Handful by C.R. Grissom

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Everest

I’m going stir-crazy. Tonight is our second away game of the season. I’m left behind again with my thumb up my ass. I got clearance to ditch the crutches. Thank Christ. The only good thing that’s happened with this injury has been Kirsty’s commandeering of my schedule.

Who’d have thought she’d turn into my fiercest protector?

My grin spreads.

The second best thing—the idea that popped into my brain while eating Grams’s soup—an app designed for senior citizens. Something to challenge their minds daily, in an effort to stop the onset of Alzheimer’s and/or dementia. I’m still working through the details of how my idea might work in app form. I’ll let it marinate for a bit and maybe walk my idea by Mr. Lacerna.

Lilly will join me tonight to watch the televised Gladiators game. Faith has a prior commitment at Teen Space. Dex and Kelly are having dinner with her parents tonight. He left an hour ago—an absolute wreck—and totally un-Dex-like.

Chrysler, my other roommate, will be on the field at Boise State. I press the spot at the center of my forehead that spikes with pain. Football isn’t everything to me, but not being on the field feels much worse than I’ve ever imagined.

Kirsty will be here soon, and we’ve got the place to ourselves. I’ve wanted her for the better part of a year. Not just sex, the whole package. My injury put her front and center in my life. What happens when I’m back to one hundred percent? I know I’m messed up over her. Need wars with my protective instincts. She’s my friend. No matter what, we have to stay friends.

I hear a quick rap of knuckles on wood. The key turns, and our front door opens. The sound carries in this old house—it’s distinctive in the quiet. She calls out, “Hello?” in a bright voice.

“I’m in the living room. Come on back.”

I stand when she enters the room. Her hair shines like liquid gold. It falls to her waist in soft waves. Her eyes are luminous. I want to touch, taste, and lose myself in Kirsty. She’s wearing a denim skirt, and a black Gladiators T-shirt. Her sandals have a wedge of a heel, boosting her height a couple of inches.

I want to devour her.

Her gaze meets mine. Her smirk makes her dimple pop. Dammit. I’m a sucker for that dimple.

“Well, now.” She grins. “I wouldn’t want to misinterpret the look in your eye.” She steps closer to me.

Need spreads through my body to coalesce in my belly. “Can I kiss you?” I murmur.

“Consent is sexy as fuck.”

My lips twist into a grin. “In Kirsty-speak, is that a yes?”

“It’s a ‘hell, yes’ from me.” Her voice goes smoky and her eyes glint in the soft light.

I lean down to take her mouth. She tastes like strawberry lip gloss and possibilities. I swear fire shoots through my nerve endings, zipping along, burning me up, igniting need. The taste of her makes me want more.

She winds her arms around my waist. Anchoring me to her and deepening our kiss. Bright light flashes behind my eyelids, punching up my heartbeat as sound roars in my eardrums.

She moans.

I swallow the sound. We’re wearing too many things. Our clothes create barriers between us. I want to shove the fabric aside to feel her: skin, hair, and curves. She’s damn near hypnotizing me with her mouth.

She breaks the kiss.

I feel her loss keenly.

“What about the game?” she asks slyly.

“I’m recording it.” In a flash I realize I’d rather have sex with Kirsty than watch my teammates play without me.

“In that case, I want to be with you.”

“Hallelujah.” I take her hand and walk her to my bedroom where we can be private.

She nibbles my biceps. My abs clench. Calm down. I’m not a horny teenager. Bed. Room. Now.

I slam the door with my free hand—using more force than necessary—and lean down to kiss her. Her tongue tangles with mine. I lose my train of thought.

I walk backward toward my bed, pulling her along with me. We sit on the edge of the bed and I ease Kirsty onto my lap.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she cries out in alarm.

“Relax. You weigh almost nothing.” It’s such a surprise because she’s such a solid and significant presence whenever she’s in a room. Light as a feather with a will so strong I imagine it’s heavier than my Baja.

Her mouth explores mine. Her hands move to the hem of my shirt pulling the material up my chest. “Jesus, God, and all the little angels, I beg you. Let me see your chest,” she implores, tugging at the fabric.

Barking out a laugh, I lean back a bit and grab the back of my shirt. I lift it over my head and let it fall to the floor.

She scoots off me. Her gaze avid. She makes a sound deep in her throat. It’s sexy and a lot needy. I grow hard.

“Oh, God. Look at you. You’re a freaking sculpture. I’m halfway to orgasm and you haven’t touched me.”

Her hands explore my torso. She’s humming deep in her chest. I doubt she’s even aware of it. Heat spreads to my face. Her reaction makes me blush. It’s embarrassing, but she hasn’t noticed, and I thank all the deities Kirsty summoned a minute ago.

“You’re so perfect it’s distracting.”

I can either choose to squirm or change direction. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“Not yet. I’m not finished checking you out.”

She’s humming again. She pushes at my shoulder to get me to lie back. She carefully crawls on top of me, replacing her fingers with her mouth. She traces her tongue over my abs. My eyes cross. My heart slams against my chest the same way I slam against the sleds in practice.

She moves slowly, like she’s savoring the taste. Her lips and her mouth explore the ridges of muscle. I’m letting her take her time—a first for me. My default in bed is to take charge and make my partner come and make her forget her name or scream mine. Kirsty has flipped it on me. She’s the one taking her time. No one ever has.

Her tongue swipes across my nipple and my stomach clenches. I bolt forward, fully intending to switch positions, but she pushes me back down on the bed. “This is the first time I have full access to your body. You need to lie down and relax. I’m going to take my time.”

It doesn’t feel possible, but I get harder. It’s almost painful now, but she’s tracing her tongue up my chest and over my pecs. Her hands skim over the skin she’s not tasting. Her lips travel up my throat. She captures my mouth in a long, desperate kiss.

My heart races. Hers, too. I can feel her heart pound in her chest—the movement reverberates against my skin. Her hair swings forward to curtain us. I’m trapped in a golden cage. Her hands move over my chest like she’s etching my shape into her mind.

She breaks our kiss to slide her mouth across my shoulders. Her lips skim over every square inch of my chest. She moves off my chest to kneel beside me. She leans down to trail her lips over my left oblique. It’s almost ticklish.

“Man hips,” she murmurs against my skin. “No wonder women get stupid over you.”

I’ve never been anyone’s sole focus. In bed, I’m the generous one. Kirsty takes control. I’m helpless under her onslaught. It’s much easier when you’re in the driver’s seat. Giving up control allows for your partner to take the lead.

My hands move to her back. My fingers trail along her spine. Feeling each tiny bump. To me she feels fragile, but I know that’s not the case. I have to keep our size difference in the forefront of my mind. I wouldn’t want to hurt her. I’m a big man. I always have to be careful.

She rears back and sheds her shirt. Climbs onto my torso, aligning her sex to mine. “Touch me.”

Her bra—a couple scraps of lace—shows her budding nipples. Carefully, I feather my fingers across the cups.

She moans when I circle her nipples with my index fingers. When I trap them between thumb and index finger squeezing gently, she rocks her hips against my groin. Sweat beads at my hairline.

“Yes. That feels so good,” she purrs.

I cup her breasts, feeling their weight, and slide my fingers across her distended nipples. She rocks faster. If this keeps up, I’ll come in my pants. “Let’s take a minute,” I whisper.

“I’m not finished,” she huffs.

“I haven’t started.” That’s about to change. Quid pro quo. I maneuver her onto the bed next to me. I feather my hands across her breasts and down her chest. I trace my tongue over the flesh above her bra. Be gentle, I admonish myself. I taste her neck. Her skin smells like freshly cut apples. Her hair smells like peaches. I’m hungry, but not for food.

I take her mouth. Our kiss deepens. Her tongue touches mine, setting off sparks behind my closed eyelids. Everything about her makes me hot.

She pushes at my shoulder to get me to lie back. “My turn.”

I oblige her. She reaches for my waistband, her feline eyes sharply green in the low light. She smiles at me. “I’m going to unwrap you like a gift.”

“That’s supposed to be my line.”

“Nope.” She tugs at my joggers.

I lift my hips for her. She takes my shorts off, careful around the brace. She appears to have a plan and it boggles my mind. Mostly, I’m used to women who want me to take my time pleasuring them. I plan to do just that with Kirsty. The oddity here being the fact she seems to want to take her time pleasuring me as well.

Once my shorts hit the floor, she’s runs her hands down my legs and back up. She leans down to press a kiss to my bum knee above the brace. “I’m so sorry you got hurt.”

I nod. There’s nothing to say and too much to say.

She skirts close to my raging hard-on but doesn’t touch. “Work of art,” she teases.

When she reaches for me, I’m not ready for my body’s reaction. She runs her hands up and down my cock feeling the shape through the cloth of my briefs. Sweat beads on my lower back. I can’t get harder. She’s not teasing me. Her movements are slow like she’s fitting puzzle pieces together in her head.

She leans down to press a kiss to the head of my penis. I feel the warmth of her mouth through the fabric and almost lose my mind. Pulling my underwear down and off—careful not to pull at the knee brace—she releases me. Taking me into her mouth. My vision telescopes. Her lazy exploration makes me lose my breath.

“My turn,” I say in a strangled tone.

She lies down beside me. I turn on my side to make eye contact. “I need to do the same things to you. I want to take you in my mouth. Make you come.”

“When you put it that way.” Her dimple pops.

The nice thing about skirts is easy access. “Climb up on my chest.”

When she complies, I place my hands either side of her hips, pulling her up and forward while I slide underneath her. Her shocked moan sends my pulse scrambling.

I use my teeth to gently scrape her sensitive nub through her underpants. My hands cup her ass.

She moans.

I move her underwear out of the way and taste her for the first time. I dawdle. Taking a page out of her book, I explore every bit of her. I lick her center and tongue her clit, using my teeth to scrape ever so lightly.

She bucks against my mouth.

I move my other hand from her butt to her belly, gentling her. She grips my headboard with both hands.

Tasting her while she writhes over me, cranking tension in her with each lick and swirl of my tongue, concentrating on her clit, I discover what she likes. What makes her knees press tight against my head, arching when I hit the right tempo to bring her closer to the edge. I want her to shoot over and explode, not just fall.

I focus on what I’m doing for her. I’m stiff to the point of pain. That doesn’t matter. Her writhing does and the whimper I teased out of her with my mouth.

She cries, “It’s too much.”

It’ll never be enough.

I slip my finger inside her, curling it to reach a good place. I feel her moan. I slip another finger inside. I suck her hard into my mouth. Her legs stiffen on her groan. Her hands drop from the headboard to fist in my hair. She cries out, “Yes,” and she comes.

Her muscles squeeze my fingers. I don’t stop. I want her to hold on to that feeling while her nerve endings sizzle and spark with the endorphin release and bring her back to the brink again.

She pants. “Wait, I can’t catch my breath.”

I slip my fingers out of her. Press a kiss to her thigh. She blew the whistle by asking me to wait.

“You don’t do anything halfway. Do you?” she declares in a strangled voice. She slides off and flops down next to me.

“Everyone needs a hobby.”

She snorts out a laugh, as I meant her to.

“Shut up,” she groans. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Damn, it feels good to make her feel good. “Absolutely.”

She lifts her head to make eye contact with me. “Are you going to be insufferable now?”

No. Maybe. “Depends on your definition of the word.”

She blows out a breath. “My body is in full twitch mode and all I can think about is getting you inside me.”

“We can do that.”

She grins at me. “I bet we can.”

I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Hi.”

“Well, hello there. What’s your name again?”

“Eric.”

“Ah. That’s right.” She leans toward me to take my mouth in a deep kiss. “Where were we?”

I grin against her lips. “I can find our place.”

“Do that, please.” She pulls off her skirt and tosses it to the floor.

“First I have to do other things.” I skate my fingers over her breasts, reaching around her I release her bra. “It helps me remember exactly where we were.”

“You have a fine…memory,” she croaks as I caress her nipple.

Her breasts fit my palms. “I do. Repetition rules.”

“Mmm.” She moans. “You do that so well.”

She reaches down to stroke me.

Heat spreads up my torso. Time to suit up. “Hang on. I need a condom.”

“Or four. I’m pent up.” She drags her nails lightly down my side.

“Sweet words, wrapped in a challenge. I like it.”

I stretch to reach into my nightstand for my stash of condoms.

“Wait.” She touches my lower back. “Don’t move.”

“Why?” I glance over my shoulder.

“Your ass is glorious. I need a minute.” Kirsty traces her finger down the slope of my butt cheek. “I might have to genuflect,” she mutters reverently.

“Are you done objectifying me?” I ask with mock indignity.

“Not even close.” She leans down and nips my ass. “Sorry, I had to. Holy crap, Everest. I might build a shrine in your honor. Your body is freaking outrageous.”

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s my cross to bear.”

She slaps my butt lightly. “Now you’re just rubbing it in.”

I grab a condom and tear open the package.

Kirsty takes it from me. “Allow me.”

She eases the condom down my length. She cups my balls once our protection is in place. “Get inside me,” she orders.

“Yes. Ma’am.” She’ll need to be on top. I don’t want to crush her. Besides, I need to get cleared for play as quickly as possible.

She takes her time. Driving me crazy again. Straddling me, then easing me inside her inch by inch. No. Centimeter by centimeter. It’s my turn to groan. I thrust, careful not to hurt.

“Everest, please don’t treat me like I’m a fragile flower. I’m not. Let loose, mister, or I’ll want to know why.”

That makes me grin. “Fine. Tell me if I hurt you.”

“If you do, I’ll let you know. Stop worrying.”

Relief wars with common sense. She sinks down on me. I lose my breath. I want this just as much as she does. Probably more. She moves her hips slowly. Kirsty bites her lip, moving over me. I slide deeper inside her.

“This feels so good.” Her bent knees squeeze my hips as she rides me. I thrust into her, following her movement. Her breath catches and her feline eyes trap my gaze. I reach up to caress her breasts, sliding the tips of my fingers over the tops.

“There’s a reason I have a thing for your hands.”

“My hands?” I ask surprised.

“God, yes,” she moans.

“Your body is gorgeous, compact and feminine, delicate and strong.” I run my hands over her. Moving with her. Lifting my hips to get deeper.

She groans. “So good. So deep. More,” Kirsty pleads.

I reach between us to finger her clit as she rides me. Her skin is flushed. Her hair brushes my thighs as she moves over me. Our rhythm in sync. My heart bucks. My body wants to go faster, to take, to feel her under me.

“Switch,” she demands as though reading my mind.

We reverse positions and she’s under me. I keep my weight on my forearms and good knee while I pump into her.

“Yes,” she cries. “Faster, Eric.”

I thrust and my orgasm builds. I try to think of math equations or the Gladiator playbook, anything to channel my thoughts away from how good she feels and how close I am to coming. She wraps her legs around my waist.

“Almost, almost, almost,” she chants.

I pump faster, risking my own orgasm seeking hers. “God,” I pant.

“Yes. Oh, damn.” Her bent legs squeeze my hips. Her muscles clamp down hard on me with her orgasm, triggering mine.

“Kirsty,” I moan as I come. My sight goes blurry and I go deaf for ten full seconds before sound returns. “You’re right,” I wheeze out a breath. “You were pent up.”

She snorts. “Told ya.” She frames my face in her hands. “I’m famished. I’m thirsty. And I’m not done with you.”

I ease back, withdrawing from her. “I’ll be right back.”

In my bathroom, I dispose of the condom. When I step back into the bedroom Kirsty hasn’t moved. Her hair fans out around her head and down her sides. Her eyes are closed, but she’s not asleep. Her lips curve. “Are you going to feed me?”

“What has to be broken before you can use it?”

Her dimple pops. “An egg?”

“Yes. I can scramble some. You want?”

“I do.”

I pull on my shorts. I grab a clean T-shirt from my drawer and pass it to her.

“Thanks.” She pulls it over her head, scooting off the bed. When she stands, the shirt drapes down past her knees like an oversized dress. She checks the floor, finds her underpants and pulls them on. Her stomach growls.

She follows me out of my bedroom and into the kitchen. We have the place to ourselves, and I’m grateful.

I point to the kitchen table. “Sit.” Opening a cupboard, I grab a glass and fill it with ice from the dispenser. Add filtered water and pass it to Kirsty.

“Thanks.”

Back to the fridge for eggs and butter. I pull a skillet out of the cupboard beneath the stove. It strikes me as being very homey. I spare a glance for Kirsty. She’s sipping water and watching me.

“Best view in the kitchen.” She grins. “You should go shirtless more often. I’ll start a petition.”

I snort out a laugh. Her sense of humor is as much a part of her as her sass. It hits me how much I enjoy her company. How easy it is just to hang out with her. The butter sizzles in the pan. I pour the scrambled eggs into the skillet.

“When do you think they’ll clear you to play?”

A pang hits, bringing low-level anxiety with it. “Not sure. I’m hopeful they’ll clear me in time to play next week.”

I push the eggs around in the skillet to brown them on all sides. She joins me at the stove. “It sucks for you and that makes me sad.” She presses a kiss to my biceps. “Thanks for cooking for me.”

“No problem. I’m hungry, too.”

“Can I help?”

“If you want to make some toast, the bread’s in the pantry.” I point to the door.

She makes herself at home. Adding bread slices to the toaster, going back to the table to sip more water, and then back to the fridge for the container of butter, which she sets next to the toaster.

“Utensil drawer is next to the sink on the left.”

“Plates?”

“The cupboard above your head on the right.”

She butters the toast and adds a piece to each plate. She brings the plates to me to add the eggs. She sets the plates on the table while I set the skillet in the sink. She grabs forks for us and tears off a sheet of paper towels for napkins.

We work together without any awkwardness, not from first-time sex or making a meal. It’s easy in a way I’ve never really experienced before. Charlene was different. I often felt out of step with her. Being with Kirsty is natural. No second-guessing with her.

She takes her first bite. “Good. Thanks.”

“You want juice? More water?”

“Water. I’ll get it. You want?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Simple. Easy. Comfortable. Until her nipple presses against the fabric of my T-shirt and I no longer want food. I want Kirsty again.

She catches my expression when she passes me a glass of ice water. “Eat. Drink. Then we’ll start round two.”

Damn.I could get used to this.