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I do. I come so hard it leaves me wrung out, clutching at him, gasping his name. He doesn’t let up until I’m trembling, boneless, every nerve fried.

Brogan doesn’t gloat. He just looks at me like I’m the whole damn world. Then grabs a tissue, leans over, and kisses me—deep, possessive, claiming.

“Round one to you, Coach,” I whisper, grinning up at him, still breathless.

He laughs, forehead pressed to mine. “Baby, I’m just getting started.”

Brogan gently shifts, his hands under my hips, moving me onto my uninjured side. He props a pillow between my knees, one under my cast, fussing until I’m as comfortable as I can possibly get. His body curls behind me, warm and solid, his hand smoothing up my thigh, steady and sure.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs against my neck.

“Perfect,” I whisper, breathless.

He shimmies out of his jeans and briefs, bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud, and peels off his T-shirt one-handed—tossing everything onto the chair in the corner like it’s the world’s least sexy striptease. By the time he climbs back into bed, warm skin pressed against my back, I can feel the anticipation thrumming between us.

Brogan pauses, glancing over his shoulder at his jeans. “Hang on, let me grab—”

I catch his wrist, a smile tugging at my lips. “You don’t need to. I’m on the shot. Got the all-clear from Nurse Aggie two weeks ago.”

His eyes flash with heat and relief, a crooked grin breaking out. “You really are perfect.”

“Still gonna want that slow, though,” I tease, nudging his chest with my elbow.

He laughs, settling back in behind me, hands everywhere, voice low and thick. “Whatever you need, Jojo. Always.”

He slides in slow—so careful, so goddamn gentle it almost undoes me. I arch back, the stretch and pressure making me gasp, and Brogan lets out a shuddering exhale against my skin. One arm is locked tight around my waist, holding me steady, the other cupping my hip.

He doesn’t thrust. Not yet. Instead, he presses a kiss to my shoulder, his lips hot and soft. “Let me take care of you, Jojo. Just let me make you feel good.”

His fingers find their way between my thighs, slow and slick and steady, and when his calloused thumb finds my clit, I swear I almost come apart on the spot. He circles it, gentle at first, then harder, rougher, just the way I like—just the way he knows I need.

He goes still, buried deep, breath catching like he can’t quite believe it. “Fuck, Jojo. You have no idea what this does to me. I’ve never—” His voice breaks off, thick with wonder and something more. “Never been inside anyone like this. Not bare. Not… you. God, it’s so much better. I can feel everything. I can feel you.”

He groans, a sound that rumbles low and honest against my back, and I know—right here, right now—he’s never going to forget this. Neither will I.

“God, you’re so wet,” he whispers, voice ragged in my ear. “You always do this to me. Every single time.”

I whimper, clinging to his forearm as the pleasure builds, fast and sharp, his cock filling me, his fingers coaxing me higher, higher, higher.

“Come for me,” he growls, not a command but a plea, and his hips move just enough to keep me right on the edge. “I want to feel you. I want to hear you lose it, Jojo. Give it to me.”

I do—hard. My body tightens, pulses, legs shaking as I come all over his fingers, his cock, the sound I make somewhere between a sob and a laugh. He doesn’t stop—keeps stroking me through it, keeps telling me how perfect I am, how much he loves me, how he’ll always be here to hold me together, no matter how many pieces I fall apart in.

I come apart for him—so hard I can’t even breathe. My whole body goes tight, and all I can do is hold onto him and whisper, “I love you. God, I love you so much.”

Brogan’s hand tightens on my hip, his own breath catching. He presses his mouth to my shoulder, voice broken and reverent: “I love you too, Jojo. Always. Always.”

Brogan’s rhythm stutters, hips jerking, breath going wild at the feel of me shaking for him. He buries his face in my neck, groaning my name, and then he’s coming too, deep and hard, every muscle locked as he spills inside me, his arm holding me close and safe the whole way through.

We’re a mess of tangled limbs, sweat, and shaky laughter, but he never lets go—just pulls me tighter, hand finding mine and lacing our fingers together, like maybe if he holds on tight enough, nothing in the world can break us.

And when Brogan finally stills, the world goes quiet and bright all at once—just us, tangled up in sheets and hope, daring to believe in a new kind of beginning.

The room is quiet except for the sound of our breathing—mine still shaky, his steady and deep. I’m tangled up in Brogan’s arms, the duvet and about six pillows barricading my ankle in a fortress of softness. My hair’s a mess, my heart’s a puddle, and I think my mascara is somewhere on his neck, but none of it matters. I’ve never felt this safe. Or this… sated.

Brogan kisses the tip of my nose, then the shell of my ear, and finally the spot on my forehead that always makes me giggle. “You good?” he whispers, his voice low and warm.

I can’t help but grin, my whole body buzzing with the kind of glow you can’t fake. “I think I’ve officially ascended,” I say, burying my face in his chest. “Is this what girlfriend sex is supposed to be like? Because if so, I’ve been doing everything wrong my entire life.”