Page 38 of Full Tilt (Love The Game #4)

“Dead serious.” My voice cracks a little, and I smile to soften it. “Though if I’d known you’d tackle the shit out of my heart this fast, I might’ve bought an emotional helmet.”

That earns a low laugh. It’s small but real, and the tension in his shoulders bleeds out just a touch.

We’re halfway to Jacksonville now, the trees thinning, road signs flicking by like blinks. I risk a glance at him again. “You okay with me being there for the match?”

“More than okay,” he says, voice quiet. “I want you there.”

“Good.” I clear my throat. “Also, for what it’s worth, I think our families will get along well.”

Cam blinks. “You think? You don’t think your mum’s going to blame me for stealing you away?”

“She gets very… maternal when she’s emotionally overwhelmed. You’re a good guy. She can tell.”

He huffs out a breath. “Hope she wasn’t too disappointed when she realised I’m not dragging you back here permanently.”

“She was,” I say, only half joking. “But she’ll survive.”

We fall into a comfortable silence after that. Not quite companionable, not quite settled—but honest. Like something’s finally been named between us, even if there’s still more road to cover.

And then Cam exhales softly, eyes on the horizon. “I love you, you know.”

The truck swerves. Not wildly, but enough to make the tyres groan and the wheel jerk beneath my hands. My heart leaps so fast it slams into my throat.

“What—holy shit.” I throw the indicator on and veer towards the shoulder, gravel spitting beneath the tyres as we roll to a stop. Behind us, a car honks loud and long, the shriek of it echoing through the cab.

Cam winces. “Okay, probably should’ve waited until we weren’t on the highway for that, huh?”

I blink at him. My brain’s still short-circuiting. “You—fuck, you can’t just say that while I’m driving!” I gasp, thumping the gear into Park. “What if I’d crashed? You nearly turned us into a love story and a cautionary tale.”

He shrugs, a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. “Guess I figured it was overdue. Besides, your reactions are never boring.”

“Unreal,” I mutter, heart hammering like I’ve just run ten blocks instead of pulled over on the side of a Georgia road. I unclick my seatbelt like a man possessed and launch sideways across the middle console—not gracefully, not smoothly, but with absolutely zero hesitation.

My hands find his jaw, and I kiss him. Hard. Open-mouthed. Desperate.

His beard scrapes my fingers, coarse and warm and familiar as hell. I can feel the faint smile tugging at his lips even as we kiss, like he knows exactly what he’s done to me, like he planned this. And God, I don’t even care.

The kiss deepens. He groans low in his throat, and I swear I feel the sound vibrate straight through me.

By the time we finally break apart, breathless and flushed, I’m pressed halfway into his seat and gripping the back of his neck like he might disappear if I let go.

“I love you too,” I whisper, forehead resting against his. “You absolute menace. I can’t believe you just dropped that on me mid-drive.”

His smile softens, and he reaches up to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear. “You didn’t crash.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t explode.”

“You’re lucky I’m not making a joke about that,” he murmurs, lips brushing mine again.

I laugh. Then I kiss him again—slower this time, more sure, like I’m trying to memorise the shape of this new beginning.

Because yeah, we’ve still got a thousand miles to go in so many ways.

But this? Us? It’s the start of something real.

Something that feels terrifying and exhilarating and exactly right.

And okay, yeah—his team’s arriving soon, and I should probably let him rest, but all I can think about is how good he looked this morning with my family, how he smiled when I stole his bacon, how he reached for my hand under the table like it was instinct.

I just really hope we manage to steal a spare hour or two before duty calls.

Because if I don’t get to fuck him into the mattress before rugby reclaims him, I might actually combust.

With that in mind, I don’t waste time pulling back onto the road to get us to Jacksonville. I drive perhaps a little quicker than I should, but my focus is hard on the road. It has to be. If not, just the thought of being buried deep inside Cam would make me come in my pants.

By the time we reach the hotel, Cam’s thigh is bouncing with nervous energy, one hand gripping the handle above the door like it might snap off.

He’s been mostly quiet since I climbed back into the driver’s seat—his “I love you” still echoing somewhere in my chest, louder than any music could compete with.

We pull into the circular drive of the hotel, a classy brick-front place a few blocks from the stadium. He murmurs a distracted “thanks” when I park, but he doesn’t move to get out right away. He just sits there, like he’s trying to steady himself for what’s next.

“You good?” I ask.

He turns to me with a look that makes my blood heat and my heart ache. “Yeah,” he says, voice low and a little hoarse. “More than.”

We’re barely through the lobby when his phone buzzes. He checks it and exhales roughly.

“Coach. They’re ten minutes out. Meeting in half an hour.” He glances at me with a smirk I feel down to my spine. “So, you know, no pressure.”

I don’t waste a second. “Check in. Room. Now.”

He chuckles, shoulders shaking as he heads to the front desk.

I stand there like a man possessed, eyes on him, barely able to keep still.

It’s not just lust—not this time. It’s all the emotion bottled up from the past week: fear, comfort, honesty, exhaustion, and now this—relief. And desire. Always desire.

We take the elevator in silence, but the moment the doors close behind us in his room, I move.

His bag drops to the carpet with a thud. I push him back against the door, the soft click of the lock registering only dimly as I claim his mouth in a kiss that’s rougher than I mean it to be.

He moans into it, hands finding my hips, and pulls me in tight. “You gonna do what you said in the truck?”

I grin against his mouth. “Every goddamn word.”

I kiss him again, deeper now. His beard scrapes my skin as our mouths slide, tongues tasting, testing, then devouring. The heat between us spikes, thick and urgent. My fingers grip the hem of his shirt, and he lifts his arms to help me peel it off.

“You sure we’ve got time?” I murmur, even though I’m already walking him backwards towards the bed.

He nods, eyes blazing. “Yeah. I need this.”

His honesty slams into me like a freight train.

Cam’s never been shy with me, but there’s a rawness to this moment. A need to feel grounded. I know what this is. Not just sex. Not just release. It’s about connection. About saying I love you in a language we both speak fluently.

We fall onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and breath. I roll over him, kiss my way down his neck, his chest, over every scar and mark I can find. He’s solid and strong and so fucking responsive—like every brush of my lips is another thread pulling us tighter.

“Brent,” he murmurs, fingers threading into my hair.

“I’m here.”

“I want—” He swallows hard, hips rising towards mine. “You. All of you.”

My breath catches. “Yeah. Okay. Same.”

Clothes disappear. Skin meets skin. There’s no time for slow, no room for hesitation—not today.

But even in the urgency, there’s a softness underneath.

My hands are everywhere. So are his. He keeps murmuring my name like it’s an anchor.

I prep him with care—slow, attentive strokes that have him trembling under my hands.

His breath stutters, hips twitching with each glide of my fingers, every quiet word of reassurance I murmur against his neck.

His skin is flushed, hot beneath my palms, and when I kiss his nipple before drawing it into my mouth, he lets out a soft, wrecked sound that curls straight down my spine.

When I finally ease into him, it’s not just the tight heat that steals the breath from my lungs—it’s the way he exhales my name like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

His back arches, legs shifting to pull me deeper, and I still for a second, overwhelmed by the feel of him around me, the moment heavy and raw and entirely ours.

“God,” I rasp, forehead pressed to his. “You feel… fuck, you feel incredible.”

“So do you,” he pants, wrapping his legs around me, urging me deeper.

The rhythm builds—fast and greedy but still laced with something reverent.

Every thrust is a vow I don’t know how to put into words.

Every kiss I press to his shoulder, his neck, the corner of his mouth—it’s a promise whispered through touch alone.

The heat between us grows fierce, our breaths tangled, our bodies moving in sync like they’ve always known how to find each other.

I don’t know how long we stay locked in that rhythm—seconds?

lifetimes?—but when he comes, it’s with my name broken across his lips.

Raw. Shaking. The sound of it unravels me.

My spine turns to liquid. My heart feels too big for my chest. And still, I hold on tighter.

I follow a few seconds later, buried deep, vision splintering behind my eyes as everything inside me lets go.

Afterwards, we lie tangled in the mess of sheets and sweat and emotion, Cam’s arm draped over my chest, his breath slowing against my shoulder.

“Shit,” he mutters after a long pause. “We’re gonna need a shower.”

“And new sheets,” I add, grinning into his hair.

“And maybe an alibi.”

I laugh, chest shaking under his weight. “Your coach said in the conference room, not presentable. He should’ve been more specific.”

Cam hums and kisses the side of my neck. “Guess I better get moving.”

I nod, but I don’t move just yet. Because holding him like this? Feeling his heartbeat slow against mine, his muscles finally relaxing—it’s something I’m not ready to let go of.