Page 48

TWENTY-TWO

T yler is a mess. A beautiful, nervous wreck of a mess.

I tried to calm him down, made him go for a jog this morning to enjoy the Los Angeles beach, the city we’ve been in for the past five days. Because fuck yeah, the Tigers obliterated the semis, and tonight is the goddamn championship game.

Since the host city gets picked before the season even starts, they really lucked out.

It’s basically a home game. Or, well, a home -adjacent game.

And Ty is feeling every second of it. As is the rest of his team.

For the last five days it's been pure chaos on this floor in the hotel, and I’m kinda glad it’s over after tonight.

I thought going on tour in the roadie bus was bad, but they have nothing on fifty football players holed up with nerves riding high.

However, when we got back from what I thought was a relaxing run, Ty couldn’t stop pacing our amazing, private, room.

Then he started re-packing his duffle for the third time, even though we’re not leaving until tomorrow morning.

And when he started explaining one of the plays (something football-y, I still don’t get it) again , I’d had enough.

I yeeted him into the shower when I got out myself with strict instructions to wash himself thoroughly.

Because clearly, I have to take matters into my own hands.

Or well—on my own tongue, really.

I intend to release that pent-up tension one lick at a time. He needs to be ready for tonight, and I’m gonna make damn sure he’s as relaxed as he can be. I want him to be at his very best tonight, he worked too damn hard for this.

When he emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung low around those thick thighs, I pat the bedding next to me.

“C’mere, gorgeous,” I say, completely naked myself.

He smiles but it’s tight, a little too strained, opting to step in between my bare knees instead, fingers sliding into my hair.

I let my hands slide over those insane abs, still warm and damp from the shower, before moving them to his back, pulling him a bit closer, which earns me a real smile.

“I’m glad everything worked out with Mick. You’re signing the final papers in a bit, right?”

I nod. I’ve got to leave soon, head to my dad’s firm where we’ll go over everything one last time with a rep from the label. Turns out that whole suing thing? Mostly just stupid talk from that stupid Mick.

I still had to drive back and forth to LA more times than I care to count because of this bullshit, but yeah, he tried to slap me with a harassment claim that made zero fucking sense. Claimed that because of my actions, the label put him on probation.

Fuck that. He did that all on his own. The label’s got my back. Finally.

“Yeah, and the new contract stipulations are also done and done.”

Turns out, my dad can talk a hard bargain when he wants to, and even though we already had a contract, the whole Mick situation cracked it wide open for renegotiation.

“You sure? You really think they’ll follow through?”

I nod, pressing a kiss against his stomach. We went over and over it until everything was iron-clad. I’m not leaving shit up to chance anymore.

“We’re never letting this happen again,” I tell him. “I’m never letting anyone else dictate our relationship or decide how often we get to see each other.”

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “It still sounds like a dream. You sure they’ll actually ease up on the shows? Leave more time for you all to rest in between shows, and so you can travel to me? Or for me to come to you?”

He’s still hesitant, still scared this is too good to be true. So I turn and guide him with me, gently push him back. I remove the towel and scoot him down until I can stretch out on top of this stunning man. My legs slot between his, my forearms resting on his incredible chest.

“I’m sure,” I say, voice soft but steady. “You see, Tyler baby, there’s one key difference between this tour and the last.”

“And that is?” he asks, eyes searching mine.

“I’m the star now instead of Mick. I own the damn show. The tour is mine . Mine and my band’s. If they don’t meet us halfway, they’re gonna find out just how much of a diva I can be.”

His lips twitch in a half-smile, and I lean in, brushing mine over his stubbled jaw, welcoming the slight burn.

“Plus,” I add, “they’re scared shitless I’ll start talking.

That we’ll start talking. About Mick. About what really went down.

Ev, Bowie, they’ve got stories too. The label knows it.

I’ve got leverage now, and I’m going to use it.

I couldn’t do that before...” I press a kiss to his nose.

“I let them get away with too much because I didn’t want to lose everything. But that’s over now.”

“And what about during the season?” he asks, his fingers brushing my ribs, making me shudder. “When I’m traveling, training, deep in game weeks…?”

I grin. “Sounds like a fun challenge to me. Sneaking into your hotel room wherever you are? I’m in.”

“I think they have rules about that.”

“I was never one for rules.” I shift closer and let out a small moan, our legs tangled now, groins pressed together. “This first tour? It was an eye-opener. I’m never doing it like that again.”

He watches me for a beat, eyes soft, the tension already dwindling. “You really are good now, aren’t you?”

And I see it there, plain as day, and I know that that look is reflected in my own. It’s a limitless love, an unrestricted love, an endless love.

It’s our love.

And I know, know it with every breath I take and every breath after, that he’s my person. The one I’ll grow old with. Until we’ve got wrinkled asses and he’s complaining I need to shop for a hearing aid because the music was too damn loud at my shows. Until the end of us.

He’s mine forever. And I’m his.

After the year we had, that truth rings louder than any song.

I kiss him on a nod, my lips moving across his, slow and deliberate, tongue flicking against his with practiced ease. A groan escapes him every time the stud in my mouth drags against that sensitive spot beneath his tongue.

My fingers curl in the brown strands, holding on so tight, because I never want to let go. The promise I gave him feels like a live wire between us these past few weeks. Ask me once the deportation isn’t hanging over our heads.

Well, that’s settled now. Has been for a couple of damn weeks. And I want to say it. Scream it. Ask me. Ask me. Ask me. Ask me the damn question.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep bottling it up, keep it in, because I know I’m ready. Really ready.

Shit, he’s right, we’re young. We’re inexperienced. But who the fuck cares, right? He’s my forever-person.

I know the fucker’s aware of my thoughts. I see it in the little smiles, the knowing glint in his eyes. I see it when he catches me staring, then opens his mouth just to ask something stupid, like whether I know where the phone chargers disappeared to.

I have this gut feeling there’s something he needs to do first. Something he has to overcome before he’ll ask. And I also have this gut feeling I know exactly what it is.

But that’s okay. I’ll be here. Waiting. Forever, if he needs me to. Since I can stay.

I kiss him again, slower this time, grinding against him with each unhurried slide of our lips. His answering moan is fucking exhilarating. I need him mellow, loose, his nerves softened and quiet. And I think I’m getting there.

But I’ve got a plan.

“I love you, babe,” I murmur against his mouth, kicking his knees apart, grabbing one to hook his leg around my waist. “So fucking much.”

Then I dive back in, tongue curling around his in a quick sweep before trailing lower, finding his neck, his collarbone, while his fingers twist tighter in my hair.

I scoot backward, lift off him, and give him a light nudge.

“On all fours, babe,” I say, voice low and hoarse. “I promised you something months ago…”

His cheeks flush instantly, he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Jacie…”

I raise an eyebrow and a single finger, making a slow twirling motion in the air. The corner of my mouth pulls up into a knowing smirk.

I watch him swallow, then nod, the tiniest movement, before flipping over and lifting that damn perfect ass in the air.

Holy fuck.

He really is a work of art, carved and sculpted like a wet dream. Every muscle pulled tight, every line drawn with purpose. My groan is guttural, involuntary, as I let my hands glide up from those flawless, muscular thighs to cup his ass, sinking my fingers in deep.

“Oh, shit,” Ty murmurs, head dropping between his arms as he pushes his ass back into my hands. “Shit, Jacie. This is really…”

“Perfect,” I whisper, reverent. “It’s fucking perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”

The lube’s already on the bed, of course it is, and I grab it, pour a generous amount onto my fingers. I slick it over his dick first, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke, tugging gently at his drawn-up balls, then slide lower, between his cheeks, pressing the tip of my thumb in as I go.

“Jesus, Jacie,” he gasps, voice strained and cracking. “This is—fuck, this is filthy.”

“Yeah,” I breathe, leaning in. “It’s amazing.”

And then I duck.

I start by pressing a kiss to each cheek, slow and purposeful, before letting my tongue slide between them, licking a long, deep stripe that makes him shudder on a ragged gasp.

His whole body jolts forward and he moans, loud and wrecked, his knuckles white where they grip the sheets.

Holy shit. I’ve never done this before. It’s new, and I fucking love that he’s the one I’m sharing it with.

I let my tongue flick over his hole, teasing it, sliding around it, and I can’t help but groan deep in my throat.

Jesus, this is fucking hot, the way his body responds, the way his breath hitches, it’s addictive.

I love the little gasps he makes, love how his toes curl hard when I dip the tip of my tongue inside.

“Christ, Jace! Why is this so sensitive ?”

My answer is a low, wet moan as I really start to dive in, licking, sucking a little, rimming him like I’ve been born to do this.

One hand kneads his ass, loving the way it gives beneath my fingers, while the other snakes between his knees, fingers curling tight around the straining erection I find there.

When I begin to tug in rhythm with my licks, Ty pushes back, desperate for more.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit .”

I swear his whole body trembles under me, and I’m damn sure I could make him come like this. But fuck, I want to be inside him. Right now .

So I switch my mouth with my fingers, sliding in deep, pressing hard on his prostate, riling him up, making him loose and wet and ready.

When he swallows three fingers like it’s nothing, I pull back, line myself up, and a loud groan rips out of me as I push in, slow, deliberate, every inch burning .

Tyler mutters something incoherent when I start my first thrust, voice already wrecked, body so pliant it nearly undoes me.

And oh fuck, how I love him like this. Relaxed. Totally out of his mind. Completely given over to all the feelings I pour into him with every roll of my hips.

I thrust and thrust and thrust, sweat sliding down my temples, spine damp and slick with it. I move one hand up, palm splaying across his shoulder, anchoring me there like he’s the only solid thing in this world.

“Fuck, Jacie, harder, please .”

I obey. I always fucking obey when it’s him. And yeah, I intended to take this slow. I wanted to savor, stretch every second out into something sacred. But if this is what he needs, to lose himself, to burn it all away… then fuck it, I’ll give it to him.

I’ll always give him what he needs.

Everything I have to give is his anyway.

Tyler places a hand against the headboard to steady himself, muscles shaking, and I really fucking ram into him now. Hard, relentless, each thrust hitting deep, his hips slamming back to meet me like he needs this just as much as I do.

Every groan, every broken cry that leaves his mouth pushes me closer. His whole body sings with it, slick with sweat, back arched and skin flushed.

I can feel him unraveling.

My name spills from his lips in stuttered, high-pitched gasps — “Jace… Jace… Jace” — like a chant, like a prayer, and fuck if that isn’t the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard.

I snake my hand beneath him, fingers curling around his cock just as he starts to truly shudder, his thighs trembling, his breath catching like he can’t hold anything in anymore.

I stroke in rhythm with my hips, matching every thrust with a tight, perfect pull, and he fucking mewls, that wild, helpless sound that means he’s right on the edge.

“Come for me, Ty,” I growl against his shoulder, voice wrecked, hips slamming into his over and over like I’m trying to fuse us together. “Let go. I’ve got you. Always .”

And he does, fuck, he does, back bowing, hand scrabbling at the wall, whole body jerking as he comes so hard I feel it all over me. His moan rips straight through me, raw and guttural, and I lose it too, burying myself deep and letting go with a groan so rough it feels torn out of my chest.

We stay like that, tangled and shaking and completely fucking wrecked, the air thick with sweat and love and everything in between.

I fucked the stress right out of him, I can see it in the way his shoulders have dropped, in the way he breathes like he finally can again.

There’s probably some rule about no sex before a game, some unwritten athlete thing, but shit…

I’d put my remedy for tension up against any damn sports psychologist.

“I love you too, you know,” he says once I finally pull out and drop beside him, both of us on our sides, our hands entwined between us.

I snort, burying my face into the curve of his neck. “Oh, I know. You love me real good.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up, eyes all soft and mellow and shiny when he looks at me. “You’ll be on time, yeah?”

I lean forward, kiss him slow, like the promise it is. “I wouldn’t want to miss it for the world.”

I’ll be there. Front row. Screaming his name, wearing his jersey, being the proud motherfucker I am. I’ll be there cheering like it’s the only thing that matters, because for me, it kind of is.

I had my dream, shit I’m living it, loud and messy and perfectly imperfect. Now it’s his turn. And I’ll be right there, dreaming it right beside him.