I stay on campus a little longer than expected, wanting to give her as much time away from me as possible. Coach let me stay over and do my typical hundred continuous practice shots, even though there’s a game tomorrow night.

I don’t know what’s gonna happen with Aran and the game tomorrow, but at least it’s a scheduled home game. That intern of hers will probably take the floor shots. She could technically sit in the bleachers, but I don’t know if she’s feeling up to being out and about so soon.

It’s almost dinnertime. I stop at the store and buy some chicken and pasta to make. She’s gonna love my chicken alfredo. I’ve got this plan semi-mapped out in my head as to how the evening is gonna go. I just hope it doesn’t get fucked up.

I enter the front door and step into a candlelit room with soft music playing. What is she doing? The smell of garlic bread wafts through the air, along with another smell that I can’t quite place. I step into the kitchen to set down the grocery bags, but don’t see anything on the stove. The oven is lit up though; holy fuck, that smells good. I quickly put everything away and go in search of her.

“Aran,” I call out softly.

“I’m in the bedroom,” she says just as I push open the door the rest of the way.

She’s sitting on the bed, folding the last few pieces of some laundry, but my breath catches in my throat. I swallow because my mouth is suddenly dry. She is beautiful sitting there. She’s straightened her bronze hair and it cascades down her shoulders as she bends and moves while folding the towels. She’s wrapped up again in her emerald green robe. The robe slit is open and her wrapped leg casually hangs out and rests propped on a pillow on the floor. I see the olive coloring of her thigh and my dick gets hard. Damn it, if she says no, I’ll have to jerk off tonight. She’s too fucking sexy.

“If that’s dinner, it smells great. Here’s a funny story…I stopped at the grocery store and bought some stuff to make you dinner. I’m sorry; I didn’t know.”

“Aww. That’s sweet,” she smiles up at me. “Actually, Jenna cooked dinner for Nick here at my place, and just made a little extra for us. It’s in the oven staying warm. I just put the garlic bread in, which should be done about now.” She places the last towel inside the basket, and I scoop it up and carry it into the bathroom.

“I’ll get the bread,” I tell her, heading into the kitchen. “Just come in when you’re ready.” I find a pair of oven mitts, and slide them on, pulling the garlic bread and casserole out. Mmmmm. Baked mastaccioli, one of my favorites. Italian carbs are my favorite food group.

I grab two wine glasses, even though she can’t have any alcohol with her meds. I’ll still give her the experience, at least, that matches the candlelight and music. She cruises into the kitchen on her crutches, but I immediately send her to the dining table. She didn’t get dressed, so I wonder what trap I’m about to walk into. If I’ve learned anything over the years about women, it’s to never stop one in the midst of a plan…hell hath no fury like a woman with a foiled plan.

When I set the wine goblet filled with ice water in front of her, she looks disappointed and opens her mouth to object. “Sorry, Blaze,” I say, shaking my finger at her. “No arguments. No alcohol. Doctor’s orders.” She presses her lips tightly closed, slightly annoyed with me. I set her steaming plate down in front of her and seat myself.

The soft jazz music changes to an Anita Baker CD. “Wow, Anita Baker,” I say. Her eyes widen in surprise.

“And how do you know Anita Baker?” she asks.

“She’s one of my mom’s favorite singers,” I explain. “I could probably sing this whole CD to you, but I won’t.” I smile at her and take a huge bite of food, cutting off all talk. I close my eyes in absolute rapture at Jenna’s cooking. It’s amazing. And it feels like forever since I’ve actually had a homemade meal. “Please tell Jenna this is the best mastaccioli I’ve ever had.”

“I will,” she murmurs. She’s being really quiet. Where’d my Blaze go?

“Kyle,” she says my name with sweet sincerity. “We need to talk about your offer from this morning.” She looks me right in the eye, straightens her shoulders, and tries to hide her uncertainty. I get the feeling my offer wasn’t something she’s used to hearing, and no is about to pass through those lips. Nervous knots form in my stomach and I want to say something to save the moment.

I hold her gaze, but her throat catches my eye. It’s long and graceful, and like the magnet that she is to me, I reach across the table and slowly run my finger down her jaw line. Her warm skin sends a spark of heat up my arm, giving me goose bumps. I can feel her pulse beating rapidly as I continue tracing a path down her throat.

“Aran, I can’t promise you much. I’m just a poor street kid here on scholarship because God made me tall, and I can grab a ball quicker than most. I don’t have fancy words for you. I’m not romantic. I’m more likely to piss you off with a flippant comment than kiss you passionately or hold your door open for you. I’m better at fuckin’ and leaving than lovin’ and stayin’. If you think you’re gonna fall in love, tell me no. I don’t want to hurt you, but I do want you.”

She listens intently, but her expression remains impassive. She’s got one hell of a poker face, because I have no idea what she’s thinking right now. I’ve never met a woman as mentally and physically strong as she is. She sits here broken, battered and bruised, but never says one word about being in pain.

“Yes,” she says brazenly, my eyes widen in disbelief. She utters no additional words explaining her choice. She simply continues to eat her meal. Hell, I guess I don’t need an explanation, but I’m not sure what to do now. I want to kiss her, and rip that robe off her. But she needs to eat and take her medicines. It’s probably time for more ice on her ankle, but all I can think about is kissing her body while Anita Baker sings on about wanting her lover, body and soul. We finish the meal in silence, letting the music surround us.

She gets up from the table, struggling with her crutches and that damned draping robe. The sleeves hang way too long to be comfortable with those crutches. She’s patient with herself though, and gets comfortable sitting on the short side of the sectional couch. I carry the dishes into the sink and run some water over them for now.

Flipping off the light in the kitchen, the semi-darkness reminds me of the flickering candles and soft music in the room. I step around the island and she’s sitting there, dressed like a Victoria’s Secret model in a green silk and black lace bra with matching thong. The black lace is high on her hip, blending in with the purple bruise covering it. Jesus, I’m afraid to touch her with her injuries, but she’s a woman on a mission tonight, it seems.

“What are you doing to me, Aran?” I ask, shaking my head as I walk towards her. “Why can’t you make this easy for me?” I sit down next to her and trace my fingers over her thigh.

“I thought I was making it easy for you,” she says incredulously. Her eyes fall from mine, and her shoulders slump.

“No, you’re not,” I tell her. “You’re hurt. You need to rest and heal your body. But damn it. I come in here and you’re abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous dressed like that. My dick is a hard as a rock in my shorts right now, but you need to rest. I would tear you apart if I got ahold of you now.” I can smell her and that damn cherry blossom lotion that she wears. She twirls the ends of her hair nervously and my dick gets harder. My balls ache and swell just getting a whiff of her.

I don’t know what she’s got planned tonight, but it’s not going to involve sex or this couch. I bend down and slide one arm under her thighs. “Put your arms around my neck, Blaze,” I tell her. After she gets them settled, I gently lift her up and carry her to the bed.

“What are we going to do?” she inquires, using one finger to push her hair back behind her ears.

“We are going to watch a movie in bed, rest, and maybe play around a little,” I reply.

“In that order?” she asks. She’s running her fingers through my hair at the base of my neck, grazing her nails across my skin. It’s hard to concentrate on walking and carrying her gently while my balls are tingling. The smell of her lotion and the sight of her cleavage in that bra have taken control of my dick at this point, and I just want to bury myself inside her.

“Not necessarily. What do you want to start with?” I ask her teasingly.

“Well, I am dressed for playing around a little,” she admits.

“So, you think you deserve dessert first?” I ask.

My legs bump into the bed and I carefully lay her down at the edge. I kneel down and grab the lace panty straps on her hips to slide them down to her toes and off, tossing them onto the floor. She’s a fucking goddess, I swear. I lift up her leg and kiss her perfectly painted toes, then glide my hands down to the back of her thigh, and bend her knee. She adjusts her body so both legs are up and bent. I settle my hands on her inner thighs, kneading her supple flesh. I know she’s nervous because I can feel the tension in her legs. “Relax for me, Aran. There’s nothing to be nervous about,” I promise.

She’s got this small, diamond-shaped red patch of hair above her clit, but the rest of her is waxed and smooth as satin. I could come right now, just looking at her. She’s completely flat on her back, looking away from me. Her quivering stomach muscles bely how anxious she it. I get it; I’m not sure this is the right thing to do, either. But I can’t seem to stop.

I reach toward her. “Blaze, take my hand,” I command, and she blindly reaches out. I play with her fingers for a few seconds, then lean down and blow on her pussy lips. Her stomach muscles jump and goosebumps form on her belly.

I run my tongue straight up her lips and over her swollen clit. She releases a long, mewling whimper. I tease her clit with the tip of my tongue, and pull it into my mouth, sucking and stroking it with my tongue. She grasps the bed sheets and pushes her hips into my face. She rocks back and forth, trying to get closer to my tongue. Her body is twisting and convulsing with pleasure and she repeats my name. She finally jerks her hand free from mine and grabs onto my hair, forcing the flat of my tongue to her throbbing clit. She knows what she likes and that makes my cock throb. I push my tongue into her hot pussy and her entire body goes stiff as she comes, screaming my name. She holds me close to her pussy for a few seconds, and I continue tongue fucking her as her pussy spasms. Finally, she releases her death grip on my hair.

I push myself forward and run my tongue up her body, kissing and licking until I reach the front clasp on her bra. I snap it open and her breasts spill out into my waiting hands. Her areolas are large and tan, matching her olive skin tone. She’s fucking perfect. I suck her erect nipple into my mouth, grazing it with my teeth, then squeeze and stroke her breasts as I suck and lave both nipples. I press my body down onto hers and kiss her luscious lips and she opens up to me, kissing me with a hunger that surprises me so soon after I just made her come.

My dick is so hard it’s painful, pushing against my jeans and pressing into her belly. She undoes my fly and reaches her hand in, stroking her hand up my length and rubbing her thumb around my head. A broken moan escapes her lips and she whispers, “I want you, Kyle.”

That almost pushes me over the edge, but then her dressing brushes against my thigh. “Not tonight Blaze. You need to rest and heal. It’s okay—I’m not going anywhere. Let’s wait, at least until you get your cast on next week. I’m too afraid I’ll bang it and make it worse,” I admit.

She shakes her head, trying to persuade me and the urge to drive my cock into her nearly overwhelms me. I grind my teeth together and think of basketball. “I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

“Will you at least stay with me here in the bed tonight?” she pleads. “Undressed and naked with me?”

“Yes, I will,” I concede, though the thought of pressing up against her with no clothing between us is excruciating.