Stick Your Landing (All In #3)

Prologue #2 Finley

Two Years Ago

I’ve felt nothing all day, a lovely side effect of my bipolar disorder medication.

My doctor said it takes time to find the medication and dose my body needs, but once we discover the right combination, the emptiness will pass. He also said feeling nothing for someone with my condition is better than the alternative.

But after the energetic highs of hypomania, moving through ordinary life is akin to a car stuck in mud. Still not as bad as a depressive episode. During those, everything takes constant, conscious effort, including actions most people take for granted. Getting out of bed. Exercising. Social interaction. I’d argue this nothingness, this sleepwalking through the day, isn’t much better.

It took a herculean effort to get through the wedding, hours of hair and makeup, endless conversation with the other bridesmaids, and my sister-in-law Gemma’s bubbly personality. I’m happy she’s joining our family, and she should effuse happiness on her wedding day, but I still struggle. Watching other guests cry during the vows while I experienced no emotion made it blatantly obvious how different I am from everyone else.

I retreated to that closet so I would stop comparing myself to other people. No one tried to talk to me there. Not until Zach burst through the door, rambling about the restroom in this self-conscious way that made me want to smile for the first time in so, so long.

“What makes you dangerous ?” Zach asks, swimming toward me.

His flirting sends a thrill through me. I like his rambling too. The way my mere presence melts his mind to the point he can’t form sentences. I like the way I unnerve him, this cute guy who probably has no shortage of women interested in him. There’s a power in it—a sense of control—that grounds me.

“Clearly, I influence you,” I tell him with a half smile. “You followed me here, to the pool. Aren’t you worried about what I might make you do next?”

The water shoves my burdens from my shoulders. I’m free from my family’s concerned expressions. From the heaviness of my tired limbs. From the acute awareness my life will never look like it used to. From the fact that I’ll always have to deal with something most people will never understand.

I hate self-pity, but I can’t stop it. I haven’t been able to since my diagnosis, not with the constant reminders of my otherness .

“I might like it, I think.” Zach’s gaze darts away from mine, breaking eye contact first. His nervousness kicks my heart into overdrive. I want whatever this emotion is to swallow me whole. I want a break from the void. I want this adorable boy to make me forget myself.

“Follow me,” I say, turning my back to him as I swim to the deep end of the pool.

Climbing out of the water reveals my entire body, especially with these bright lights. Every scar. Every stretch mark. Every tan line. Every imperfection. I should’ve dimmed the lights, but I didn’t bring him here to seduce him. I no longer make plans; I follow the plans other people make for me.

Except no one is here right now telling me what to do. I’m winging it.

Zach won’t see me after tonight. If he doesn’t like my body, I can leave him in my rearview mirror.

I hear a strong intake of breath as I step off the ladder to the pool deck, but I don’t turn around. My steps carry me to the locker room Zach entered earlier where I now stand naked, waiting for him to join me.

The door swings open within seconds, and I’m face-to-face with Zach, wearing soaked black boxer briefs. I swallow hard, taking in every inch of him, from the slight bulge of his biceps to the strong plane of his abdomen. My gaze follows the trail of dark hair beneath his naval, and I eagerly take in the signs of his attraction to me.

He’s looking in my direction but not meeting my eyes. Cheeks stained. Pupils wide. One leg bouncing.

“Lock the door.”

Zach’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “You’re sure? I mean… uh, someone could find us.”

“Obviously, you could leave instead,” I say in a softer tone, though I don’t think he will. He followed me in here hoping something would happen between us.

When the lock clicks, a wave of satisfaction washes over me. I’m calling the shots. I fucking miss making my own decisions.

“You’re…” Zach swallows hard, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Finley, you’re so gorgeous.”

I haven’t craved anyone in months, but a glimmer of desire sparks inside me at the unabashed longing in Zach’s expression. I want him to bring me back to life.

“And you’re hard.” I tilt my head and take a step toward him. “What should we do about that?”

“What… um… what do you want to do?” he stammers. It’s too damn cute.

A smile blooms on my face, and for the first time today, it’s not forced. “I want you to stand against that wall.” I motion toward a plain white wall across the room. “Toss some towels in front of you.”

Zach wordlessly follows my instructions. After the sixth towel lands on the floor, I stride over and drop to my knees, delighting in the way Zach’s eyes widen.

“What are you—”

His words are cut off when I slide his boxer briefs down and his cock springs free. It’s the perfect size. Not so large I’ll spend the entire time painfully trying not to gag, but big enough to challenge me to take all of him. I want to work for this, to have the gratification of a job well done. I want Zach to remember the woman from the wedding who blew his mind.

The me from before would have enjoyed the feel of him between my legs. A lot . With the way my mouth waters, hope takes root that I could want sex again someday.

My tongue darts out to lick a path from his base to the tip while my eyes remain locked with his. His hips jerk when my lips reach the head, pushing the tip of his cock into my mouth.

He recoils immediately, his body slamming into the wall. “Shit, sorry, Finley, I didn’t—”

“Tell me what you want me to do, Zach.”

“W-what?”

I lean back on my heels. “You heard me.”

“Finley.” He groans, half-pained, half-embarrassed. Maybe he thinks I’m toying with him. But he’ll get what he needs as long as I do too. And I need to hear him beg, to know I hold his desperation in the palm of my hand.

I flutter my eyelashes and press my breasts together with my arms. Since retiring from elite gymnastics six months ago, I’ve gone up a cup size—one of the few perks. Also, my hands no longer sport bleeding tears, and my muscles don't feel like they’ve been through a meat grinder.

“ Fuck ,” Zach curses, his head falling against the wall, his eyes shut. “I need you to—I mean, can you…?”

“Yes?” I encourage.

His eyes open and meet mine, wild and wary. “Please suck me, Finley.”

I smirk, rising to my knees. My hand pumps his cock, and I bask in the soft moans escaping his lips. He’s not going to last long, not with the way I plan to work him. I’ve been told my enthusiasm is a massive turn-on… but I haven’t done this in half a year, so I’m out of practice.

My lips wrap around his cock, easing him slowly into my mouth while my tongue licks the side of his shaft. His hands land on my wet hair, gripping the crown and undoing my formal updo. Good . Every part of today's put-together appearance is a lie.

I want to look like the mess I am.

He groans, his hips surging toward me again. I push him back into the wall, my hands securing him there. He’s not determining our pace.

“Stay,” I tell him. “Or you don’t get to come.”

“Yes, sir,” he says immediately.

I laugh before I can stop myself.

“Shit. Sorry… I’m so used to saying it—”

I hollow out my cheeks and take him in quickly to cut off his apology. I suspect the reason for his automatic response, and I don’t want confirmation. If he tells me he’s on my brother’s team, I’ll have to leave without getting what I came for. I learned long ago not to mess with my brothers' hockey bros.

Zach lets out another curse, a groan pulling from deep in his throat. His fingers brush my cheek, like I’m precious. I can’t remember the last time someone didn’t treat me like I was breakable, only one wrong move from crumbling before their eyes.

The thought pulls me out of the moment, reminding me how much has changed, how broken I am. The spark inside me still simmers, but it hasn’t grown. Maybe my Cinderella night is over, all thirty minutes of it.

I pull back from Zach’s cock with a loud smack, then replace my mouth with my hand. It glides easily over him while I sink further to the ground to run my tongue over his balls. I suck one lightly, a stark contrast to the grip of my hand, working back and forth.

“ Shit , Finley, I’m going to…” His legs spasm.

“Do it,” I urge, wanting the evidence of how I’ve undone him. My tongue resumes teasing, driving him wilder. It’s taking effort for him to keep his legs pinned to the wall, but he does it. Like a good fucking boy.

His body jerks, and warmth hits my chest. A first, and I don’t hate it.

I kiss the tip of his dick, saltiness coating my lips, then rise to my feet. I could make a dozen wishes—to bring my lips to his, to kiss him until he’s hard again, to give myself over to him—but I know I can’t get there, and the weight of our mutual disappointment would sink this night.

Zach’s eyes remain shut, his chest expanding and retracting as he recovers from his orgasm. Seeing him like this will need to be enough.

“I’d like a rating,” I blurt, realizing there’s one more way he can satisfy me.

“Fucking amazing,” he mumbles, his voice still strained from exertion.

It should be enough to render this usually rambling guy speechless, but I need more. I crave more. “I mean a number.”

His eyes bolt open, and he watches me clean myself off with a towel. “What? Like out of ten?” Amusement underlines his words, but I’m not laughing.

“Yes.” I toss the towel into a laundry bin. “How do you rate me out of ten?”

“Ten,” he says instantly, the word filling the cracks in my heart. I like that he doesn’t look at me strangely. “Obviously ten. It was the best… anything I’ve ever had. I think I blacked out. If you give me a minute, I’ll be good to—”

“I should go.” I snatch a clean towel from the rack and wrap it around my body in case someone else is in the pool. My family can’t find out where I went during the wedding reception. They’ll think this lowering of inhibitions is a symptom of my bipolar disorder.

“I… wait!” Zach says as I unlatch the door. “You don’t want—”

“It was nice to meet you.”

I turn away from his disappointed expression and walk back into my empty existence.