Page 171 of Falling Offsides

“I’m your dirty little whore.”

A groan tears out of him, and he slams in one final time, deep and devastating. I break again. Body spasming, mouth open in a silent scream, my whole world reduced to this raw, breathless surrender.

Spurt after spurt he comes inside me. His arms engulfing my waist, holding me there, to him. Marked and ruined. Inside and out.

Completely his.

Time stands still. Totally reduced to pounding in my chest.

Unhooking me, his mouth brushes the side of my face while he lifts me into his chest.

“You did so good, Princess,” Auguste murmurs, voice a breathless rasp. “You took all of me so good. Thank you.”

Sitting on the bench, he unties my wrists, his fingers gentle now. Rubbing the red marks left by his hoodie string.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, cradling me as I sag into him.

Exhaustion overtakes me. I can’t keep my eyes open when he stands and carries through the tunnel… through the untethered moment.

In the locker room, he flips the light on and locks the door behind us before setting me on the padded bench. As he undresses me, Auguste kneels in front of me. Lips covering my skin in reverent kisses.

I’ve never felt so treasured before. Each kiss, each caress of his fingers is like worship. Devout and sincere.

“You’re so perfect, Court,” he murmurs, pulling off my torn leggings and underwear. “So damn beautiful.”

Lifting me back into his arms, he takes me into the showers. Everything is laid out and ready for him to clean me up. His body wash, my shampoo and conditioner.

Auguste is gentle but speedy. His dexterous fingers know exactly where to touch me to make me relax. To make me feel good. And when we’re done, he wraps me in a towel and takes me back out to the dressing area.

“I’m going to dress you now,” he tells me, crouching in front of me with a pair of his compression shorts in his hands.

Naked and glorious, he’s a thing of otherworldly beauty. A gorgeous god taking care of me.

After Auguste’s dressed me, he brushes my damp hair and braids it over my shoulder before getting himself dressed.

I’m half asleep when he strokes my cheek.

“Let’s go home,” he whispers, throwing my backpack over his shoulder along with his kit bag.

As I attempt to stand, he lifts me into his chest again and walks me out of the facility, straight to his car.

I don’t argue. Can’t. My body’s too wrecked. My eyes won’t stay open.

He doesn’t speak until I’m buckled in his passenger seat and he’s got one hand gripping the wheel and the other reaching over to hold mine.

“You know I’d never really hurt you, right?”

I nod, voice barely a whisper. “I know.”

He looks over at me, eyes soft full of things neither of us is sure he can say, so I squeeze his hand. Because even though they remain unspoken, I know. I hear them. I see them.

More than any of that, I feel them. All the way to the marrow of my bones.

THIRTY-THREE

COURTNEY

I will never ever lookat the team bench the same way again. The perma-flush on my face heats some more as I look up at the wall lined with hooks as I put my camera away and sling my bag over my shoulder. I’ve had the rink all to myself today, it’s been an oddly quiet day. Which means I’ve been too much in my head, thinking about all the things I shouldn’t be thinking. Like how maybe I don’t have to give Auguste up at the end of my time here. Of course, I know it’s impossible for me to hold on to him. We’ll be a whole country apart with schedules that clash at every opportunity, but…