Melting into You

by Trentham, Laura

  He slipped out of her and fell to his back, his chest heaving. He shifted to grab a tissue and remove the condom, and when he settled back, he pulled her close, her breasts pillowed against his side. She ran fingertips along his chest, circling his nipples, tracing lines of ink and muscle.

  He flattened her hand on his chest with his own. His heart pounded so hard she could feel the vibrations. As the crackling energy of their encounter dissipated, the cool air drew goose bumps over her skin. In tandem, they slipped under the covers, resuming their positions.

  Was there a better time than after mind-blowing sex to ask personal questions? Most assuredly. Yet the words were out before she could stop them.

  “Can we talk?”

  * * *

  He tensed, his DNA sounding an alarm. “Right now?”

  She propped herself up on an elbow, and he shifted to tuck his hands behind his head. “Try to control your enthusiasm, Mr. Football.”

  “Are you trying to annoy me?” He had been named Mr. Football in the state of Alabama his senior year of high school, but instead of taking pride, he viewed it as the first creaking step of his downfall.

  “Annoyed is better than you clamming up and blanking your face like you’re a robot with no feelings, when I know better.”

  “Maybe you see what you want to see, not reality.” Discomfort sharpened his tone, and he squirmed his shoulders a few inches away from her.

  Yet instead of going on the defense, she ran fingers over his side. “I want you to tell me about this. Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth. Henry David Thoreau. I looked him up. He lived a life of relative solitude, you know. Never married or had kids. Died young. Did you get it before or after you quit football?”

  He had been expecting questions about his feelings or their possible future, not about his past. Shadows dappled her face, making it difficult to see her expression. She stroked his chest as if soothing a wild animal, and like a wild animal, escape was tempting.

  “After. But quitting makes it sound like I had a choice.”

  “All right, then why did you get this tattoo after your career-ending injury?”

  He closed his eyes, casting back through the snapshots of his memory. Shame and loneliness and regrets got tangled up together. “It all started well before then. Somewhere between the wonder of playing in front of a few hundred fan on Friday nights and getting drafted, I changed. Everything changed. None of it for the better.”

  Her hand stilled for a moment, but then stroked again.

  “Everyone at Bama treated me like I was special. Girls were all over me, all the time. At first, I loved it. I thought they actually liked me.” He blew out a long sigh. “Eventually, I figured out they only wanted to be with the quarterback, not with me.”

  Her nails bit into the skin of his chest. If she ended up hating him, then so be it, but he was done hiding his shit. He pushed up until he leaned against the headboard, and she feathered her hand over the inked quote on his side.

  “So I stopped caring about them and stopped wondering if they cared about me. One face blurred into another. I didn’t remember their names. Didn’t even want to know them. I told myself I was giving them what they wanted.”

  “What did you think they wanted?”

  “Something to brag about later. An experience. How fucked up is that?”

  “I’m not going to lie, that’s pretty effed up.” Her voice was rough and hurt-sounding. Probably in female solidarity with all the girls he’d royally screwed over. “But, I can also understand how it happened. When you get burned too many times you learn how to protect yourself.”

  “It wasn’t just the girls. The boosters, the administration, the fans . . . They act like they own a piece of you. You’re a commodity, not a person.”

  “Was it better in Philly?”

  “Better? I don’t know. I got sick of sleeping around and started dating a cheerleader. Her friends became my friends. They were partiers, and I got everyone the VIP treatment. My on-field play was improving with every start. My parents moved to Philly to help manage my career and money. I was living the life.” He shrugged.

  “I’m sensing a giant ‘but.’”

  “I was only happy on the field. The game is what I lived for.” He’d never admitted the truth aloud.

  “And your injury took that away.”

  The dirty hit had come from behind. His knee was no match for two-hundred-eighty pounds of linebacker. His ACL ruptured, his MCL torn, and his kneecap fractured. The physical agony while the linebacker taunted him over the roar of the crowd ached his knee like phantom pain.

  “I knew laying on the field waiting for the transport that I was done.” Flowers had filled his hospital room, but not people. “My so-called friends were always available for a party, but when I needed someone to drive me to physical therapy or the grocery store, no one returned my texts.”

  “What about your girlfriend?”

  “She waited three weeks after surgery to dump me. Married one of my former teammates within a year.”

  “Good grief, on top of losing football . . . Did she break your heart?”

  “It was my trust that was broken, not my heart.”

  “What a first-class bitch.”

  A beat of silence froze him before a chuckle popped out. Lilliana’s hair cascaded like a curtain over her shoulder to the white sheets. He wanted to bury his face in the waves and breathe her in. His fingers flexed, but he only clenched them in a fist.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me. I deserved it. All of it. I didn’t know what her favorite food or color was. I didn’t really know her, and she sure as hell didn’t know me. The breakup was a relief. But I had no idea what to do without football, and my parents . . .”

  “I’ve been wondering.” Her voice lilted into a half-question.

  Even beyond the crumbling of his future, his parents’ betrayal made him question everything about his past. “You heard right. They’re somewhere in Jasper.” He knew exactly where they lived and had, in fact, driven by their place a dozen times. “We haven’t spoken for a while. Years, actually.”

  The silence grew thicker. He pushed himself taller on the padded headboard. She sat cross-legged at his hip and pulled the sheet under her arms. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers over the quote under his arm. “After everything shook out, it turned out they had been borrowing—stealing—money from me.”

  “Why?” Her voice was as disbelieving and shocked as his had been when he’d directed the same question toward his pale father and weeping mother. Her touch was light but insistent, pulling his hand away from his side and holding it between hers in her lap. The sheet gaped where she was no longer holding it. Before he could become completely distracted by her beautiful curves, he looked to the ceiling.

  “They got caught up in the same shit as me. Bought a big house in Philly. New cars. Dad left his construction business to founder. His new business entailed gambling on football games, and I was his unwitting financier. He made some money at the beginning which gave him a sense of confidence, before he lost even more.”

  “You felt betrayed.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But, they moved back to Alabama when you did?”

  “Yeah.” This time, he drew the word out.

  Their betrayal had strengthened his resolve to never depend or trust anyone. Yet, the weight of his guilt had grown a little every day since he’d cut off contact with his parents. Unlike everyone else from his past, his parents were out there, wanting to reconnect even though he had nothing to offer anymore. At first, he’d received daily calls, which he ignored, and then daily emails, which he trashed. Now every Monday morning, their email was always waiting.

  “Alec.” The way she said his name with both understanding and admonishment made him look over at her.

  “What?” he asked even though the direction of her thoughts flashed like neon in the dark.

  “You should contact them. Settle things one
way or another.”

  “Maybe.”

  Her thumbs massaged over the back of his hand. At least she hadn’t dropped him like a hot potato and told him to get the hell out of her bed and her life.

  “You’ve been so alone, haven’t you? Tearing yourself apart with resentment and regrets instead of living.” Her whisper curled through the shadows, hooking his heart. Still holding his hand, she leaned toward him and brushed a kiss across his cheek, innocent and sweet.

  This time when his hand twitched, he didn’t stop it from circling around her nape and pulling her closer. He didn’t deny himself the pleasure of her soft breasts pressed against his chest or her silky hair falling around his face.

  She’d soothed the sting of betrayal and shame to reveal the constant ache of loneliness. The twists and turns of his life seemed random, but maybe they weren’t. He didn’t deserve someone like her but walking away from her wasn’t an option, not anymore.

  He yanked the sheet down so there was nothing between them. He maneuvered her over his lap until she was straddling him, his hands clutching her hips. “I wonder what would have happened if our paths had crossed in college.”

  12

  Her heart stuttered, from both his question and the growing erection pressing against her. She canted her hips and slid over him, still wet. “What does it matter? They didn’t.” She hoped he attributed the tremor in her voice to desire and not guilt.

  “Let’s pretend we were at a party, our eyes met across the room, and we both knew in that instant how the evening would end.”

  A cold wave prickled her scalp and ebbed lower, numbing her lips. Had she stepped into an alternate universe? One where he hadn’t rolled off her, gotten dressed, and walked out that night? “How would it end for you?”

  “Like this.” He leaned forward, but instead of her mouth, his lips landed on her right ear. He caught the lobe between his teeth and tugged. She angled closer, a soft moan escaping in spite of her best efforts. The heat of arousal dissipated the cold dread, turning her stiff body to molten lava.

  His soft and sexy whisper brushed the shell of her ear. “I would say something like . . . ‘You’re a beautiful girl with your mysterious eyes and beautiful hair. May I kiss you?’”

  Even though no college boy in existence would have ever said anything so romantic and suave, she nodded, afraid her frazzled nerves would reflect in her voice. His lips travelled across her cheek, leaving tingling kisses along their path.

  Finally, he took her mouth, sure and confident, nipping her bottom lip, running his tongue along the seam until she opened to him on a sigh. Their tongues tangled, and she squirmed on top of his erection. His fingers bit into the softness of her hips, and she tore her mouth from his, light-headed and gulping air.

  He loosened his hold and feathered his fingers up her torso, tickling the underside of each breast. Finally, he cupped and lifted them. He rubbed his stubbly cheek across the top curves, and she shuddered.

  “You have fucking amazing breasts”—he kissed each one—“but the sexiest thing about you is your smile and laugh.” His warm breath caressed over where his lips had been sending shivers through her. Her nipples tightened into painful buds.

  Were they still playing like they were back in college or were they in the present? It didn’t seem to matter with his deft quarterback hands wrecking her sense of reality. He seemed to know exactly how gentle or rough to handle her.

  She arched her back, sliding over his erection while pressing her breasts closer to him. Without thinking, she said, “Sweet Lord, all that practice with the ladies you got in college is certainly paying off.”

  His hands stilled, the warmth of his mouth gone. His head fell back with a chuckle. “I’m surprised I even remember what to do. I’ve been living like a damn monk.”

  “Are you telling me you never took any of the bleacher babes up on their come-hither looks?”

  “Only one bleacher babe held any interest for me.”

  Jealousy made her stomach cramp. “Which one?”

  “Are you serious?” A belly laugh rumbled out of him.

  “Do you mean me?” The question emerged as an incredulous squeak.

  He cupped her face, one thumb caressing her cheekbone while the other rubbed over her bottom lip. “You aren’t even remotely aware how damn sexy you are which only makes you sexier. Goddamn, your eyes can bring a man to his knees. The first time I saw your hair down . . . let’s say I had crazy-ass dreams for weeks, months.”

  His sleepy, drug-induced confessions scrolled through her head. “Can I take a guess at what you dreamed about?”

  “Be my guest.” His voice was smug as was his slight smirk.

  “Hands above your head.” Her tight throat and dry mouth lent a husky sexiness to her voice she couldn’t have otherwise conjured.

  His mouth narrowed, but he lifted his hands and linked his fingers on top of his head.

  She lay over him, her breasts against his chest and kissed him, deep and slow. One of his hands escaped and squeezed her ass. She spoke with her lips against his. “Uh-uh, Mr. Football. Don’t make me tie you up.”

  He inhaled sharply, stealing her breath, but obeyed, resuming his position. She could ease down a few inches and slide him inside of her, bringing them both pleasure. But, not yet.

  She broke away, kissing over his jaw and down his neck to his chest, making sure her hair brushed against him. His tattoo received extra attention because she loved it and because what awaited was frankly intimidating.

  Finally, she reached his bellybutton, her hair brushing over his erection. Grasping the base, she pulled back to consider her approach. She honestly hadn’t had a chance to practice with one so . . . prominent.

  She glanced up his body. He held still, his expression intense but controlled. Holding his hot gaze, she moistened her lips then ran her tongue around the tip. He muttered a curse and arched his back, the illusion of control shattered. This time she didn’t stop him when he threaded his fingers in her hair. The tugs sent prickles of pleasure shuddering through her body.

  The arousal erased her trepidation. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth wide to cover him. He was too big to take comfortably, but she tried her best, wanting to fulfill his fantasy as best she could.

  His hands came under her arms, and he pulled her up his body like she weighed nothing. A package crinkled. An eternity passed while he rolled the condom on. Finally, she guided him inside, her focus turning from his pleasure to hers. She sat up and braced her hands on his chest, lowering herself until she could go no farther.

  Her head lolled back, and she didn’t move for several seconds. He bucked, and she took that as a sign of his impatience. She rolled her hips as she rode him, her need to orgasm overriding any sense of self-consciousness.

  He squeezed her breasts, his fingers playing with her nipples. She leaned into his touch, the pinch and pull driving her to the edge and over. Any pretense of control and rhythm disappeared. Vaguely, she was aware of his hands at her hips, holding her in place while he drove into her. He groaned and pressed them together, his hands leaving her hips to cover her breasts once more.

  A quiet fell around them, the pulse of her heart and beat of his under her hands the only movement. The tremble started in her knees, but travelled everywhere, stealing her strength. She collapsed against his chest, and he slipped out of her. She slid to the side and pulled the sheet over her. After disposing of the condom, he pulled her close.

  “Did that live up to your fantasies?” she asked.

  The hand caressing her back stilled. “Am I that easy to read?”

  She chuffed. “Actually, you’re impossible to read. The night when you were hurt, you told me about your dreams.”

  “Please tell me you’re joking.” He popped onto an elbow, and she shook her head, her smile as smug as his had been earlier. “You didn’t kick me in the nuts?”

  “No. Actually, I let you kiss me.”

  “I kissed you . . .
and I don’t remember.”

  She smiled into his eyes. “Then, I took your shirt off and looked you over. I almost took your pants off too.”

  “This is patently unfair.”

  “I controlled myself. Barely. I wanted to see if I had exaggerated your rather impressive you-know-what.”

  “Rather impressive?” He tickled her, and she squirmed with giggles.

  “Very impressive. Intimidating even.”

  His deep laughter filtered through her. She loved this playful side of him, loved that she could make him laugh, but she wondered how things would change outside of the bedroom. Or if they even would.

  She caught his hand in hers to stop his tickling. Their fingers knitted together, and their joined hands settled on her hip. Exhaustion crept over her. The day had been a dizzying rollercoaster of emotions, the ending like flying off the rails and into the unknown.

  “You seemed upset the pregnancy test was negative.” His voice rumbled, and her slow, tired brain took a minute to make sense of the question. When it did, she tried to pull her hand out of his, but he held fast.

  Her emotions took another plunge. “I was confused.” Not a lie, but not the entire truth either.

  “You were close to tears.”

  “I was . . . confused.”

  “You’re being evasive.” He disentangled his hand from her and rolled to his back, putting space between them.

  After giving her a glimpse into the heart of him, he would never forgive her if she shut him out. She turned to her back as well and stared at the moonlight-dappled ceiling. “I was maybe, slightly . . . disappointed.”

  The bed shifted, and she closed her eyes, although his heat burned into her, and she knew he was looking down at her.

  “You want to be pregnant?”

  “Lord, no!” She cracked her eyes open, but his face was a blank slate in the shadows. “After the initial panic wore off, I kind of got used to the idea and imagined a kid with your eyes and my artistic ability. I wasn’t trying to manipulate you.”