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His mouth travels down my neck, tasting me as I tilt my head to give him better access. I sigh when he places an open-mouthed kiss along my collarbone. I gasp when his hands find the waistband of my pajama pants.

“Tell me what you want,” he says as the heat of his breath whispers across my skin.

“You,” I say, arching into him. “Just you.”

I lift my hips, and he slides them off, our movements growing urgent, desperate.

“Too many clothes,” I mutter against his mouth, shoving his joggers down.

He kicks them off, along with his boxer briefs before he reaches inside the pocket of his discarded pants, retrieving a little foil packet. “Thank fuck for my asshole friends,” he mutters, returning to me.

Hovering above me, he soaks me in, licking his lips at the sight of me in nothing but my panties. His eyes darken as I hook my thumbs inside the thin fabric and slowly slide them off.

“Fuck.” A growl rumbles in his chest, unrestrained and feral as his breathing quickens, his gaze raking over me before meeting mine once more.

Lowering himself on top of me, our bodies collide as he crushes his mouth to mine. I can feel him hard against me, his touch an inferno as he finds his way down my body like a roadmap leading home.

Heat curls around me like a vine until I’m desperate for friction as his tongue tastes and teases, his lips coaxing me into submission until he finds the apex at my thighs. Anticipation settles into the pit of my stomach, curling tight and hot like a spark poised to ignite. I clutch at the sheets beneath me, until I grow impatient and needy.

As if he can read my thoughts, I hear a crinkling sound as his mouth ravishes mine. A moment later, he slides home, and I catch my breath. He stills, giving our bodies the chance to remember each other, and when I open my eyes, I find him watching me with a vulnerability in his eyes that makes my heart clench.

“What?” I whisper, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze.

He rocks into me, and we both groan.

“I’m just . . .” He brushes a curl out of my face. “I’m making sure you’re real. That this is real, and you’re here . . .”

I swallow, catching his hand and pressing it to my cheek, rolling my hips beneath him. “I’m right here. And this is morethan real, Damon.” With all the tenderness I hold in my heart, I lean in, brushing a kiss over his lips as I say, “I love you, QB.”

A breathy sigh escapes his lips as he presses his forehead to mine. “I love you too.”

And then he starts to move, and my mouth finds his once more. The world narrows to just us. Nothing else exists. Nothing else matters. Not my father or his. Not the Football Championship or the uncertainty of the future or the turmoil of the past. Just the perfection of this moment. Right here. Right now.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

A loud pounding filters through my thoughts. Slowly, I come to consciousness, and when I do, the first thing I register is the weight of the arm wrapped around my waist.

Smiling, I turn in Damon’s arms, taking in the slight part of his full lips, the strong jaw covered in dark stubble, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest when he tugs me closer. “Not yet. Just another minute,” he murmurs.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

I lift my eyes to the door, awake enough to register that the sound I had heard was someone knocking.

“I know you’re in there, fucker!” a familiar voice calls out.

Damon groans and drags a hand over his eyes. “Chris,” he murmurs.

“West called, said you weren’t in your room when he woke up, and this is the only place you would go, so open up!” he yells on the other side of my door.

I chuckle when Damon silently flips the door the bird.

“It’s game day, fucker, and we have to meet Coach for pregame in twenty minutes!”

Damon’s eyes fly open, the green wild as hisses, “Shit!”

“Go.” I nudge him as we both scramble out of bed, fumbling with our clothes as we tug them on in record time.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Damon mutters, tugging his shirt over his head when Chris starts pounding again. “Hold onto your jocks, I’m coming, asshole,” he growls.