Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

I took a deep breath. Nodded.

“Very good.” He nuzzled against my cheek. “Take the rest, then.”

He used his palm to spread my thighs apart, as though we could never be close enough. When his pelvis came into full contact with mine, and his cock slid as deep as I could take him, right to the hilt, I let out a low, guttural groan. “Fuck, yeah. You really are an amazing fuck, aren’t you?”

I sighed, trying to adjust.

“Put your arms around my shoulders.” He kissed my mouth, and I realized that we hadn’t done that yet. He was fully inside me when his lips first found mine, and god, it felt good. “When you said you weren’t into this, I had these lofty, deluded dreams of showing you the pleasure of a slow, thorough fuck. In a bed, possibly. But I highly doubt it’s going to happen anytime soon, and I’m not even sure I care anymore . . .”

I liked this: his big body moving in mine, the stretch of him, the way he rocked into me. I liked that he seemed to be less in control than I was, the power of it. I fundamentally trusted him not to hurt me, and he seemed to trust me just as much. His undoing was electrifying, and never frightening.

I’d just come, and still felt the echoes of that pleasure reverberating through me, fueled by the way Eli seemed utterly lost. A lot of men had complimented my breasts, ass, face, and I’d welcomed the idea of being just a body. I’d purposefully sought out partners who’d be willing to see me as little as I wanted to be seen. But I loved the way Eli looked at me like I was something special, something more. Like I could easily exhaust the entire spectrum of his needs. Like he couldn’t imagine looking anywhere else, ever.

“I know you don’t like to—but if—” He wasn’t fully coherent, but I understood when his hand slid between us and his thumb began to describe nice, slow circles on my clit. “The good news, for you,” he said hoarsely, “is that I’m unreasonably fucking crazy about you, and this isn’t going to last too long.” His rueful tone made me loop my arms more tightly around his neck.

“Don’t hurry on my behalf,” I said. It wasn’t painful, or boring. The hot pressure was pleasant, as was his tight grip on my hips as his cock pushed in and out of me. The way his thrusts would become choppy and erratic before he’d remember himself and suddenly stop, as if to draw out the experience. Not in an attempt to get me off, but for himself. And the knowledge of how much he was enjoying this, with the dragging movement of his thumb, had warmth spreading inside me, a new kind of tension building up, and—

Eli bit into my shoulder, and it was over. His movements stuttered inside me a few times while he slurred into my throat a litany of praise that ranged from sweet to incredibly dirty. “Fucking unbelievable,” he rasped at the end, his laughter a breathless puff against my cheek.

I felt a tinge of disappointment. It had been good, very good, and it felt too soon for it to be over—

“Rue, I’m going to tell you something you don’t want to hear,” Eli said. His thumb resumed its movements on my clit. A shiver of pleasure rose up my spine. “It was always going to end this way.” His cock was softening inside me, a pleasant stretch that was little more than a counterpoint to the strumming of his fingers. “Even if we hadn’t matched on that damn app, we’d have met in this rink, or at Kline, or walking down the street. And I’d have seen you, talked with you for about five minutes, and you would have looked at me all serious and curious and uncompromising, and I would have known that I needed to do this with you more than anything else in the whole damn world.”

My orgasm came fast and beautifully. Eli’s hands roamed greedily all over me as he pressed soft kisses to the base of my throat. And then, after a while, he said, “I want to drive you home.”

I was boneless, still trying to get my brain to restart. “My car is here.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning and drive you back here.” He leaned back. His expression was earnest. At least I thought so—my eyes were watery, like I’d been crying. Except I never cried. Maybe my eyeballs were sweating. Summer in Texas, not too improbable. “Let me make you dinner.” He traced my mouth with his thumb.

“That would be nice,” I said.

“Come to my place. Let me take care of you. Let me teach you how to pet dogs. Exposure therapy, sweetheart.”

I let out a small laugh, but I was scared. That he was asking. That I wanted to say yes. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Really?” He kissed my cheek, open-mouthed. “You moving in. You, quitting your job so we can do this twenty times a day. Me, retiring to service you full-time. Us, fucking around for the rest of our lives. Does it really not sound like a fantastic idea?”

My heart jolted. Yes, it said. Yes. I just wanted to be with him. Was it so bad? Florence didn’t have to know. No one did. Just the two of us.

“Don’t say no, Rue,” he murmured. A low, heartfelt appeal. “Don’t do this to us.”

I didn’t let myself think about it. “Okay.”

His smile could have powered the entire city. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeated, and we were both laughing silently in each other’s mouths, and then kissing, and I thought that maybe, if perfect moments existed, this could be one of them.