Stick Your Landing (All In #3)

26. Finley

26

Finley

I can’t move a single muscle. Not that I want to while snuggled with Zach.

The man determined to make me come last night snores lightly behind me, one arm around my waist, keeping me secured against him. He wasn’t deterred by my admission about medication or the parts of myself I don’t like. He didn’t push for details, letting me choose when to reveal more of myself.

He said he loves me.

But he also doesn’t know me completely, because I’m keeping a big secret from him. I didn’t tell Zach I love him because it’s unfair to dangle the hope of a happily ever after between us when I can’t guarantee that ending.

Science doesn’t know enough about bipolar disorder. It can’t predict whether a depressive episode will emerge from the shadows to overtake me tomorrow, in six months, or not for ten years. Taking care of myself and following my doctor’s guidance doesn’t mean I’m “cured.”

My disorder lasts a lifetime. It’s why I need to work up the courage to tell him, even if I might lose him.

Zach shifts, wedging his face between my neck and shoulder. “You smell so good,” he murmurs, his hand squeezing my ass.

“Good morning.” I sigh, shoving away every worry and giving myself over to Zach.

I reach behind me, fumbling in the limited space between us until his hand guides mine exactly where I want. It’s a relief to touch him after the tease of his erection against my back for the last hour.

“Finley,” he groans, as I stroke him slowly. His hand snakes around me, heading toward the throbbing spot between my legs. “Are you sore?”

“In the best way possible,” I say. “So please proceed.”

Zach laughs, his entire chest vibrating my body. “Whatever you want, High-flyer.”

His fingers easily slip inside with how much my body demands him. I want to tell him I’ve never been this content. He makes me feel treasured, desired, enough . My heart hurts from keeping these intense feelings for him locked away.

But the fear of potentially losing him stops my mouth from opening. I want more time to commit him to memory, in case one day, memory is all I have. Since I can’t tell him what’s in my heart, I decide to show him.

“Lay back.” I release his dick and nudge him back with a thrust of my hips. He falls away, eager for what I offer.

He watches me with heavily-lidded eyes. I love that he doesn’t rush me, especially as I’m getting comfortable with our physical intimacy. I kiss him, my tongue pushing into his mouth, tangling with his. His hand lands on my waist, the other winding around my neck, clutching like he’s afraid I might slip away.

When I pull back, I lock eyes with him. “Let me take care of you, Calder. Like you did for me.”

A sleepy smile plays on his lips. “You haven’t called me Calder in a while.”

“This setting feels appropriate.”

Zach’s hands land behind his head, arms jutting to the side. I’m going to make this the best show of his life.

“I’m more excited about this—about you—than any trophy.”

I roll my eyes. “Come on. That’s like one of the important ones.”

I wait for him to laugh, to joke, but he only stares, making sure I don’t miss the enormous meaning behind his two simple words. “It is.”

I’m so fucking in love with you.

I swallow the words. I want to say them, but I can’t do it today. I want a perfect day and night together, memories I can hold onto in case we don’t work out.

Because Zach loves watching my gymnastics, I choose to dazzle him, positioning my hands on each side of his body and lifting into a handstand. I rearrange my hands until I’ve turned one hundred eighty degrees, then lower myself back down to sit on his stomach.

“Holy shit,” Zach whistles.

Warmth simmers low in my belly at the compliment, that being myself impresses him.

He places his palms on my ass, fingers digging into my hips. I’m not a connoisseur of penises, but Zach’s dick is the best-looking one I’ve ever seen. It’s also the only one to make me come harder than a freight train, though I suspect it isn’t entirely attributable to his anatomy. It’s also his brown eyes gazing at me like I’m the most interesting sight he’s seen. His beaming smile after I land an impressive element at practice.

I’ve never had this kind of unwavering support. I suck in a breath, trying to process emotions threatening to consume me.

I don’t want to lose him.

Tears prick my eyes, but I bite my lip, refusing to let on about my internal conflict. This morning is about him .

I turn my head after I’ve pulled myself together, glancing over my shoulder at the dumbstruck expression on his face.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers.

I ignore the tightness in my chest, the heat overtaking my body. Instead, I focus on action, dropping my mouth to the tip of his cock, steadying it at the base with my hand, and taking him into my mouth with a torturingly slow descent. With my lips tight around him, I head back up, just as slowly, and swirl my tongue around the head.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans in an animalistic tone I’ve never heard from him.

I pump him once with my hand, gliding easily over him. It’s hard to resist the heady sense of power that comes with having him in my mouth and at my mercy. I’m also impatient, snatching a condom from the box we conveniently left beside us. I slip it on before I bring him to my entrance and slam down. Zach hisses a strained fuck .

I steady myself on his muscular thighs as I grind against him.

“Finley, you look so fucking hot riding me.”

I swivel my hips slowly, basking in his praise.

Zach’s grip tightens, and he lets out a strained sigh. “High-flyer, I want you to come with me, all right?”

At my hesitation, he lifts himself to a sitting position.

I gasp at the sudden movement. “What are you doing?”

Zach rests his head on my shoulder and whispers, “Helping.” His arm wraps around my body, fingers landing at the spot that throbs for him. “Please don’t stop moving.”

My hips propel faster, spurred on by the zap of electricity between my thighs.

“That’s it.” He kisses my neck, stoking the ever-growing blaze inside me. My hips buck against him harder, needing friction to relieve this painful ache consuming my every thought.

“I need more,” I say, and Zach’s fingers rub my clit slower, applying more pressure.

“Finley…” Zach grits like he’s in pain, holding on for me.

“Zach—” My body goes off like a firework, bright lights flashing behind my eyes and heat zipping through my body as my tense muscles go limp with exhaustion.

I’m moving because of Zach, his hands guiding my hips back and forth.

He lifts me an inch off of him, like I weigh nothing before slamming me back down, bouncing me on his dick until his body goes rigid. I push through my exhaustion, taking over, riding him through his orgasm until he collapses back on the couch.

I ease off him, dispose of the condom, snag his shirt off the ground, and toss it over my head. His head tilts, a slight frown forms, and suddenly, I worry we’re not on the same page. He said he loves me, but it’s not an invitation to shove myself into every facet of his life.

“Do you mind that I keep wearing this?”

“I love it.”

A grin stretches across my face. “Great, because I also prefer you without a shirt.”

“I’m thinking I don’t want this to end.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“Don’t you need to work out?”

“Later,” I tell him. I gesture over my shoulder toward the door. “Want some pizza?”

Zach laughs. “Assume the answer to that question is always yes.”

I rush toward him, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. “Be right back.”

There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than half-naked in Zach Briggs’s fairy-light–lit game room eating leftover pizza with him.

I return home later that night without Zach. It doesn’t matter that I’m a twenty-one-year-old woman and Gemma and Matt aren’t my parents, there’s still a high probability I’m walking into an interrogation. I need to do it alone.

I take a deep inhale before slotting my key into the lock. The security system welcomes me with a beep. The smell of Gemma’s delicious chocolate chip cookies smacks me in the face, and my stomach rumbles.

“We’re in here!” Gemma’s sunshine voice sounds from the kitchen.

I slip out of my sneakers and drop my backpack—secretly filled with gymnastics clothes beneath a load of heavy school books—by the staircase banister. Gemma stands in her domain, between double ovens and a subzero fridge, plating cookies. She wears an apron Matt bought her for Christmas a couple of years ago that reads, My Husband’s the Only One who gets to Kiss this Chef.

My brother sits on a stool at the counter beside Elodie’s high chair. He beams at the future baby model while she makes an absolute mess of her dinner, spaghetti sauce stuck to her face and strands of pasta in her hair. Gemma sends an air kiss over her shoulder in their direction.

I’ve walked into a damn Norman Rockwell painting. The two of them shine so bright, it’s exhausting.

“Hey Finley,” Gemma chirps, holding the plate of chocolate chip cookies toward me. She doesn’t step my way, which requires me to abandon my post at the edge of the room to retrieve one. Well played . “How was your night out?”

I wish she hadn’t phrased it that way, highlighting how long I’ve been gone. I take a cookie from the plate and stuff it in my mouth to give me a moment before answering. I refuse to look at my brother while searching for words so boring, no one will want to ask more. “It was good. Fun.”

Gem smirks. “You know you’re going to need to do better than that, right, Fi?”

“Where have you been?” Matt interjects.

I muster the strength to look at him, and yep, the smiling guy from a few minutes ago is long gone.

“The library, gym, Chipotle,” I rattle off. All true.

After Zach and I ate leftover pizza and had sex again, we watched a movie about a guy who got hit by a car, loses his memory, and mistakes a stranger for his girlfriend. The beginning of every great love story. Around noon, we finally roused ourselves for a workout at his apartment complex gym before I left to study and do a couple of hours of gymnastics. After, I grabbed Chipotle, and we ate in the car while overlooking the city, had sex again, then parted ways.

I’ve always liked sex—at least I did before my diagnosis—but I’ve never before needed someone so desperately inside me, again and again. No amount of closeness relieves my craving for Zach Briggs.

“And where did you sleep last night?” Matt presses.

“At a friend’s.” I casually take another bite of cookie. Nothing to see here. “How was—”

He cuts me off. “With Sawyer Jennings?”

“What? No.”

“Then who were you with?”

“None of your business.”

Matt’s jaw clenches. “If you’re screwing around with my teammates, it is my business, Finley. Do I need to remind you what happened the last time you did that?”

“No,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. “Your teammate preying on me when I was barely legal isn’t something I’ll forget.”

Matt flinches as expected. It’s the line I try not to throw in his face because I don’t like stoking his guilt over what happened with Garrett. But I have something precious to protect, and all bets are off.

“All right,” Gemma says. “Let’s not argue in front of Elodie.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell Gemma, because other than marrying my overprotective brother, none of this is her fault. “I need to do some homework.”

“We’re not done talking about this,” Matt calls to my retreating form.

But my footsteps don’t hesitate.