Page 40 of Blitz

It’s just sex. Sex with my boyfriend, the guy I love. The guy who’s been there for me through thick and thin, the guy who loved me even when I broke his heart. The guy I want more than anything. The reason I transferred universities and moved here in the first place.

I can do this. This is going to fix me.

Still naked, I open the bathroom door. Tucker is laying in his bed, his legs splayed. He’s wearing a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else, all of his gorgeous brown skin on display.

“Come here, Princess,” he says, patting the space beside him.

Instead, I go over to his desk. “I brought food. We should eat it before it gets cold.”

He gets off the bed and comes to stand behind me. He wraps his arms around me and tugs me back against his sweaty chest. “I don’t care about the food.” He nuzzles my neck. “How are you feeling? No regrets?”

I turn in the protective circle of his arms.

“None,” I lie.

His kiss is so tender it brings tears to my eyes. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I tell him. “I’m just so happy.”

Chapter seventeen

Tucker

We eat in my bed, sitting cross-legged and laughing as we share a few sushi rolls, a noodle dish, two different kinds of dumplings, and a carton of soup. She even remembered to get a double serving of edamame, my favorite, and there’s a bento box with chicken in it in case I need more protein to tide me over.

She thought of everything.

I can’t stop touching her. A hand on her knee, my fingers in her hair. The curve of her hips makes my pulse go thready. When we’re both ready for a round two, I show her my devotion. As much as I enjoy the sex for the pleasure of it, the physicality of it, it’s made all the more better because it’s with her.

I’m still waiting for that inevitable moment when I wake up and realize it’s all a dream. Until then, I’m going to enjoy it for what it is—super satisfying, soul-soothing sex with the woman of my dreams.

Being with Mason makes my whole world make sense. I don’t care that it’s only been twenty-four hours that we’ve been on speaking terms. I know there are things we need to talk about. We’re moving fast. We’re making up for lost time.

I need to tell my moms. I need to tell Jamal. I need to shout it from the rooftops. She loves me. She wants me. She could have her pick of all the guys in the world, and she picked me.

We have a lot of things we need to talk about. I want to know nothing about what she’s been up to the last two years. I want to know everything. Does she date? Does she go to frat parties and get drunk every weekend? Does she hug on guys like Mark after track meets?

I realize my reaction to our breakup was… extreme. Most people would have moved on by now. Most people wouldn’t become a celibate recluse and retreat into themselves. My moms tried to get me into therapy. I went to two sessions before I realized that talking about her just made me miss her more. I wasn’t ready. I don’t think I’d ever have been ready. I was mired in the past.

And then she crashed back into my life. I feel at peace again. Stable. I can’t make her promise me we’ll be together forever. I don’t know that two years from now or ten we’ll still be the same people.

But for now, I’m going to love her for as long as she’ll let me.

Round two is slower. We take our time. She likes when I rub my beard against her neck. She likes the feel of it against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs even more. She touches me with reverence, like she’s memorizing the feel of my skin pressed to hers.

My skin vibrates with need for her. I arch my back, thrusting balls deep inside of her. Mason sighs and moans, clenching around me. The headboard thumps against the wall with the force of my thrusts. I don’t care. I can’t care. My singular focus is on the feel of her surrounding me, on getting her off again, and again, and again, until she’s spent and exhausted.

It’s more than just the physicality of it. Sure, I like to get off. Sure, I love to be inside of her. But for me it’s more about the connection we share when we’re connected so intimately. I feel at ease when I’m with her, like I can be wholly myself. She knows everything about me, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

She used to know everything about me. I don’t know that she does anymore.

Mason’s fists curl in the sheets as she lifts her hips to meet mine. Her moans increase in both pitch and frequency. She’s getting close. I work a hand between us to rub at her clit the way I know she needs, firm and unyielding.

She falls to pieces. Her hands scrabble at the sheets, searching for purchase, as her inner walls squeeze me in a vise grip. She pulls me down onto her for a soul-searing kiss, more tongue and teeth than anything else.

The orgasm builds deep in my gut and runs up my spine. I follow her over the edge with a shout that she muffles with a kiss.