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I yelp and giggle when he flips me over without warning, so I’m seated on top of him. I lean forward, planting my hands on his chest to brace myself and begin rolling my hips, sliding up and down on his thick, hard cock. My eyes are still locked onto his, the intensity of his gaze never wavering as I ride him. Mr. Hooper’s hands slide up and down my body. He squeezes my breasts and my ass, and grabs my hips as he thrusts himself upward to match my downward thrusts. We move together, our bodies in perfect rhythm, and electricity crackles across my skin.

“You feel like you were made for me,” he says.

“We were made for each other.”

I sink down onto him, sliding his cock as deep within me as I can take him. My body explodes in sensation, and I quiver, a long, loud cry bursting from my mouth. I tighten around him and feel weightless as my orgasm crashes down over me. He grabs my hips and pulls me down harder, thrusting himself even deeper. His cock swells, and his body tenses. A moment later, his moans of pleasure mingle with mine as we come together.

I fall forward, my hair cascading down over him as I writhe on top of him, savoring every moment of our shared orgasm. His cock pulses inside of me, filling me with his warm cream. As my pussy quivers around his shaft, squeezing every last drop of his spunk out of him, I stare into his hazel eyes. Our breath is ragged, and my heart is thundering in my chest, beating so loud in my ears, I’m sure he can hear it.

As he softens inside of me, a smile crosses his lips. I lie down on top of him, nuzzling my face into his neck, and he strokes my back. He places a gentle kiss on top of my head and wraps me in his arms, pulling me hard against him. Raising my head, Ilook into his eyes again and see the torrent of emotions coursing through me reflected back at me.

“I love you, Marcus,” I say.

His laugh is a deep rumble in his chest. “There it is,” he says, obviously pleased with the sound of his name falling from my lips. “And I love you, too, Morgan. With everything in me.”

He kisses me again. It’s slow and sweet and tender. I can feel the depth of his emotion in his kiss, and it takes my breath away. I’ve never felt more cared for than I do in that moment. More than that, I’ve never felt safer. I never thought I could feel for somebody the way I feel for him.

Marcus has shown me things and made me feel things I never thought possible. He’s made me feel loved. But perhaps the most important thing he’s shown me is how to let myself be loved. I place a gentle kiss on the end of his nose, drawing a soft laugh from him.

“I have an idea,” I say.

“Tell me.”

“Let’s go finish that shower we started,” I say. “Then order in tonight.”

“I love the way you think.”

Taking his hand, I help him off the bed and lead him into the bathroom, fighting the urge to pinch myself yet again and simply accept that this is real. I glance over my shoulder just to make sure he’s still there, just in case.

EPILOGUE

MORGAN

Three Years Later

After the game that gave them the conference championship, I gather with the rest of the reporters for the post-game press conference. The locker room is just down the hall from the press room, and we can hear the wild and raucous celebration echoing down the corridor. It’s the team’s third title in the last four years, but my first time back at my alma mater.

They won the title the year after I graduated and have been building a dynasty since. They’ve become one of the nation’s elite programs. After graduating, I started working for the local paper’s sports department. My first assignments had me covering local high school games, which was fine. I had to pay my dues. I put my nose down and focused on refining my craft and building a reputation as a solid reporter.

And it worked. After three years in the game, there was an opening after one of the old timers retired, and I was bumped up to the beat for the college I attended. This isn’t the end goalfor me. Eventually, I am going to make the transition to on-air talent for the networks, but for now, this is a good step up the ladder while I continue honing my skills.

After about half an hour, the players began trickling in for their postgame interviews. They sat and answered all questions, but it was clear they were itching to get back to celebrating with their teammates. I got a lot of good material. They all offered up solid quotes for my piece. But if I’m being honest, it’s not the players I’m there to interview.

A smile crosses my face as Coach Marcus Hooper emerges and takes his spot at the podium on the dais at the front of the room. I catch his eye as he gives his brief, scripted remarks. The corners of his mouth tip upward, a small smile touching his lips, but he doesn’t break character. Once he’s finished his statement, he opens it up for questions. He points to a reporter for the local station first.

“Go ahead, Jack,” he says.

Jack gets to his feet and asks his question, wanting to know about Marcus’ game plan heading into the matchup with another perennial national power. As he delivers his answer, Marcus’ eyes keep drifting to me, and I feel my heart swell. For the past three years, we’ve been living together, our relationship growing and getting better every single day.

He’s patient with me. He encourages me to keep reaching for more. And when I’m down and feeling sorry for myself, he gives me the kick in the backside I need to keep going. He coaches me. But more than that, he simply loves me. He instinctively knows when I need a hug, rather than a coach’s lesson, when to speak, and when I just want to be heard. And he does all this while, atthe same time, building the most successful basketball program in the history of our school.

The man truly amazes me each and every single day. Just when I think I can’t possibly love Marcus any more than I already do, he proves me wrong. There really is no bottom to the love I have for this man. And whether it’s at home or from the podium where he now stands, whenever his hazel eyes meet mine, I see that same depth of love reflected back at me.

For almost an hour, he stands at the podium answering questions. On more than a few occasions, his players burst in to hug and celebrate with him since he’s not in the locker room with them. Marcus is beloved by his players, current and former, and they are not shy about expressing that. I know how much he hates doing the press thing, but he does it to put a brighter spotlight on his players and his program. I admire that about him. It’s never about him, and it’s always about them. That’s reflected clearly in the way he answers questions, always highlighting their achievements rather than his own.

“All right, does everybody have what they need?” Marcus asks. “Are there any more questions from anybody?”

The crowd of reporters checks their notes and looks around at each other. Most of them shake their heads. They’ve all gotten what they needed to file their stories. I made it through the entire presser without asking any questions, knowing I would get the quotes I needed from him at home later. It’s the privilege of living with the coach. I wanted to be here, though, to support him on his big night and to go out and celebrate with him after.