and controls every rhythm and thrust until pleasure has me dropping my head, his name leaving me like a mantra. His movements quicken and his fingers dig into me, his breaths are growls. The world spins, the pleasure so great I can’t recall ever feeling this good—this much—and then I tip and spiral as an orgasm rips through me. His thrusts grow harder, faster, carrying out my pleasure as his own builds and then releases.
I lie still, unable to move. My entire body feels warm and weak and sated. Pax kisses along my shoulder and spine, then he moves, his fingers sweeping over my back again as he takes a step back and fishes his pants off the ground. “Do you want my shirt?” he asks. “Caleb’s likely still downstairs.”
I stretch each of my muscles, unconvinced that they’re all still attached. “Please,” I say, turning and drinking in the sight of him, writing this moment in my head like a conversation I’d be telling myself in an attempt to better help me remember everything about this and him.
He pulls out a folded shirt and hands it to me. I slip it on and stand, my legs still tingling, then dig in my bag and grab my toothbrush and toothpaste and head into the bathroom. When I return, Pax kisses me before disappearing down the hall, and I cross another first off my list as I approach Paxton’s bed and crawl under the covers.
27
Poppy
“You two lovebirds look awfully happy today,” Dominic says as we walk into Mario’s Pizzeria.
“Hey, man,” Pax says, as we stop at the counter. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, you know, another day, another dollar.” Dominic smiles, but his tone is flat. “I’m going to go get some more pies ready for the lunch rush.”
“Does he ever not work?” I ask as we cross the short distance to our table.
Pax glances over his shoulder in the direction of where Dominic disappeared. “He got hurt a couple of years ago while snowboarding, and he’s got massive debt.” He expels a short breath. “It sucks because he’s such a good guy, and he’s smart and motivated, but that injury caused him to file bankruptcy, and it sounds like it really derailed his entire life.” He straightens a sign on the counter. “I’ve worried about that happening so many times. I mean, Lincoln’s my best friend, and Tyler is awesome, so I’m not trying to talk trash about them by any means, but they have a million backup options if shit fails, whereas if I don’t make it in football, my options become a nine-to-five for whoever is willing to hire a college graduate with little work experience.”
“Okay, first off, you did hear that sports announcer this morning, right? They’re predicting you to be in the top draft picks. They flat out said there’s no way you won’t be drafted.” I stare at him, feeling the pang in my chest for assuring him of something that could potentially be the end of us. It all feels so eerily familiar, giving Mike similar assurances about his college applications. “And secondly, if—and it’s a big freaking if—you weren’t drafted, which is like a one in ten billion, trillion chance, you’re smart, Pax. The world is your oyster. You could start a business or become a VP or whatever you want.”
His smile is borderline condescending. “Starting a business takes money. Lots of money.”
“Sure, but it doesn’t have to happen right away or in a year or ten years. You can learn on-the-job training and save.”
“In theory, sure. But Dominic is proof that theory has holes. He works his ass off and still can’t afford to pay his medical bills and rent.”
I glance back at t
he kitchen where Dominic is working, my arguments that hard work will prevail pausing on my tongue. “My mom struggles with this a lot. Even with insurance, therapy is really expensive, and not all insurances cover the service. That’s why she started her radio show. She pitched the idea for over five years before someone picked it up, but she wanted to help reach more people, knowing that while everyone has their own story, we all face similar obstacles and fears.”
I take another look at Dominic, feeling a myriad of emotions and thoughts. Paxton’s future seems endless and impossibly bright, and yet the thought almost condemns everyone who isn’t a football god.
The door opens, and there’s a familiar gasp as someone recognizes Paxton. He smiles and greets them, his humbleness and kindness once again tripping me up because they’re two of my favorite attributes of his, guaranteed to distract me.
The afternoon crawls. The restaurant is busy, and my thoughts are constant and loud, making studying difficult.
Raegan: You guys want to have dinner? We can do it at the apartment.
I glance at Pax, typing away on his laptop.
Me: That sounds good. Let me chat with Pax and confirm and I’ll get back to you.
Raegan: Tell him it’s chicken marsala.
“You want the last garlic knot?” Pax asks.
I shake my head. “No, thanks. But Rae just messaged and asked if we want to have dinner with her and Lincoln.”
He grins. “Are you going to stop overthinking our earlier conversation if we go?”
“I’m not—”
“I can hear your thoughts, they’re so loud.”
I sigh. “I just feel a little conflicted.”
Pax leans on the opposite side of the counter. “You don’t say?”
“You’ve worked so hard and have given up so much, all of you have. And then I think about Dominic who worked really hard as well—and still does—and Rae who works tirelessly, and it makes my head hurt because you’re right, it’s not just about working hard. I wish everyone could have their dreams met.”
A sincere and kind smile curves his lips. “Life isn’t all about money. I don’t want to get drafted just because of the potential payday. Football is my life. It’s what I know—what I’m good at. But, I know if it doesn’t happen, there will be other paths for me. I’m not worried and I don’t want you to worry. My mom used to tell us that bad things sometimes happen for good reasons, and after this experience with you, it seems like solid advice. I thought my chances to play and get drafted were null. My friends didn’t trust me, my coach didn’t trust me, Rae didn’t even trust me and that brought me to you. Sometimes the goal isn’t the dream that’s right for us.”
Those words could be song lyrics, an anthem that would be the soundtrack to my life. My goal to break out of my shell and gain confidence and begin dating again never occurred, but I’ve found so much more. “I might get my first tattoo with those words.”
His smile turns knowing. “Can I pick the spot?”
“Where would you put it?”
He hums as his eyes darken and he leans back in his chair. Confidence and lust roll off of him in waves that make me cross my legs. “I’ll need you in my bed to show you.”
“What about dinner with Rae and Lincoln?”
“We can reschedule.”
“How about we use my bed? Rae’s making your favorite, chicken marsala.”
Pax clamps a hand over his chest and sighs. “She wants us there.”
I nod.
“We should probably go, huh?” he asks.
“Probably.”
His grin turns devious. “Prolonged satisfaction?”
“You’re a master of it.”
His grin is sinister. “All I can picture is you naked.”
My gaze flits around the restaurant, ensuring no one’s listening to our conversation.
“I didn’t say it loud enough for anyone to hear. Trust me, the last thing I want to do is help implant the image of you naked in another guy’s head.” He leans a little closer. “That’s for me. All mine.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one here picturing me naked. Which, by the way, probably violates all sorts of health codes considering we're in a restaurant. Put my clothes back on that mental image you’re having.”
He chuckles. “After this morning, that’s going to be nearly impossible. I’ve got like two hundred fantasies that have been consuming my thoughts today.”
Desire teases at my stomach. “Was cake involved?”
He leans across the table, his lips so close to mine I can nearly feel the outline of them. “They do now.” He kisses me. “Text Rae and tell her we’ll be there. I’m going to say goodbye to Dominic and get us refills.” He gathers his computer and books and shoves them into his bag before sliding it over his shoulder and grabbing our empty cups.
I carefully place my books back in my bag and move to the counter to free our table now that it’s getting busy. My head is bowed as I text Rae when someone fills the seat beside me. It’s a guy who, under other circumstances, I’d probably think was attractive, with light brown hair, a strong chin, and a friendly smile. “Is this seat taken?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
“This restaurant’s my favorite new spot in town,” he says. “So many places don’t get the crispy crust, and this place has it down pat.”
“They’re really good,” I agree.
“I’m Oliver,” he says, offering his hand and a smile.
“Poppy,” I tell him, shaking his hand.
Pax appears, his gaze shifting from me to the guy beside me. I can’t read his expression, but can innately tell he’s neither angry nor amused.
I take a step back from the counter. “I hope you enjoy your pizza,” I tell the stranger.
He looks from me to Pax, who crosses the counter. “Yeah, you too.”
“I leave you alone for one minute,” Pax says, pushing the door open, a giant smile spread across his lips.
“I think he was just making small talk.”
“He was ready to ask for your number.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I can’t blame him. I’d flirt with you if I saw you.”
I laugh in response.
Pax hooks his arm around my shoulders, drawing me near, and kisses my temple. “How do you feel about me spending the night?”
“I feel like it should be listed under mandatory.”
The faint scents of the pizza restaurant follow us back to Paxton’s, where I gather my things from last night, and he packs a bag. I try to silence the small voice in my head that wonders if this is too much too soon. I know a honeymoon phase is normal and natural even. Hell, Rae and Lincoln are still in the thick of theirs, and it’s been nearly a year.
“This is really…” I lift the long stocking cap that sits on Paxton’s desk. “I’ve never seen you wear it.”
“My lucky Seahawks hat,” he says, shoving something into his duffle bag and then rolling his shoulders. He’s sore, but he says nothing. On Sundays, the team rests. After putting all their time and energy onto the field on Saturday games, they’re physically and mentally fatigued. I know firsthand from Lincoln staying at our apartment that he spends large parts of the day with ice packs and other hours napping.
“You have a lucky Seahawks hat?”
A grin flashes in his eyes. “I do.”
I chuckle, looking at the hat that likely reaches past his shoulders while on. It’s leprechaun green and white striped and has a football embroidered on the front. “You wear it whenever they’re playing?”
“Only when I go to their home games.”
“Do you go very often?” I ask, realizing there are still many things about Pax that I don’t know—things I haven’t been there for.
“Candace’s uncle is one of the assistant coaches, so he used to give us tickets.” His words are unfiltered, like he’s telling me about a class or a friend from the past. Instead of his long-term girlfriend, whose picture
is still face down in the frame on his desk.
Jealousy claws at me, wanting to be heard and voiced, but I shove it into that back corner of my mind that I’ve been working avidly to avoid and turn when Pax says he’s ready.
When we get to my apartment, Rae and Lincoln are in the kitchen, prepping to cook. “Hey,” Rae greets us with a smile.
The three of them discuss football and school and casual conversations that are filled with banter and require little from me, thankfully because my thoughts are like a coin circling a funnel as I consider why Pax still has so many things from Candace and why it’s bothering me so much.
It isn’t until we sit to eat that I realize the conversation is mostly running thanks to Rae and Paxton. Lincoln, like me, is quiet, but tonight, watchful is the most accurate way to describe him. Every time Pax or I move, Lincoln’s gaze follows, which grows increasingly uncomfortable. I wonder what Pax told him. I can tell he’s doubtful over whatever he knows, his gaze too intense. If Pax notices, it doesn’t deter him as he easily makes his way through conversation and dinner. To me, it feels like an audition. Yet, I can understand his reservations, considering how this situation started.
“I need to run to the store,” Rae says as we finish clearing the dishes. “We’re out of laundry detergent, and all of my uniform shirts are dirty.”
A pang of guilt hits me. It’s my fault. Rae and I split responsibilities and chores like a married couple. I do our shopping. I used to do it every Wednesday because I had a four-hour block in the middle of my day. Now, I spend that time at Mario’s Pizzeria and try to get shopping whenever I have time, which as of late hasn’t been much. “I’m sorry. I haven’t had time to go this week.”
Rae waves me away. “It’s not your fault, and it’s no big deal. Boys, you’re in charge of dishes. You want to come with me?” Her invitation to me only confirms that Lincoln’s acting strangely.
I don’t even take a glance at the boys as I nod. “Yeah. Let me grab my jacket.”
