Odette

18

G avin's body is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen.

I woke up at least a half hour ago, and after a moment of wondering what the fuck I did, I've been studying him the entire time. Every inch, every muscle, every bruise and scar. Most are new, but a couple I remember from before. Like the tiny one at the corner of his mouth. It sits at the edge of his bottom lip, an old injury from a stick to the face. He told me the story once, just as he told me new stories last night.

It was as enjoyable for me this time as it was then. His voice soothes me as much as how he worked my muscles with his massage.

Maybe if I was a better woman, I'd have been scandalized or ashamed to wake up next to him this morning. I wasn't, though. I wanted something last night and I asked honestly for it. There's no shame in that. There's none now, either, as I ogle him while he sleeps. If he feared me doing this, he should have left before I woke.

What does exist is an apprehension that I've given him something he won't so easily back away from. And a fear that I've left a gap for him to crawl through.

The sex was…exactly what I hope for every time I get in bed with a man. Only, Gavin didn't disappoint. He was relentless, never stopping his consistent thrusting, never showing any sign of tiring, even as I barely held on to consciousness.

Everything he did for, and to, me last night was exactly what I needed without knowing it was what I needed. He knew, though. Hell, he even came prepared. Though, I don't think he anticipated it ending in my bed.

I didn't, either, when I opened my door to him. Weakness isn't something I show others. We all have it, in one form or another, but I never wear it proudly. Showing it to Gavin didn't scare me, and that's what I fear the most.

He shifts, and the blanket falls off him, baring his ass for me to see. Two taut globes just willing me to bite them. It's not fair how beautiful his body is. Or how well he uses it. He's incomparable. Preston surely could never fuck me the way Gavin did last night, though he has gotten somewhat braver in bed.

What do I do now?

Do I wake him up, ask him to leave, and break this little fairy tale I've been in? Or do I let it last a little while longer? Take what I want, what I've missed. What was stolen from me. Sooner or later, I'll return to my senses but right now…right now, I'm still feeling reckless and emotional. Right now, I'm ready to show him what he's been missing.

Slinking back down under the covers, I snuggle into his side. He turns on his side, his arm coming around me and pulling me closer. My cheek rests on his pectoral, a firm but not uncomfortable pillow. The bonus is that his nipple is right there for the taking. I dart my tongue out, tasting it before pressing a kiss there. He hums and his cock comes to life against my leg. I press another kiss to his chest, my eyes upturned to his face. He still sleeps, though the pressure of his fingertips deepens. I press another, lower this time, then another still lower. His eyes remain closed, even as his dick wakes up fully. When I've trailed kisses down his chest, over his abdomen and happy trail, I look up again.

"Ode," he moans sleepily. I sigh in relief that it's my name he calls. Then he opens those sky-colored eyes. All his attention on me as I prop just above his hard erection. I raise an eyebrow in question. Does he want this as much as I want to give it? "You have no idea how good you look with your head between my thighs."

"Not as good as I'll look with your cock in my mouth," I say, making the appendage twitch against my waiting lips.

"I'll have to see that for myself before I can decide. Years of faded memories and torrid fantasies don't count," he says. Has he fantasized about me? Would I have wanted him to when he had a wife by his side? Ignoring my wayward thoughts, I drag my tongue up from base to tip, savoring the silkiness of him.

He smells of the oils we bathed in last night, but he tastes salty and manly in a way I haven't had in so long. This isn't something I do. If I'm being honest, I'm usually a selfish lover. I live my life like men in that way, I do what I want, take what I want. And I want Gavin's cock so deep down my throat.

"Don't be gentle," I purr before swallowing him.

"Ah, fuck, Ode," he groans, his hips rising. I start a steady bobbing, my tongue curved to cradle what I can of his girth. I may be out of practice but I'm also a huge overachiever. So, I go deeper, and he curses. His hips find a rhythm, one hand in my hair while the other curls around his head so he can look down his body. Gavin's heels push into the bed, allowing him to rise more. I nearly gag, but relax my throat to try to accommodate.

A rush of feminine power washes over me as I work him with my mouth and hand. This beautiful fucking cock is hard because of me. Gavin Vaughn, star hockey player, is losing his mind because of what I'm doing to him.

I'm not the type to get starstruck. I wouldn't have lasted in my career if I were. But the way he's watching me is heady and euphoric in a way that I think most would feel if they were meeting their celebrity idol.

I could become addicted to this. It's fucking terrifying.

But nothing could pull me away right now as the first drops of pre-cum leak from his tip. I pull up and am about to dive down again but he stops me.

"No. Get up here," he says, then pulls me up his body. He sits up and helps lower me on his cock. I gasp at the fullness and he mutters, "That's better."

With his arms wrapped around me and my legs twining around his waist, he pumps in. Eye to eye, noses grazing, he whispers things I'm not sure he'd say if we weren't so impossibly connected right now.

"I missed you. More than you could know, Ode. I didn't understand then. I didn't know what I know now."

"Gavin," I warn, but it comes out as more of a needy whine.

"Just listen. Let me say it, just once. Look at me, ," he says, at the same time he doubles the effort with his dick. "I loved you. I never said it, but you should know. I loved you and I have mourned us every single day."

I gasp as the tears form in my eyes along with the rush of blood to my core. A sob escapes as I orgasm, my body not knowing what to do with all the sensation.

Gavin never lets me go. Not even after I've shattered and buried my face in his neck. He pets me in the most soothing way, and I love it.

I love it.

I hate it.

I want to run from it as much as I want to cling for more.

How could he possibly know that I needed to hear that? It's the one thing I've questioned the most, convincing myself that he must not have. That he couldn't have felt the same as I did because how could he walk away from that and pretend like we never knew each other. When what we were was sweet and caring and beautifully in love. I knew it. But I convinced myself it must have all been a lie, it was the only way I survived the idea that he was creating that same sort of love with someone else.

I housed myself in doubt while he found comfort in her. They didn't marry out of romantic love but there must have been affection and love making in all that time.

My skin prickles, a chill taking hold, as if the ceiling has opened up and snowflakes have started to fall on my bare body.

"Shit," Gavin cusses, pulling the blanket around us. "I'm sorry, Ode. That was selfish and I promised I wouldn't be that with you."

"I needed to hear it," I say, trying to keep my words steady. "It just brings up more..."

"I understand," he soothes. "Do you have food in that huge-ass kitchen of yours?"

"Some." Untangling myself from him, I rise from bed and move into my closet to find a wrap. My comfort with being naked around him has vanished and been replaced by muddled thoughts. I can feel him watching me as I go, but I avoid looking at his face. I can't be trusted when I look at him. At least I'm self-aware enough to know that Gavin makes me weak in ways I don't allow myself to be. The past twelve hours or so excluded, of course.

As I tie the wrap securely closed, I also don that invisible armor. Padlocking the steel cage I keep around my heart, I raise my head high and pull my shoulders back, ready to face the consequences of my actions on the other side of the wall.

He's walking out of the bathroom, the sweatpants he came in last night hanging low off his hips. It's easier to face him when he's dressed, but only marginally.

"Let me make you some breakfast and I'll get the soup simmering, then I'll get out of your hair."

"Is it even still there?" I ask sarcastically, raising a hand to my head.

"It's still there. Maybe less indulgence next time you come to one of my games, though," he says, winking, as he walks out of the room.

"Gavin," I stop him. "Thank you. For last night, thank you."

"What are friends for, Ode?"

The best sex of my life. You're in trouble, girl.

Sighing, I follow him downstairs. He rummages through my kitchen, placing items on my counter.

"Avocado toast, okay?"

"That sounds good, I still have some of the bread you made," I answer, pulling out a few pieces and popping them into the toaster.

"Do you have a crockpot?"

"I'm ashamed to admit that it's the only way I know how to cook. I used my oven in New York as storage. I didn't cook anything in it the whole time I lived there."

"Storage?" he asks, laughing. "For what?"

"A bin that had all my winter scarves and gloves, mostly. Stop laughing, storage in New York is hard to come by!"

"Suddenly, this house makes more sense."

"Yes. She's too big for me. I really only use a handful of rooms. But I love her." I pull the crockpot out of the cupboard, and he laughs again.

"How old is this?" He takes it from me, seeing all the spots of worn off paint and the dents from not being handled as lovingly as it could have been. But those aren't from me, it came to me that way.

"Old." I shrug. "It was a thrift shop find shortly after I moved to the City. It's one of my oldest companions."

He gives me a funny look but dumps the contents of the mason jar in it, then fills the jar up with water and adds that, too.

"Should be ready in eight hours."

"It's that easy?"

"Yeah, my mom has it down to a science."

"How is she doing?"

"Good," he says with a wide smile. "She's been regulated for a handful of years now; it was like meeting her for the first time. There's a clarity or awareness in her now that was never there before."

"That's really special, Gavin. I'm glad she's found something that works for her." It always occurred to me that her mental health weighed on him more than he let on.

We make small talk while we eat breakfast. Mostly about my college experiences and my first jobs. It's foreign to me, talking about this to someone who doesn't already know. Usually, the people in my life know more details about the path my career took than I do. I haven't had to sell myself to anyone in so long now. It's probably the same for Gavin.

But we don't know each other's life stories, and I realize he stayed as closed off to me as I did to information about him. For me, it was a decision made out of self-preservation. Was it the same for him?

When we finish eating, he cleans up, telling me to stay put at the table that overlooks the water. I can see his reflection perfectly in the glass and count every time he looks up from dishes and wiping down my counter.

Part of me wants to turn around. Part of me wants to run back to New York. I won't do that, though. No matter how complicated he makes me feel, I won't let his presence make decisions for me. That's not who I am.

Men don't rule me, I don't center myself around them.

No matter how good they are with their dick.