I obey. I always fucking obey when it’s him. And yeah, I intended to take this slow. I wanted to savor, stretch every second out into something sacred. But if this is what he needs, to lose himself, to burn it all away… then fuck it, I’ll give it to him.
I’ll always give him what he needs.
Everything I have to give is his anyway.
Tyler places a hand against the headboard to steady himself, muscles shaking, and I really fucking ram into him now. Hard, relentless, each thrust hitting deep, his hips slamming back to meet me like he needs this just as much as I do.
Every groan, every broken cry that leaves his mouth pushes me closer. His whole body sings with it, slick with sweat, back arched and skin flushed.
I can feel him unraveling.
My name spills from his lips in stuttered, high-pitched gasps —“Jace… Jace… Jace”— like a chant, like a prayer, and fuck if that isn’t the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard.
I snake my hand beneath him, fingers curling around his cock just as he starts to truly shudder, his thighs trembling, his breath catching like he can’t hold anything in anymore.
I stroke in rhythm with my hips, matching every thrust with a tight, perfect pull, and he fucking mewls, that wild, helpless sound that means he’s right on the edge.
“Come for me, Ty,” I growl against his shoulder, voice wrecked, hips slamming into his over and over like I’m trying to fuse us together. “Let go. I’ve got you.Always.”
And he does, fuck, he does, back bowing, hand scrabbling at the wall, whole body jerking as he comes so hard I feel it all over me. His moan rips straight through me, raw and guttural, and I lose it too, burying myself deep and letting go with a groan so rough it feels torn out of my chest.
We stay like that, tangled and shaking and completely fucking wrecked, the air thick with sweat and love and everything in between.
I fucked the stress right out of him, I can see it in the way his shoulders have dropped, in the way he breathes like he finally can again. There’s probably some rule about no sex before a game, some unwritten athlete thing, but shit… I’d put my remedy for tension up against any damn sports psychologist.
“I love you too, you know,” he says once I finally pull out and drop beside him, both of us on our sides, our hands entwined between us.
I snort, burying my face into the curve of his neck. “Oh, I know. You love merealgood.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up, eyes all soft and mellow and shiny when he looks at me. “You’ll be on time, yeah?”
I lean forward, kiss him slow, like the promise it is. “I wouldn’t want to miss it for the world.”
I’ll be there. Front row. Screaming his name, wearing his jersey, being the proud motherfucker I am. I’ll be there cheering like it’s the only thing that matters, because for me, it kind of is.
I had my dream, shit I’mlivingit, loud and messy and perfectly imperfect. Now it’s his turn. And I’ll be right there, dreaming it right beside him.
TWENTY-THREE
Ibarelymadeittothe stadium in time for the championship game. Not because I left late from the hotel, I left damn early, but because I had something really fucking important to do before heading here. A non-negotiable kind of important.
Coach doesn’t stop cussing me out for a full hour. He’s upset, angry, pissed beyond belief, and I get it. We’re aiming for the damn stars here. He can’t have his quarterback showing up late to the biggest fucking game of the year. The one we’ve been grinding toward since August. The one that decides everything.
But I had to go. Ihadto.
I really,reallyneeded to do something. And that something was back in Summerset. So once Jace left for the label, I rented a car and drove back home, did what I had to do, and came back here.
And maybe Coach gets that it was important to me. Maybe he can see it in my face, because even while he’s yelling, there’s this thing in his eyes, this twitchy little spark that says he knows. He keeps muttering “breathe in, breathe out” to himself when he looks at me, like he’s reminding himself not to lose his shit completely. And he didn’t really punish me, either. Yeah, sure, he made me run an extra warm-up lap, but that’s nothing. Honestly, I probably needed it. Shook off the rest of the nerves.
Still, I can’t stop grinning. Not because I’m being cocky. Because Iknow.
I’m going to bring it home. For him. For me. Forus.
For my whole damn team.
Because yeah, I do feel kinda guilty for making them worry. For that thirty-minute window where no one knew if their QB was even gonna show up. But I’m here. I’m fucking here. And I’ve never wanted to win more in my life.
Lamar grumbles under his breath that Coach only made me run the extra lap for show. Just to keep up appearances. To remind the others that evenTyler Kingdoesn’t get to bend the schedule without consequences. That even I get chewed out when I pull a stunt like this.
