Touching Down

by Nicole Williams

  “You’re the last person I had sex with.” I thought I’d spelled it out pretty solidly before.

  His face ironed out, blinking like he was just waking up. “Does that mean . . .?”

  I sighed. “I haven’t had sex in seven years? Yeah. That’s what it means.”

  Glancing behind the counter, I made sure the owner and cook, who’d generously agreed to let us stay late, were still way in the back and preoccupied with something other than the conversation happening at the two end counter stools.

  Grant leaned closer, his head moving just outside of mine. His breath was just rushed enough to notice. “Are you saying I’m the last man you’ve had inside you?”

  His words surprised me, sending a shiver winding down my spine. I didn’t want him to know that his question or his proximity or his labored breaths were affecting me, but they were. I was feeling very, very affected in certain locations of my body.

  “I think that’s the general definition of sex, yeah,” I answered, glancing down to make sure my nipples weren’t showing through the thin material of the dress. Thank god I’d gone with the thicker lined bra, because Grant’s eyes followed mine a moment later.

  When my gaze dropped to a certain spot on his body, I found his own arousal not so easily disguised. It made the inhale I’d been taking sound more like more of a gasp than a breath. He knew what I was looking at, he knew what was on display, and he didn’t do anything to adjust or hide it. He wanted me to know. He wanted me to see.

  Realizing that sent a rush of pleasure through my body, pooling between my legs.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Ryan.” His head nuzzled my neck. “I should probably ask permission, but fuck, I don’t want to, because I have to kiss you. Whether you think it’s a good idea or not.”

  My arms went limp, my legs following, but it wasn’t from the disease; it was from the sickness I had for this man. The one that crippled me. The one that paralyzed me. My eyes squeezed closed when his face came around in front of mine. “You don’t want to kiss me, Grant.”

  “Like hell I don’t.” His words were hot on my lips.

  “You don’t want to do this.” I shook my head, trying to pound some sense into one of us because my god, this man had worn the sense right out of me with a few words and touches. If I stalled long enough, I was hoping one of us would realize how foolishly we were behaving. “You might want what I am now, but you’re not going to want the me in ten years. In five years. I won’t let you take on that burden.”

  “Do I look scared?” He waited for me to open my eyes before continuing. “Do I look like I flinched?” His hand gently curved around the side of my neck. “Do I look like I’m going anywhere?”

  My vision started to blur, but I held the tears back. “You don’t want to kiss me. I came back so you could have a relationship with our daughter, not so we could pick back up where we left off.”

  “I’ve got other plans, and it’s okay.” His eyes turned playful, a challenge settling in them. “Because you’re going to kiss me.”

  My mouth fought a smile. “What makes you so sure?”

  His brows bounced. “Because you’ve never been able to resist me when I give you a certain look. You know the one. Cocked brow, crooked smile, suggestive eyes? That look. Drove you wild every time.”

  I did my best to look unimpressed, but holy smolder, the look was pretty damn impressive. “Please. That look?” I tsked, waving at him dismissively.

  Before my hand had barely moved, he’d trapped it in his and tied it behind my back, right as his mouth crashed down on mine. He didn’t move in slow, he didn’t ease me into the kiss. He kissed me for the first time in seven years the way Grant’s and my relationship had always been—hard and deep.

  It wasn’t his kiss that surprised me most though; it was the way I kissed him back. It was the way I didn’t hesitate, as though I’d been as ready for it as he had been.

  His lips moved fast and desperately against mine, his tongue less requesting permission than demanding it when it invaded my mouth, tangling with mine in an achingly familiar way. The harder he kissed me, the harder his hands pressed into me, sinking into my flesh until they felt as though they’d become a part of me. All I could do was find some place to grab on and hold on because Grant’s kiss did not come to an end soon. It felt as though it never might.

  Then, as quickly as he’d descended upon me, his mouth retreated, marking a few last kisses along the seam of my lips. His hands stayed where they were though, one pressed into the bend of my back, the other still adhered to the base of my neck. His eyes were alive when he leaned back, his lips wet and almost swollen-looking. His chest was rising and falling as hard as it had when we’d made love for the first time.

  God. Sex. I was desperate for it. After that kiss, I felt like I would have done anything to get it. From the look on his face, I knew he’d be willing to meet my need. Damn, from the mass still bulging through his slacks, I knew we were one zipper and a thin piece of material away from fulfilling that desire. It wouldn’t take me long. He’d probably barely get inside me before I’d start coming undone, but something was holding me back. Some reason why we couldn’t. Something more important than my sheer desperation to have Grant bend me over the closest available surface and fuck me until I couldn’t stand.

  Right then was when my arms surged with feeling, right before they shook involuntarily. Despite where I’d tied my hands behind Grant’s neck, my fingers came untied and my arms fell as my arms continued to shake out of control.

  This was why. This was my reason.

  I wanted Grant and all that came with him, but more than that, I wanted to save him from the pain that would come if we went any farther.

  As my arms were falling, Grant’s hands were suddenly there, his fingers winding around my wrists, keeping them in his hold. His grip didn’t loosen, his expression didn’t waver, and his eyes never left mine. He held me as my body rocked from the chorea.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned in, his grip tightening as the last of the spasm shuddered through my body. “So don’t even think about trying to push me away.”

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE you just went in for it like that after I’d downed a pound of onion rings.” The mood inside Grant’s truck was light, exuberant as we were heading back to his place. Something about that kiss had seemed to erase whatever measure of tension we were still keeping between us.

  “I like a girl who tastes like onion.” Grant kept a straight face as he turned onto the street his place was on.

  “And what was the deal about you waiting for me to kiss you? That wasn’t waiting patiently, FYI. That was the opposite of waiting and the opposite of patient.”

  Grant glanced at me. He hadn’t stopped smiling since we’d walked out of that diner hand-in-hand. Not even when we found a barrage of cameras waiting for us, taking what seemed like one thousand shots by the time Grant and I sped away from the curb.

  “Well, you were taking too long. And I’d been patient for seven years. I didn’t want to wait another seven seconds.”

  “Clearly not.”

  Grant waited for the gate to open, then pulled into the driveway. Most of the lights were off inside the house, but hundreds of lights were spread around the grounds, lighting up the gardens and walkways and fountains. Driving up to his house at night like this made it feel like we were pulling up to some ancient European castle.

  “I’ve got a home game this Sunday. I was wondering if you and Charlie would like to come to it.” Grant kept his gaze fixed out the windshield, even after we’d pulled up in front of the door. It was like he was almost nervous, unsure what my answer would be.

  “Are you kidding? Charlie was just begging me to go to your next game, so yes, please. We’d love that.”

  He exhaled, his shoulders falling like he was relieved. It was strange how confident he could be, sometimes to the point of arrogance, but the most unexpected of things would render him unsure. “Great. I�
��ll let the team owner know to expect you two on Sunday.”

  “The team owner?” I twisted in my seat after unbuckling.

  “Yeah, I’ll get you a couple of special passes, and all you’ll need to do is go to the team owner’s box when you show up and there’ll be seats for you.” He turned off the engine and twisted in his seat too.

  “We don’t need to sit in the owner’s box. Those folding chairs out in the grandstands will work just fine.”

  Grant shook his head emphatically. “No way. The media knows your face. Probably plenty of fans would recognize it on game day. I’m not letting you and my daughter sit out in the stands unless I put a team of security guards with you. And by security guards, I mean they were mercenaries in their previous job and have fifty pounds of muscle on me.”

  “Grant”—I blinked—“you’re being paranoid.”

  “No, I’m being realistic.”

  “I’m sure all of the other player’s girlfriends or families sit in the stands,” I argued, not understanding why he was being so difficult on this.

  “Yeah, most of them do,” he said, loosening his tie like it was suddenly choking him. “But none of them are Grant Turners’ girlfriend or daughter.” Before my brow got halfway up, he continued, “And before you accuse me of thinking mighty high of myself, it’s not that. It’s not arrogance talking, it’s common sense.”

  Instead of arguing right back, I took a moment to consider what he was saying. I knew what he was saying had merit. He was one of the most stalked, interviewed, and photographed players in professional sports today. By default, anyone associated would be victim to the same kind of scrutiny. I didn’t want to worry about Charlie having to dodge a camera in her face all day long, but I didn’t want her to start down the slippery slope of thinking she was above everyone else because her dad’s name carried a certain degree of clout in the upper stratosphere.

  “Not to mention if anything happens to you, during the game”—Grant’s tone filled in the dot, dot, dot—“it’s going to be much harder to explain it to the whole nation than it will be to a handful of mucky-mucks in the owner’s box.”

  He had me. He knew he had me too.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to my first professional football game and sitting in an owner’s box. No one will ever believe I was born and raised in The Clink again.” I let out a sigh and tried looking defeated, but really, I was thankful Grant had given this so much thought. He’d put twice the amount of thought into it than I had, and he was right, this was the best option.

  “Aren’t you going to park this in the garage?” I asked when he crawled out of the cab. “Wouldn’t want to get water spots on it if it sprinkles overnight.”

  Grant motioned for me to wait when I started to open my door, then he jogged around to open it himself. “This is a date. That means I drop you off in front, walk you up to the front door . . .”

  He took my hand and helped me out, grinning all goofy-like when the hem of my dress slid up my legs as I crawled out.

  “Give me a good night kiss?” I added as I let him take my hand.

  He peered over at me, brow raised. “Or a good night something.”

  Giving him a light shove, I tried not to pretend that a good night something sounded as appealing to me as it did to him. “I never should have told you it’s been seven years since my last time.”

  “Yes, you definitely should have.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He grinned at the ground. “Because I can use that knowledge in my favor.”

  “How does knowing that work in your favor?” I angled toward him as we climbed the stairs together.

  After we’d stopped in front of the door, he turned and pulled me closer. “Because I know how bad you need it now.”

  The skin on the back of my neck raised, my lips parting from the acceleration of my breath. “How do you know it’s not a case of the longer you go without it, the less you need it?”

  Grant glanced at the door like he was making sure it wasn’t going to open. I knew from the last text Mrs. Kent had sent me that Charlie had gone to bed a little before ten and that Mrs. Kent was spending the night in the guest room on the other side of Charlie’s room.

  “No,” he said at last, his head slowly shaking. “Not with something like that. Not with someone like you.” Grant moved closer, not stopping until his chest was pressing into mine, walking me backward until my back ran into the wall. “In fact, I bet you’ve gone so long, I could barely touch you and you’d fall apart in my arms. Am I right?”

  My chest was brushing against his, my legs feeling weak from what was happening. Or what was about to happen. Or what I was imagining was about to happen.

  “No,” I whispered, “you’re not right.”

  His eyes called me out. “There’s only one way to know who’s right.” He kissed the outside of my neck before lightly sucking on my earlobe.

  The moan he drew from me seemed to sweep across the entire estate. My hand clamped over my mouth, but he pried it away.

  “No. I don’t want you stifling the sounds you make for me. I don’t want you trying to hide anything I’m about to pull out of you right here against this wall.” Holding my wrist, he slid my hand up the wall until my arm was fully extended above me. The stone was still warm from the sun, heat seeping into my skin. “Give me your other hand,” he ordered before sinking his teeth into my lobe.

  The sensation made me jolt against him, but all he did was press his body into mine harder until I felt trapped between two walls of stone. When I lifted my other hand for him, he gathered it up in his hand with my other wrist. The task of winding around both of my wrists was no challenge for hands the size of his.

  Once he had me pinned, he rocked his hips into mine, practically lifting me up the wall. His hard length settled right where I needed it, the heat of him transferring through the thin layers of material keeping us apart. Another moan escaped from my mouth, but this one was more a cry of pleasure. He was right. He’d barely have to touch me.

  His other hand moved from the bend of my hip to reach something above us.

  “What are you doing?” I breathed, my ribs feeling as though they’d crack from the way my heart was pounding.

  “Unscrewing this light bulb,” he said, right before the wash of light disappeared and darkness moved in around us. “And after that, I’m getting you off.”

  “Why?” My eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark, making his touch that much more intense.

  “Because I don’t want anyone else to see you like this. No man besides me ever has, and I’m going to make damn sure no other man besides me ever does.” His hips pitched into mine again, and this time, I could feel my orgasm.

  My head rolled back as my back arched, trying to create more friction between our bodies. “You’re still a possessive bastard.”

  I felt his head nod against mine. “Of you?” he whispered in my ear, grinding against me once more. “Always.”

  That was all it took. My body went rigid right before the whole world went on fire, my body right along with it.

  Grant held me tight, his body moving against mine like it would have if we’d really been fucking, drawing my orgasm out until my legs were shaking and incapable of holding me up any longer.

  A minute later, I hadn’t come close to recovering. Grant never let go of me—he just held me close, catching me when I fell back down to Earth.

  “Ryan?” The way he said it, the timing of it . . . I knew what was coming.

  My head shook against his. “I don’t want you to fall in love with a walking corpse.”

  He kissed my neck, slowly lowering my wrists down the wall. “Too late.”

  My eyes burned. “Don’t.”

  His face moved in front of mine, lowering so they were level. Despite the darkness, the look on his face was as clear as day. “Like hell I won’t.”

  “WE ARE SITTING in the owner’s box. The New York Storm’s Owner’s Box.” Charlie shook
her head for the countless time that day, looking like it still hadn’t registered, despite Grant and me telling her a thousand times each where she’d be sitting this Sunday. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Well, your dad is Grant Turner, but he only put us up here because he wanted to keep us safe, okay? This isn’t about special privileges or being better than anyone or anything like that, okay?”

  “Yeah, Mom. I heard you the first ten thousand times.” Charlie grinned at me, clutching my hand like she’d promised as we wove through the insane crowd of Storm fans a little before kick-off.

  Grant had left a few hours earlier to get ready for the game, and it was strange to think that the very player thousands of people were about to be chanting for was the same one we’d just played a game of charades with while eating pancakes and eggs.

  “I don’t think I’m better than anyone. But I do think I’m a bigger football fan than anyone, so really, who better to give a seat to in the Storm’s Owner’s Box, right?” Charlie’s eyes were twice their normal size as we continued through the maze of people and smells and sights.

  When I noticed a Storm vendor up ahead, I steered us in that direction. Grant had already loaded her up with everything Storm imaginable, from bed sheets to earmuffs, but I wanted to get her something all on my own. I wanted her to have something to remind her of this first game we got to go to together when . . .

  When things changed.

  “What do you want?” I motioned at the loaded cart of black-and-grey Storm paraphernalia and waited.

  “Like, anything?” Charlie’s eyes went wider still.

  “Like anything.” I knew my attempts at keeping the kid grounded had been successful when she started acting like getting to pick out a twenty dollar stocking cap was the jackpot when she lived in a mansion on one of the wealthiest streets in the nation.

  How different her life would be from mine. How different it would be from her father’s.

  Knowing that couldn’t have made me happier. She’d have to deal with enough of my past without having to know what it felt like to try to fall asleep while being kept awake by a rumbling stomach or the sound of your mother getting beaten by a boyfriend or a drug dealer she owed.