Page 67 of Line Change

I piston my hips a few more times as she continues to spasm around me, and the tingling at the base of my spine starts. I won’t last much longer.

“You feel so good inside of me,” she says, squeezing me. “Come for me, husband. Fill me up.”

Her words send me over the edge, and I slam into her a few more times, coming on a roar. I slump over her, barely catching myself with my hands, my vision going black for a few seconds. I lie still, trying to catch my breath.

“Bloody hell.”

She runs a hand over my back. “When can we do that again?”

“Whenever you want.” I get up and go clean myself off before getting a washcloth for her. I help her clean up before she goes to the bathroom and I climb back into bed.

“Will you stay?” I ask her when she comes back into the room.

“If you want me to.” She climbs into the bed, and I tuck her against me.

“I do.”

Forever and ever.

Now, I have to figure out if that’s even possible and if she wants that.

Chapter twenty-four

Sutton

The end of February passes in a blur, as is typical for this part of the season. Bash is gone more than he’s home, and I miss him more than I want to admit.

The condo is quiet and empty without him here, and I hate it. I’ve lived alone my entire adult life so I should be used to it. I am used to it. Or I used to be. Until I moved in with Bash, and now I miss his presence. What’s wild is we’ve only been living together for a month. I can’t imagine how I’m going to feel once we’ve lived together for longer and then it’s over. Nope, not going there right now.

I glance around the living room, smiling when I spot Bert and Ernie lounging in their cat tree. I force myself to focus on the Storm’s game playing on the TV and not on how attached I’m getting to Bash. How attached I’m getting to having someone in my corner. Yes, I have the ladies and their husbands, but it’s not the same as having your person.

“Except he’s not your person. It’s just a fake marriage and sex, that’s all.” Tears well in my eyes. “Stupid hormones.”

I thought I was past the crying phase. Although I’m not sure whether I prefer the tears at the drop of a hat or the being so horny all the time. I tug my blanket up around me, watching the game.

The team is in New York tonight, wrapping up the last of the four games they’ve played over the six-day road trip they’re currently away on. They’re flying home tonight and won’t get in until late, but at least they’ll be here for a week before heading out on another trip. The game finally ends, after having gone into overtime, with a win for the Storm.

I shut off the TV and go into the kitchen to refill my water glass and turn the light on over the stove. Maybe it’s silly of me to leave a light on for Bash—he’s come home plenty of times to a pitch-black apartment—but that doesn’t mean he has to keep doing it.

Once I make sure the front door is locked and the cats are happy, I make my way down the hall to his bedroom. Our bedroom? I don’t really know, and I refuse to think about it. His bed is more comfortable, and he doesn’t seem to mind. The night we had sex, he asked me to stay with him, and since then, I haven’t slept in my own bed.

I go about my nighttime routine, and a few minutes later am crawling under the covers. My phone dings, and I grab it from the nightstand.

Bash: We’re heading to the bus soon. I’ll try to be quiet when I get home. You better be on your side of the bed.

I take a selfie with his pillow just at the edge of the frame.

Bash: Can’t wait to see you.

Me: Me too. Lunch tomorrow? I have a free afternoon.

Bash: Sounds good. Text me when you know what time you want to go.

I send him a thumbs up emoji and then put the phone down on the nightstand, turn the light off, and pull the covers up to my chin, and within a few minutes, I’m drifting off to sleep.

At some point in the middle of the night, I feel him climb into bed with me. He kisses me on the forehead and whispers something, but I’m too sleepy to register what he says.

When I wake the next morning to my alarm going off, we’re lying on our own pillows, but he’s holding my hand, which feels more tender, more intimate, than if we were cuddling. I stare at the spot where our fingers are intertwined, not wanting to break the connection to him, but I have to shut my alarm off lest it wake him up.