My arms seem to go dead weight as they rest across the tops of my thighs. His hands make easy work of getting rid of the many knots I have in my back.

“Damn, girl,” he says as he pushes his palms down my spine. “How stressed have you been lately?”

“You have no idea.” I try to sound normal, but I accidentally moan out the last word when Quinton pushes his fingers into the spot just beneath my shoulder blade. “Why are you so good at this? Did your mom make you take massage lessons as a kid too?”

“Very funny.” His voice sounds off. He clears his throat and repositions himself behind me before he answers. “No, I guess my big hands are good for something besides throwing a football.”

“Thank you for that.” I unroll my back and stretch my arms into the air. But as I do it, I scoot back against him and feel the reason his voice sounded the way it did. But instead of scooting forward and giving him space, something comes over me and I rock back against him instead.

“Fuck, Elle.” His thick voice sounds strangled in his throat. His fingers clasp on to my hips, digging into the softness I’ve been so self-conscious about for so long. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”

Sitting on his couch, my makeup worn off, barefoot, and in leggings, I’ve never felt sexier.

“I hope I do.” I stand up and turn around before straddling my legs over his lap. “Because you do the same thing to me.”

He doesn’t say anything.

His gaze drops to my mouth and he stares at my lips for a minute. “Then what are you waiting for?”

His hands reach into my hair, pulling out the ponytail I threw it into while we were axe throwing, and digging his fingers into my scalp, pulling my face to his before pushing his mouth onto mine.

We’ve done a lot of kissing since our first kiss on this very couch, but something feels different about this one. This feels like more. Every time his tongue circles mine, it feels like a promise of what’s to come.

His hips thrust up beneath mine. The bulge in his pants aligns the zipper of his jeans perfectly against the seam on my leggings. He twists my hair around his hand and pulls my head back. My mouth falls open and my breathing speeds up as he moves his hips, hitting that spot with every thrust.

Like the rest of my body, my eyelids feel heavy and opening them is a struggle. But Quinton’s breath is heavy against my throat as our moans begin to mix together. I know that if I don’t see him beneath me as I fall apart, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.