“Sorry.”
I smile without opening my eyes. “I didn’t mind. It’s late. They took me out for a beer. Not at my favorite bar, but a guy can’t have everything.”
He chuckles softly and slings an arm over me, and fuck, that feels good. Like I belong here.
“You have fun tonight?” he asks.
“You know it.”
“Any nerves?”
I shake my head against the pillow. “I knew Walcott wouldn’t blow his chance to keep me on the bench. He’s healthy, and he’s having a great season.”
“Dare I ask what’s wrong with Volkov?”
“His back flares up sometimes. Don’t tell a soul, okay? The team will never call me again.”
“I’m a rock.” He kisses my jaw, and my whole body comes alive. “Especially when you’re around.”
That gets my attention. I press up on an elbow and look down at him, trying to read his expression in the dim light. “Is that so? Show me.”
He flips the covers back to reveal his naked body and his growing semi, and I hiss through my teeth.
Then, because I’m not a fool, I kick off my boxers and straddle him.
“Fuck,” he says, running a hand up my chest. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Miss me when I’m gone?” I place my hands on his big shoulders and rock my hips.
“You know I do,” he grunts.
I don’t, in fact, know that for sure. I mean—I know Forest enjoys my company. I know he enjoys my body, which is why he’s rock hard already and pulling me down for a kiss.
In fact, I suspect he likes me a lot. Which is why Scully texted me a pic of Forest staring at the TV screen tonight when he was supposed to be mixing drinks.
But Forest won’t admit how he feels. Not in words. I get a soft, hungry sigh as our mouths come together. And I get his greedy hands all over my body as we kiss. Those big, blunt fingers exploring my ass. His soft beard against my face.
The thump of his heart against mine.
But this is all I’m going to get. No I love yous. No let’s meet each other’s families.
Regardless, when he takes control, rolling on top of me, I spread myself for him anyway. I do it willingly. I accept the terms of our arrangement with each brush of my cock against his.
I do it because I know that getting two thirds of Forest is better than getting a hundred percent of anyone else.
Do I wish things were different? Yes. But it doesn’t make me a fool. It makes me a realist. Because there’s nothing more real than the heated look on his face as he yanks the bedside table open and reaches for the lube. Or the perfect, rumbly groans he makes as he pounds into me.
It helps that I know we’re both getting more than we bargained for. I would have done anything for a single night with him. But I’ve gotten so much more than that.
And so has Forest. Again—not a fool. He gives himself to me in spite of his better judgment. Till the day I die, I’ll carry the memory of the look on his face when I kissed him that first time. The shock. The excitement. The pure hunger.
Staring up at his sweaty face. I see my own awe reflected back at me. He’s trying to resist. He’s trying to hold on. “Fuck, Becker,” he pants. “You’re making me?—”
“Come,” I gasp. “Do it.”
He bites his kiss-bruised lip, and his face fills with peace. The groan sounds like a prayer.
And that’s it for me, too. Forest just does it for me, every time. Even as he reaches for my cock, I erupt all over us both.
