Chapter 25

Disclaimer: Inspired by real life events but taking a lot of liberties with it.

Rated M for mature.

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A few minutes later, I am already in bed, waiting for him. He comes out of the bathroom, flicking off the lights behind him. The fabric of his white tee stretches across his chest while being loose down his torso ending just above low hanging black shorts.

My mood changes drastically as my eyes meet his face. He’s wincing. His shoulders tense, as he limps his way to bed... to me.

He’s in pain.

I pull the bed covers back for him and he sits down carefully, one hand on his hip, and then lowers himself down onto his back with a harsh breath.

I hate this. I hate that he’s hurting, but I know there’s nothing else I can do but relax and be here for him. So with a sigh, I down my worries, and move closer to him.

His hand is half under the waistband of his shorts, his fingers rubbing gentle circles over his hipbone.

“Does that help?” I can smell the mentholated scent of whatever he sprayed on for the pain.

“A bit,” he says with a sigh, facing the ceiling.

I reach for his hip, where his hand is making pressure. He almost smiles, but he still faces up, eyes tight in a wince, as he tries to breathe away the pain.

“Shhh...” I coo, trying to help. He intertwines my fingers with his and runs our hands in circles over his hip bone. “No matter what happens,” I whisper in his ear. “In a week, you’ll be a Champions League finalist.”

“God, Cecilia, when you say stuff like that…” He turns to me, taking our hands out of his shorts, his eyes a deep sea of blue.

My heart starts racing in my chest, because I can feel what he’s going to say before he says it. “You make it really hard for me not to tell you that I love you.” He reaches for my face, pulling me to him.

Before I can even respond, his lips are on mine. He moans against them, his hands pulling me even closer. I melt under his warmth, and his words fill me wholly.

“And when you kiss me like that,” I say when he leaves my mouth for air, resting his forehead on mine. My hands mimic his, framing his face. “You make it really hard for me not to say it back.”

I love him. I have no problem saying it when the right moment comes. But for now, I decide to show him instead.

I pull his lips to mine and he pushes himself up on his elbow, his hand holding the back of my head. I turn my body, my leg hitching over to him, until I notice that the hand that was holding my face is now gripping his hip. He doesn’t complain though, nor does he stop kissing me.

Every cell on my body is screaming at me not to stop, but I can’t let him do this. I don’t know how far he’d push himself, but I can’t stand the thought of him being in pain through it. We are in no need to rush things.

“Hey,” I whisper, gasping as his lips kiss my neck. My hand moves from his face, down over his shoulder and arm, until it meets his hand at his hip. He doesn’t flinch as his fingers leave his hip to grip my waist, slipping under my shirt, while he groans against my collarbone.

“Lukasz,” I try again, pushing slightly on his shoulder to get him to lay back down. He freezes, his hand flies back to his hip. The whimper that escapes him causes my skin to burst into gooseflesh, because this time, the noise was not of pleasure but of pain.

He flops onto his back, breathing out harshly — his face in a tight wince, and his hand in a white-knuckled fist at his side.

“I am so sorry...” I sit on the bed, freaking out. I never intended to hurt him.

“It’s okay…” he grunts, taking deeper breaths. His eyes still shut, as he blindly searches for my hand over the comforter. Once he finds it, he intertwines his fingers with mine, taking a long deep breath. “C’mere, please.” He runs his fingers up my arm, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me slightly to him.

I rest my head on his chest and he caresses my hair. His other hand is back at his hip and when I look up at him, his eyes are closed.

“Can I try?” I ask, and he looks at me. When I eye his hip, he nods.

My head rests back on his chest while my hand travels over to his belly and under the waistband of his pants. He breathes out roughly as my fingers squeeze under his hand, and I brush them against his hipbone. I try softly at first, but he makes pressure with his hand for me to go harder, before leaving my hand alone.

I rub circles over the skin while I listen to his heartbeat and breathing in a hypnotizing manner.

At first, I think I’m helping, but when his heart and his breathing start racing, I’m afraid I’m doing something wrong.

“Your heart…”

His breath catches as he shifts, and my hand freezes.

Did I hurt him?

His hand is around my wrist in the next second, and he takes a deep breath, pulling my hand out of his pants.

“Oh my God, did I hurt you? I am so sorry…”

“No…” He breathes. “No…”

While he struggles for words, I look down at where my hand was just a second ago. The obvious bulging of his pants tells me I wasn’t precisely hurting him.

Oh…

OH…

I drop on my back with a sigh, palming my forehead. I never realized what a challenge this would be — sharing a bed with him. If only he wasn’t hurt… if he were okay then maybe…

“I’m sorry…” I whisper.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says sweetly, smiling at me when I turn my head to him. I smile back apologetically. “Close your eyes,” he says then.

“What?”

“Please…” We lie on our backs, next to each other, our heads turned in the other’s direction.

I close my eyes uncertainly, and I feel his hand cover them. I hear him hold his breath next to me as he moves, and then I feel more than hear, the air brushing my shoulder as he exhales next to me.

His hand cups my face and, when I open my eyes, I see he has rolled on his side again. He holds his head up with his left hand, while his right caresses my jaw. His face is totally composed, his eyes show me no sign of pain, while he keeps his sweet smile in place.

“Lukasz-” before I can object, his lips are on mine. They travel to my neck, back to my lips, then across my jaw to my ear.

He is killing me.

I know I should stop him, but I can’t find the strength in me to do so.

His hand works its way from my face, down my side, and under my shirt. His fingers feel cold against my rib cage, and I can feel my skin turning to gooseflesh all over. Our moans combine as he reaches up, his thumb barely grazing the under curve of my breast.

He stalls for a second, maybe waiting for me to stop him. I don’t. My hand reaches for his arm instead, and I push him forward slightly in encouragement.

He breathes against my neck, as his hand cups my breast. My hand remains clenched on his arm.

His hand then travels downward and halts at the waistband of my pajama bottoms — his lips at my ear again.

"Can I... touch you?" he whispers.

I whimper and nod, I think, in agreement, and his hand slips in, reaching between my legs.

His fingers remain over the fabric of my panties, teasingly, perhaps hesitantly, while my thighs clench, trapping his hand there.

I can feel him breathe deeply in my neck, and I find myself needing a moment as well.

He’s touching me, and it’s grandiose.

Slowly my legs relax, inviting him in, and his fingers start moving. Even over the fabric, his fingers feel cool against my warmth.

With his hands on me like this, I have zero control over myself, and when a “please” escapes my lips in a moan, I am not even ashamed.

“Please, what?” His lips graze my collarbone. He never stops kissing me.

“Please…” is all I manage to say and his fingers comply, slipping inside my panties.

His touch down there is almost too much, a shudder runs through my whole body, and I feel like I’m burning against his cool fingers.

“Sorry,” he says through a breath. “My hands are cold.”

I shake my head, finding it difficult to utter words at the moment, but at the first sign of an attempt on his part to pull his fingers out, I press my thighs together again, locking him in. “No…” I breathe. “It’s okay… It’s better... than okay.” My head tilts back as my thighs slowly unclench. “It’s good.”

God, I’m rambling like a moron.

His fingers are slow at first, testing, delving into me. Once one slides inside, my hand clenches on his shoulder, my breath caught in a gasp.

He works me up with his lips on my neck and his fingers inside of me. As he speeds up, I feel my muscles clench around him, and I freeze.

His fingers are too much.

I want him — I need him — inside.

“Lukasz…” My hand finds the back of his head and my fingers fist a handful of his hair.

As if he knows what I’m asking, in the next second, he’s caging me, his arms flanking my shoulders, his legs between mine. I’m about to spontaneously combust when he drops his head in a harsh exhale.

Shit, shit, shit.

I remember then why we stopped in the first place. He can’t do this. He’s hurting.

“Hey…” My hands find his face, and I pull him to face me. His eyes are shut tightly in a wince.

He breathes through a groan and lowers himself, more of his body flush against mine. His lips trap any further objection in mine, and he ravishes my mouth purposefully.

“Wait,” I manage to get out as he leaves my mouth for a breath.

“I’m okay.”

“I don’t want you to hurt.”

When he finally opens his eyes, they bore into mine, and I can’t find any hesitation in his. He wants this, maybe even as much as I do.

“Do you want to do this?” he asks, his voice strained.

I can’t find the words to tell him. I do, of course I do, but I don’t want him to be in pain.

As I don’t answer, he continues. “Because I do, and I can, and there’s nothing you need to worry about.”

His eyes show me nothing but determination. He said he’s tried so hard the whole week to take it easy so he could be here. So he could be here with me. If he says he can do this, if he thinks he’s good enough, should I still try to stop him?

“Trust me, please,” he says, undoing me completely.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?” There’s no going back now.

“Yes.”

I pull his face to mine again and kiss his lips in agreement. When he leaves my lips, I want to pout from the lack of contact, but then he kneels between my legs, and the look in his eyes is mindboggling. He’s never allowed himself to look at me this way, yet I get the feeling he’s always wanted to.

His eyes never leave mine as he lifts my legs in one hand, setting them over his chest, ridding me of my bottoms with the other one. His hand runs slowly, from my ankle down my thigh, a small smile creeping on his face as he sets my legs down.

A finger comes up in front of me, and he indicates for me to sit up. I do as I’m told, and his hands swiftly get me rid of my shirt.

He lowers himself again to his hands, pushing me down with him and kisses me, while my hands go exploring on their own. When I trail lower, my fingers lift his shirt and run along the ridges of his abdomen. His lips are still on mine and he breathes harshly out of his nose. I can feel his abs tighten when my index finger lightly traces the V that forms right on the inside of his hips to where it disappears into the waist of his pants.

I draw a line with my fingertip, teasing along the line of his waistband, and he leaves my mouth and lifts his face. His eyes are so dark they don’t even look blue anymore.

“Can I... touch you?” I throw his question back at him with a smile that is neither shy nor innocent.

He snorts in response, and I need no more invitation than that.

His eyes never leave mine as my hands release him from his clothes. My fingers graze his skin softly, and when my hand closes around him, he shuts his eyes. He brings his body closer, getting down to his elbows, while I stroke him softly and his lips devour every inch of skin they can find.

My hand speeds on him, while the other starts pulling on his shirt. I need more of his skin, more of him. I can feel his heart race against my chest and hear his breathing become irregular in my ear.

“Cecilia,” he groans in my ear, one of his hands makes it around my wrist, stilling it. “Slow down, please.”

My fingers release him slowly, and he takes a few deeper breaths trying to calm himself.

I fist his hair, my mouth inching closer to his ear. “I need you… inside.”

He stills for a second over me, before his lips find mine again, he presses them on me once, and then is off, kneeling again between my legs. His shirt is all hiked up on one side — my doing — and in a swift move he gets rid of it completely.

A lock of his hair is falling onto his forehead while he pushes his shorts further down. I am frankly overwhelmed by the mere sight of him, kneeling in front of me. My eyes are shifting so fast from one part of him to the other, that I think I might give myself an aneurysm.

His hands are on him next, and I don’t get to tell him the extra protection isn’t really necessary — since I’m still on the pill — but before I know it, he’s already back to caging me between his arms.

I lift my hand to his face and brush away the strands of hair that have fallen into his eyes. My fingers trail to his neck and down his chest until I have him again in my hand and guide him in.

He stills and searches my eyes for the quickest second, before slowly pushing forward inch by painfully perfect inch. My eyes flutter closed as he slips further inside, feeling my muscles surround him. My breath hitches in my chest when his hips come flush with mine.

His arms are trembling, and when I open my eyes I notice his are shut tightly as he tries to find his breath.

“Hey...” I pull his face to mine, forcing him down to his elbows to look at me. For a moment, I wonder if he’s hurting. He has to be, but his eyes convey nothing but need — a need that exactly matches mine.

He is breathing rapidly, and I can feel it under my fingers as they trail over his chest. His heart betrays nothing as it races under my palm. I rest my hand there for a moment, reveling in the feel of what my body does to him.

He doesn’t dare to move, and I force myself to remain still even when it’s the last thing I want to do.

“God,” he whimpers into my mouth, putting more weight on me, and I can feel a shudder run through his body.

I kiss him back hard, resisting the urge to buck my hips, as my body writhes against his, begging for friction. When he finally moves gently against me, my back arches in response.

He kisses my throat and my head falls back, exposing it all to him. My eyes screw tightly as my body erupts in flames. He slides in and out of me, slowly, so slowly.

My fingers dig into his shoulders while his thrusts — slowly but steadily — bring me to the edge.

I scream his name, I think. I scream something. I scream.

My hand grips his hair and holds him close as he shudders over me, panting into my neck. His little moan into my skin sends a shiver down my spine, and I turn my head to kiss the wrist of his hand, which fists the sheets right next to my face.

He slowly relaxes and collapses next to me with a groan, his breathing unsteady, and his eyes halfway shut. I’m on my side, blissfully staring at him, and quite frankly enjoying the view very much.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, he returns, still shirtless, and his pants back to low hanging on his hips.

God, the body on this man.

He fishes for his shirt within the sheets and turns to look at me. His eyes stray to my chest — my breasts still exposed — and the faintest, most adorable blush appears on his cheeks. With a grin that stretches on his face, he hands me the piece of clothing.

His shirt covers me down to mid thighs so I don’t even bother looking for the rest of my clothes. Once he’s back on the bed, I move myself closer, my head cradled between his arm and his chest.

“Thank you,” he whispers, kissing my forehead.

“For what?” I ask, teasingly, turning up to see him and surprised to find his eyes already closed.

“Everything. Tonight, tomorrow, this moment right here.”

I should actually be the one thanking him, but I let him have it. “You’re welcome.”

He snorts but then remains quiet for a while. His fingers caress my hair in a hypnotizing matter as mine rub circles absentmindedly over his chest.

His breathing slows down and so does his heart. I wish he could find some rest tonight, but he’s mentioned several times how difficult it is for him to fall asleep the night of a game.

“I’m falling asleep,” he announces.

Oh...

“You are?” I lift my head again.

“Yes…” He looks so peaceful, his face completely relaxed. “Is it okay?”

Is he seriously asking if it’s okay for him to sleep?

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking.”

“It’s… I’m… so tired.”

“Please, sleep. It’s okay.” My fingers trace his jaw, and he smiles with his eyes still closed.

I rest my head back on his chest as he doesn’t say anything else. After a few moments, his fingers finally still in my hair.

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We are reaching the end of this story. Thanks to everyone who has been reading so far! We’d love to know what you think. :)