by Kat Bastion
I jogged the short distance between us, slow-crashed into his chest, then carefully pulled the door shut behind us until only a metallic click sounded. “And lewd and lascivious, I hope.”
“Damn,” he murmured as he brushed his lips over mine. “Fucking love the way you think.”
We kissed for a breathtaking few seconds before a clunk echoed out and snapped our attention down the hall.
Overhead lights had been dimmed in a tiled corridor that appeared to stretch the entire width of the building. Along a blue-painted interior wall, two alcoves darkened its length, one fifteen feet away, the second farther down. Another muted clunk sounded. From the nearer alcove.
Hand in hand, we snuck toward the sound. Another set of metal doors appeared in the shadowed cutout, one propped open with a janitor’s cart.
Even though I paused, uncomfortable with the danger of an unknown so close, he tugged me on through the door, as if he felt he belonged there.
But we still peered around every corner, crept past every locker-filled aisle.
“Ugh!” I whispered fiercely, scrunching my nose. “What’s that rank smell?”
“High school boys’ locker room,” he murmured. “Half those guys haven’t learned what laundry is yet. Sweaty gym clothes that ferment in a locker for a week or more will do that.”
“Doesn’t their teacher have a nose? That burning tang hangs in the air. It’s making my eyes water.”
“Coach does. Mine made us clear our lockers every Friday. Doesn’t matter. Teen-boy stink permeates everything, sinks into walls, becomes one with paint.”
“What about teen girls’?”
“You mean the girls’ locker room?”
I nodded.
“No clue what that’s like. Teenage boys only get to dream about it.”
“Wanna find out?”
He dropped his chin an inch, gaze locked with mine. “Fuck yeah, I do.”
Another clunk sounded. We’d been talking low-register, but we still fled the smelly room. And out of the corner of my eye, I caught a sopping-wet mop head lift out of a bucket at the other end of a locker aisle.
Hands tightly clasped, we ran toward the other alcove. After we slipped inside, we both eased the door shut.
We glanced at each other...and burst out laughing.
A partner in crime was more fun than I’d expected.
With the space all to ourselves, I slowly spun around, then began to investigate.
The overheads had been turned off, but dimmed light from an office area cast enough glow to guide our way.
The block walls were royal blue with a fat ribbon of gold trim running along the room a couple of feet below the ceiling. Shining white brick-shaped tiles spanned the walls in an open shower area. Chrome showerhead nozzles sparkled. Square porcelain sinks glistened.
“I’ve never been to high school.” I jostled combination locks with my finger as I walked down a row of lockers.
I wondered what it would’ve been like...if I’d been normal. If I’d had decent parents that would’ve allowed that alternate reality. If I’d had friends and teachers and homework.
“Didn’t miss much.” He walked along with me, but on the other side of a row of benches.
I glanced at him, brow raised.
He shrugged. “Awkward kids: jocks and geeks alike. Drugs and alcohol and sex.”
“Not learning?”
“That too. But you found a way without all this. And look how you turned out.”
I cast him a dubious look.
He shot me an unforgiving one. “You’re a beautiful, sexy, intelligent, and brave woman with one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever encountered.”
Well, okay then. And yet... “You just described how I see you.”
His gaze held mine for a beat, serious as he exhaled a slow breath.
Then he gave a nod down toward the row of lockers and tapped a finger twice to his nose. “And?”
“Better.” The janitor had to have already cleaned the girls’ side. Laundry bins sat empty with a slight lemony scent of disinfectant. White towels were neatly folded on metal shelving units.
I walked ahead, hooked a finger around a chrome lever, then lifted a quarter turn.
Water sputtered then sprayed from one of those sparkling nozzles.
“Oh, look.” I glanced at him with an arched brow. “There’s a shower.”
“All about it.” He reached back, grabbed a fistful of T-shirt from between his shoulder blades, then yanked the material over his head.
I watched, mouth gradually falling open, as he kicked his shoes off, shucked his jeans, then strolled casually and completely naked onto the white tiles toward the water.
And he stared at me with heated intensity the entire time.
Until he turned to step under the spray. Water rivulets danced their way over taut shifting muscles, as if delighting in such a glorious surface to play on.
And I thrilled in the raw masculine sight.
He dipped his face out of the stream and shook his head, causing water droplets to fly everywhere. Then he pressed fisted hands against the tile wall, tilted his head, and glanced at me.
Gaze fierce, features dark, muscles tensed, he stood proud and magnificent.
I blew out a measured breath and committed the spectacular sight of him to memory, every hard line, all that strength, the soul-searing possessive way he stared at me, as if I was the only thing on earth he wanted.
The moment would remain ours forever. Mine to cherish. Even if the MORE turned out to be too much for him to handle. A memory all to myself, just in case. Tucked safely into my heart. A hundred times better than anything stuffed into a backpack.
His chest expanded on a slow breath. “You coming?” Teasing lips twisted into a smirk as he reached down and wrapped a hand around the base of his hard length, then stroked upward. “Or watching?”
“Coming.” I raced to remove my clothes: kicked off shoes while I scraped my shirt and sports bra over my head, hooked thumbs into underwear and jeans as I shimmied out of them.
“Not yet, but soon.” His hungry gaze raked over my naked body. He straightened from the wall and reached a hand toward me. “We need to get you wet first.”
The moment I slipped my hand into his, he yanked me forward to collide against his chest. And the warm strength of his arms wrapped around me while he claimed my mouth. Soothing hot water rained down over us. The bite of cold tiles met my back as his fingers slid down between my legs.
And the world hazed into a cascade of sensation.
Firm touches...
Soft kisses...
Urgent strokes...
I shivered and gasped when a spark of pleasure sizzled through me.
My hands tangled into his wet hair as I lost myself in each wonderful kiss, some sweet and tender, others rough and demanding. A decadent ache built from deep inside, unfurled with gradual heat until it charged every nerve ending.
Without warning, the strokes of his fingers quickened. My body tensed and my breath caught as ache coiled...tighter...deeper.
Low whimpers escaped my throat as I held on to the only man I’d ever trusted, the one person who’d earned all of me.
And under his expert and demanding touch, the pleasurable ache snapped taut...then exploded into a million sizzling sparks.
My unexpected scream got swallowed by his growling kiss.
In a sex-drugged haze, I dimly felt the world shift: body slid up wet tiles, hips gripped by strong hands, legs parted as lean hips slid forward up my thighs.
Soft bluntness pressed at my entrance.
In a snap of sensation, everything crystallized as he plunged fully inside.
I moaned low, gliding my lips over the soft scruff along his jaw.
He growled, the sound guttural, primal, as his breath fogged over my ear.
Hard. Hot.
Delicious stretch.
Aching need.
Then we began to move.
He
drew back, then drove deep.
I arched my back, then curved my hips. “Not much...traction.”
Another thrust. A slow grind. “Plenty of friction,” he murmured.
A single acute spark of pleasure flashed through me, and I gasped. “Agreed.”
On the next slow drawback, his darkened gaze fell to our point of connection, scanned up every inch of my body, then locked on to mine. He arched a brow. “You said against the wall.”
I bit my lip and curved my hips toward him, craving more of his hard length. “And?”
He exhaled a heavy breath and dipped his head a fraction as his gaze intensified. “Fucking spectacular.”
I only caught the carnal glitter in his eye for a split second before he lunged closer, thrust harder, and captured my mouth in a breathtaking kiss.
Up...up...up... my pleasure spiraled, exquisite ache building from every incredible stroke he delivered.
With each hard pound against me, deep within me, I slid up the wet tiles. But his strong hands curved over my shoulders to pull me back down.
“Hold on.” He groaned against my neck, panted ragged breaths over the shell of my ear. “Don’t let go.”
As if I’d ever want to.
Everything felt greater than ever before, him, me, us together...in a locker room of a school I never got to attend.
With a fierce love I never thought possible, I clung to a man who’d shown me there was another way.
Water-spatter echoed off tiles.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
Shortened breaths turned into ragged gasps.
The gentle bite of teeth clamped onto the crook of my neck.
I let out a low groan as delicious ache became burning need.
Our bodies strained, both of us hanging on the edge.
A loud clank reverberated a split second before bright lights flickered on.
Ben shot an arm out and cut off the water.
We froze, clinging tightly to one another, breaths held.
“Anyone there?” a gravelly male voice called out.
Somehow, the incredible searing ache flashed hotter the instant we both went still.
In desperation, I gripped Ben’s wet hair. “I’m gonna come,” I murmured over his ear.
He thrust once more, body going rigid. “Me too,” he growled on a low whisper.
The lights went dark.
The door clanged shut.
And we let go, exploding into a powerful simultaneous orgasm in one another’s arms.
We stood there for a long time, holding each other tight, connected in so many ways beyond something physical: dreams and fears, triumphs and demons.
Eventually we came down from our high, breaths calming, pulses slowing, muscles relaxing. He eased me down from the wall, but held on to my shoulders. Then he turned the shower back on, and we rinsed in silence in the near-darkness.
We locked gazes often, hearts filled with emotion.
But every now and then, instead of compassionate softness, I detected the tiniest flash of something else in those dark charcoal eyes...conflict, uncertainty. Not long enough to mention. Which was good. For both of us. Helped to keep the treasured experience as pure as possible.
He turned the water off, then grabbed us towels from a nearby stack.
As he wrapped a thin white towel around lean hips, he pegged me with a hard stare. “Now you’ve done high school.”
I fought a smile as I tucked an end in over my breasts. “You’ve given me the very best part.”
“Ditto.” He scooped up our clothes and rolled them into a ball. “This is what high school kids fantasize about.”
My gaze stuck on the bundle of our clothes tucked under his arm. Then I glanced at his near-nakedness, at mine, at our “borrowed” towels—the only thing about to save us from streaking across a high school football field.
“Why, Benjamin Bishop, are you stealing high school property?”
“These threadbare pieces of shit? I’m doing them a favor.”
He strode into the office, grabbed a fat blue marker from an overflowing cup of pens, then scrawled a message diagonally across several weeks of the giant paper calendar covering the center of the metal desk: BUY NEW TOWELS! He jammed the tip down on the dot of the exclamation point. About to cap the marker, his fingers hesitated, an inch apart. Then he scrawled a quick addition, his signature: CONCERNED TAXPAYER.
My heart melted. “Look at you. Taking up the cause.” A baby step. But a step, nonetheless.
“You trained me well.”
Did I?
My thoughts raced over all the things we’d done, and over the turmoil he quietly suffered because of those acts, whether they’d been relatively harmless or not. Then my mind settled on the one last thing I knew I had to do alone.
I’m holding on, Ben. Even if I have no choice but to let you go.
Ben…
“Damn, I’ve missed you.” I slid my putter into my bag for the final time after a long tournament, then pulled Shay fully into my arms.
“You’ve been busy,” she murmured against my neck. “Conquering eighteen holes takes concentration.”
I turned my face into the softness of her hair and drew in a deep breath. I savored the faint scent of her floral fragrance, had been looking forward to it. “Thought about you all the way. On the greens, when I spotted you in the gallery, your outrage at foxes stealing balls popped into my mind. Down fairways, I remembered how you stood in my arms while you’d convinced me to enter this tournament. And at tee boxes, I had your ridiculous swing-mantra in my head.”
She pulled back and those beautiful green eyes sparkled with amusement. “‘Yeah...whatever’?”
The very one. “When I was trying to get you to take the whole thing seriously.”
“Well...” Soft lips pressed to mine in a tender kiss. “Looks like it worked for you. You won the tournament.”
I exhaled my first relieved breath in hours, grateful to have her in my arms. “The only thing I’m serious about right now is you.”
Her body went rigid for half a beat, then relaxed. Not long, but enough to notice.
And every time I’d caught her in the gallery along the fairways or on the greens, she’d given me a warm smile the instant we’d locked gazes, but then seconds later, her expression had turned wistful, sad almost.
The worrisome change had distracted me from my own shit—my childhood-golf trauma—made me focus on my concern for her.
“You okay?” Maybe her tolerance had worn thin for the country-club crowd, too many entitled people in close proximity for too long.
She tilted her head, gave me a warm smile. “Yeah. I’m good.”
I gave her a stern look. We’d been around each other almost 24/7. I didn’t need my lie-detector senses to know something was up.
“Smooth moves, Bishop.” Kiki sidled in beside her.
I shrugged. “Shay asked me to step up. I had to kick ass for my girl.”
Shay leaned in toward me and pressed her hands to my chest. Her fingers drummed a double-pat as she stared into my eyes. “For the charity.”
“That too.”
Kiki looped an arm around the crook of Shay’s elbow and began to tug her away from me. “Ready? Only so much fairy-godmother magic I can accomplish in two hours.”
Two hours? Shay took five-minute showers and wore no makeup.
I grabbed Shay’s hand, not ready to let her go.
She glanced back as her fingers slipped away and pierced me with the same intense expression she’d had in the locker room the night before. As if she couldn’t believe that I stood there with her...because of her, who she was.
But some part of me clanged out in warning that she needed me to know something else, understand some unspoken thing about her.
I’m here because of you.
And I already know and understand.
Still standing here. Not going anywhere.
Ever since our shower fantasy last n
ight, she’d been a little distant.
Then again, so had I.
We’d both been through a lot of shit in the last few days, good and bad.
We just needed more time to settle into it all.
Yet her reminder last night of our timeclock boomeranged into my brain: two days and one night. And almost twenty-four hours had ticked by since then.
We still have tonight, then all of tomorrow.
Plenty of time to convince her that we needed more of it, more of us.
“They’ve let riffraff into the country club.” Cool judgment frosted out from a polished alto female voice.
“Hello, mother.” I didn’t turn and hug her; she hadn’t been about the warm fuzzies. And all the family touchy-feely damn sure wasn’t for me. I followed her gaze. It was locked on to the back end of a sexy little ass in a black golf skirt.
“That girl had the audacity to attend your event?”
“That girl is my girl, her name is Shay, and she’s the only reason I’m at the event.”
Her heavy sigh filled the space between us. Then the slight weight of her grip on my forearm made me glance at her.
A sudden happiness glittered in her eyes and she wore a rare smile. “Well done today. Your father would be proud.”
The same father who’d pressured a young son to excel on the course for all the wrong reasons. One who’d put the almighty dollar and prestige above everything, before family, before showing any kind of real love. One who’d nearly beaten his own son with a golf iron—on our very own country club course—in a drunken rage, who’d stopped short halfway through the brutal downswing before throwing the club...and any remaining respect the son might’ve had for him...away.
But I took her compliment for what it was, heartfelt in the only way my mother knew how to express it. “Thanks, Mom.”
Her expression pinched, brows lowering, mouth tightening. She smoothed a hand over the yellow fabric over what was likely a thousand-dollar sundress.
“How you holding up?” We hadn’t spoken since Wednesday night. I’d avoided calling, for so many reasons.
“It’s horrible,” she wailed in as low a tone as possible while still getting the full impact of her martyrdom across.
I struggled to keep my eyes from rolling. “It hasn’t even been a full day.”