Three Months Later

Bronwyn

Graduation was yesterday and I dropped my parents off at the airport on the way here. Well, not on the way, because driving from Chestnut Hill to Logan to Carlisle is more like a boomerang shape. But now, here I am, pulling into the driveway of Ash’s home.

It’s a house that has become pleasantly familiar, that lets me breathe easier as soon as it comes into sight. Small and modest and brown to blend into the woods, I’m sure no one else would find it an enchanting place, but I do. This house and the ice rink are probably my favorite places on earth.

I park my car next to Ash’s and grab my bag out of the trunk, swing it over my shoulder. Not that I need a lot since I already keep a substantial amount of stuff at Ash’s, but still.

The front door is open, which is a cute thing he always does, and funny since I have a key anyway, but I like that he does it? Like it’s a way he tells me he’s paying attention, he knows I’m coming, and he doesn’t even want to have to wait for me to dig my key out of my bag to unlock the door before he can see me. Silly, maybe, but it makes me smile every time.

I drop my stuff by the door and then go in search of him, finding him in the kitchen. With a cake of all things. When he sees me, he looks up from where he’s using a flat metal thinger to smooth out the icing, looking so very pleased with himself.

“Hey, B. How was traffic?”

I come around the counter and nudge my head under his arm so I can wrap my arms around him. He plants a kiss on the top of my head while he continues to perfect his frosting.

“Not bad. Tuesday before rush hour. And what have you been up to?”

I eye the cake, which is not exactly a work of art. It’s kind of crooked, and despite his best efforts the frosting still has sticky-outy bits, but he uses the skinny spatula thing to point to his masterpiece. “This. I felt bad I couldn’t take you out for your graduation, so I made you a cake.”

Which is the literal sweetest. He came to the ceremony yesterday and had the excuse of a few of us from the SIG team getting our diplomas to be there. Because he does that stuff. He’ll be at Harvard’s ceremony and BU’s, too. Wonderful man. He’d met my parents, but as my coach, not as my boyfriend, because we’re still keeping this very much on the down low. Have agreed to until the fall when I’ll be moving into a new apartment in Brighton and will have been at my job for a few months, and—fingers crossed—on Boston’s women’s pro hockey team. After that, we’ll still get some side eye and gossip, but there won’t be a goddamn thing anyone can do if we’re doing our jobs, which we will be.

“Thank you. I love it.” I go up on my tiptoes and take his face in my hands, give him a kiss.

“You haven’t even tasted it. What if it’s gross?”

“I don’t care.” I kiss him again, and when I do, it’s not a cutesy thing. It’s a kiss of the I - have - missed - you - so - much - in - the - past - several - days - of - graduation - and - family - insanity - and - I - want - to - be - back - in - your - arms - and - yeah - in - your - pants variety. I laugh against his mouth when I hear the clatter of him tossing the spatula on the counter, and then his hands are on me, all over me. Apparently, the feeling is mutual.

His mouth is hot and demanding on mine, and he tastes unusually sweet, like he’s been sneaking bits of frosting that got on his fingers while he’s been doing his baking. I can’t say I’d be sorry to lick the frosting off his fingers, either, but I also don’t know that I have the patience for that. Mostly I want to be as close to him as humanly possible, have him literally inside me.

Since his surgery at the end of the season, we’ve had to be a little, uh, creative when it comes to the having of the sex, which when it’s not causing him pain is more of a fun exploration than anything else. How can I make you feel good? How about this? What about this? We’ve been able to try stuff I wouldn’t necessarily have thought of, and it’s made things profanely intimate.

I break off the making out and try to catch my breath, but it’s hard. As is his erection pressing into my belly, which I want to stroke until his head drops back and then guide him inside me. Without a word, I tip my head up to look into those glass-green eyes and he looks back, a smile curling the corner of his mouth before he tows me over to the dining table where he sits and tells me to strip. Can do.

He studies me, arms crossed over his midsection, his pants doing nothing to hide how badly he wants me. Makes me stand there for minutes, his eyes raking over my body until I’m practically bouncing on my toes with my need for him. I’m poised and ready, my muscles primed for when he finally gives the word.

It’s not so much a word as a very obvious sign. He levers out of the chair, strips his own clothes with an economy of movement and not nearly as much caution as he’s been using. He’s feeling better, more confident in his body, and it makes me so happy. I can’t imagine being so out of sorts, out of touch with my body that’s served me so well. It would be a betrayal, but he’s got way more patience than I do. Which he’s exhibiting now by leisurely stroking himself while sitting in the straight-backed chair. Jerk.

Right as I’m about to strut the few steps over and plant myself in his lap, he crooks a finger at me, and I can finally feel him the way I’ve been aching to for days. Skin against skin, the hair on his chest brushing against my nipples, making them hard and sensitive, and his hands on my bare ass. He uses his grip to bring me in closer until my legs are spread wide around his hips and my clit is pressed up against his cock. Jesus. I put my palms on his shoulders just as he sculpts a hand around my breast and dips his head to lick around my nipple before taking it in his mouth and suckling.

Which of course only makes me rock against him harder, more insistently, because I want him now. My wetness has made where we’re joined slick, and I can’t get enough of the sensation the rubbing provides. Not quite as good as the penetration I’m craving, but I could get off this way just the same. Want to. But he lets go of my nipple, chastises me with a nip to the side of my neck, and a “Uh-uh. Not so fast, baby.”

Fucking hell, I want fast. I want close, I want hard, and I want it sweaty and brutal. I want it now, I want to ride him, and I want to be worn out. We can save the swoony lovemaking for later. But Ash isn’t having it. He kisses me all over, thumbs and pinches my nipples, kneads my breasts and my butt, rocks me against him until I’m mewling and pressing up against him with hunger. When I get so very desperate that I’m practically in tears with frustration, he pets my hair and holds me tight. “Close enough for you?”

“No.” I pout and wrap my arms around his neck, kiss him and just about die when he works his tongue into my mouth, teasing me with thrusts that I want elsewhere. Which is when he finally gives in with a sigh and a theatrical roll of his eyes.

“Fine, fine, you determined little thing.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I push up onto tiptoes and slip a hand between us to grip him so I can sink down, a hot, slick slide into fullness. Into getting what I want, which is him inside me. Thank god I’m on the pill and we were both in the clear on our latest STI tests, because I would not have the patience for the minute it would take for him to roll on a condom.

When he’s fully seated, he wraps his arms around me and holds me still against him, running a hand over and through my hair. “Satisfied now?”

“For the moment.”

For the moment, I can be happy just feeling his heart beat against me, inhaling his scent, and the taste of his skin as I lick and lightly bite the crest of his trapezius. It’s funny, but for as desperate as I am, as much as I want him, I want this just as badly. To be close to him because we’ve been kind of deprived of a normal relationship—whatever that is.

We can’t go out on dates, we could barely see each other during the rest of the season because of practices and weekends away for games, and even when BC and BU played against each other, it was more an exercise in frustration because we had to tread so very carefully.

We haven’t told anyone else, he can’t come visit me at school and I could only sneak out to Carlisle so often without my roommates getting suspicious. Not to mention right after the season was over, he finally got his surgery and I couldn’t even be here to help as much as I wanted to be. He was all no, no, you have to graduate, blah blah. Him and his being responsible and still being a bit touchy about being taken care of. Pfft.

It’s luxurious, this, and I let myself melt into him while he holds me, talks to me and tells me how proud he is and all the other things he probably would’ve said yesterday but couldn’t because we had to settle for a brief hug.

“Ash.” I don’t mean for it to come out as half a sob, but it does. He doesn’t panic, though, doesn’t push me away to see my face. Doesn’t even ask me what’s wrong, because I think he knows. Maybe he feels the same way.

“Hey, baby. It’ll be better now. Easier. I’m not going to go shouting it from the rooftops just yet, even though I’d like to, but we could go out now if you wanted. I can come visit you in Brighton. You can come out here more often. It’s going to be better.”

Something inside me unravels and I realize exactly how tightly wound I’ve been and how all that mental and emotional tension has invaded my muscles. For someone who’s so in tune with their body—has to be, even when I’m not competing—I sure feel like an idiot for not realizing it before. Maybe Ash has, though, because that’s his job, and he takes it to heart. “Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise. We could even get ice cream tonight. Want to?”

Ice cream. With Ash. In public. What a treat in so many ways. “What about my cake?”

He shrugs, and it makes me laugh as my head bobs with the movement. “It’ll keep. We can have it for breakfast.”

“No. I want my cake and to eat it, too.”

“Silly. Anything else you want?”

Just like that, my engine that had settled into an idling purr revs. “Yes.”

I can think of a lot of things, but right now I’ll settle for an orgasm, and when we’re through, some cake. So I lift my head from his shoulder, wipe the corners of my eyes where there’s a little bit of moisture I haven’t managed to blink away, and then I’m kissing him again and he’s digging his fingers into my hips, pulling me closer and starting a rocking motion that I keep up as our tongues tangle and my hands wander into his hair.

It’s not long before everything has built up into a peak. A peak of needing, a peak of wanting, a peak of finally having, and my climax washes over me. He pulls me down hard and chokes out the words while he’s in the throes of his own satisfaction. “You’re mine, baby. Mine. Love to make you mine.”

I love it, too. Love him. That’s what I tell him while I rock out the last beats of my orgasm, and he says it back.

When our heartbeats have returned to near normal, I lean up and smile at him. “Now how about that cake?”