Page 35 of Broken Desires
With her now straddling me, I remind myself this is about comfort, not sex, as my cock stirs at her nearness.
“I don’t want your pity,” she states firmly, attempting to shift away, but I tighten my grip on her hips to keep her close.
“Good, because pity is the last thing I feel for you. What I feel… pity isn’t in the picture,” I tell her, my eyes unwavering to show her the sincerity that she can’t hear.
She presses herself on my groin, and I groan.
“I didn’t come here to ‘save’ you; you don’t need saving. They can’t touch you. I came because I wanted to be with you. I missed you,” I confess, the words escaping before I can hold them back.
Her expression softens, her fingertips gently outlining my features with a tenderness that catches me off guard. Her gaze turns dreamy, and I realize the magnitude of my admission. It’s a truth that complicates things further, revealing feelings that perhaps should have remained hidden. Yet, at this moment, all I can focus on is the connection between us, both comforting and undeniably real.
She leans in and kisses me, a touch so gentle and soft it surprises me. But with her, my self-control is always on the edge, and despite my intentions to keep this moment tame, I can’t help but respond. My hand finds the back of her head, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as she rocks her hips, hardening my cock even more.
No, not here. With willpower I didn’t know I had, I gently break the kiss, though every fiber of my being protests the separation. Our foreheads rest together as we both pant, trying to steady our breaths. Having her on my lap like this is intoxicating, but I’m acutely aware that if I don’t create some distance, my resolve will shatter completely.
I gently help her off my lap, unable to suppress a chuckle at the disappointed look she gives me.
“We were just getting to the good part,” she sighs, settling back into her seat.
My attempt at laughter sounds more like a breathless exhale. “There’s plenty of fun waiting for us in Vegas,” I assure her.
“Vegas?” Her interest is piqued.
“Yeah, for the football tournament, you’re coming, aren’t you?” I ask, hoping she’d already considered it a given.
“I… I didn’t know I was invited,” she admits, a hint of surprise in her voice.
“You’re my plus-one,” I tell her, making it official.
Her smile broadens. “That doesn’t sound very friends with benefits of us.”
“Is that what we are?” I probe, needing to hear her thoughts on the matter.
The light in her eyes dims a bit, her smile fading. “That’s what we should be,” she says, but her voice lacks conviction.
Her words hang between us, heavy with the things she leaves unsaid. We’ve not been that for quite some time. I don’t even think we ever were.
Now the question is… Where does it leave us?
The trip to California shifted things between Nessa and me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. It’s been subtle but definitely noticeable. Lately, we’ve been talking way more than we’ve been having sex. I’ve caught myself paying more attention to her smiles and the way her eyes light up than the curves of her body, a change that’s both surprising and profound. I’m drawn to seeing more of her world, particularly her dancing. The thought of watching her dance, something she describes with such passion and freedom, intrigues me deeply.
She speaks of dancing as her release, a way to truly express herself, and I can only imagine how captivating she must be in those moments. It’s a side of her I haven’t seen yet but one I’m eager to discover. It’s a different kind of intimacy, one that’s no less powerful than the physical connection we share.
Standing outside the stadium, I glance at my phone, then at the entrance, wrestling with my decision. Deep down, I know exactly what I want—to buy her a first-class ticket to Vegas and have her by my side, calming the nerves before the exhibition game. The thought of us being seen together doesn’t bother me as it once might have, but I’m unsure about her feelings on the matter, and I hesitate to ask.
Opening the messaging app, I second-guess myself yet again. This indecision, this constant back and forth, is uncharacteristic and draining. Checking the time, I realize I can’t afford to be late for the team meeting.
I start walking toward the entrance, then pause, a decisive moment of clarity washing over me. “Fuck it,” I mutter, pulling out my phone again. If I’m going to crash and burn, I might as well go all in.
Me: How about flying first class with me to Vegas? Be my emotional support friend?
Just as the typing dots appear, signaling her reply, I’m interrupted.
“Hey man, what are you waiting for?” Peters, the curly-headed defender, calls out.
I force my captain’s demeanor back on, pocketing my phone with a silent groan. “Just checking how late you’d be,” I retort.
“Ah, come on, don’t be that way! I’ve only been late twice this year,” he protests.