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Gone is my sweet, gentle Caleb. In his place is someone who knows exactly what he wants and takes it. Relentlessly. Viciously.
My cries echo through the bedroom, and he groans with praises. Telling me how good I am. How well I take him. Demanding me to take more. Give more.
My vision blurs when I find my release with him. He falls beside me in bed, breathing just as heavy as I am.
That…was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.
A few minutes pass by. The only sound is us trying to catch our breath.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he lifts me from the bed and walks us into the bathroom, right into the shower. Not before grabbing a shower cap for me.
“Taking care of you, JJ.”
He turns on the water and I slowly slide down his body. There are two golden shower heads on either side ensuring neither one of us is left out.
His eyes search mine. “How do you feel?”
Amazing.
Fantastic.
I could die right now and be okay with it because at least I got the best sex of my life.
Instead of embarrassing myself, I simply reply, “Uh, good?”
“It’s me. You don’t have to save face with me.”
I drop my forehead on his wet chest. “We had sex.” When he doesn’t immediately reply, I look up to see a wry grin tug at his lips. He looks good from every angle. It’s unfair.
“I didn’t realize that,” he responds, sarcasm dripping in his voice. “We are literally standing naked in the shower, JJ.”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t get sassy with me, Cross.”
He raises his hands defensively. “Let me ask you this. Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you learn something new?”
I bite my lip. “Definitely.”
“Good.”
“What now?”
He places a kiss on my lips. “Now, shall I introduce you to shower sex?”
8
Caleb
It’s hard not to be nervous for the first game of the season. It sets the tone for the next couple of months. How we play. What we do. Our fans are watching, rooting for us to win.
It’s the best and scariest feeling in the world.
“Honestly man, you’re lucky,” Trevor admits, popping two small chocolate chip cookies into his mouth. It’s his pregame ritual. It has to be exactly two cookies. Not one or three. Two.
It’s ridiculous, but last time he didn’t eat his damn cookies, we lost the game.