Page 133 of On the Breakaway

“A good boy? Are you really that desperate for me?”

“Fuck yes. Don’t you know that you could have me on my knees if that’s where you wanted me?”

“Tempting,” I tease, my voice sounding hoarse. “But what I really want is for you to prove just how good you’ll be for me.”

A rough chuckle slips from deep in his throat as he reaches over, snagging a condom out of the drawer and sliding it onto his cock, all while still hovering over me.

His mouth lands back on mine as though he can’t stay away for long. My hands latch around his neck, and everything outside of us falls away. As he thrusts into me, my legs wrap around his waist. The sudden fullness has me gasping against his mouth, but my legs tighten, pulling him further into me anyway.

We move together slowly at first, neither of us in any rush, and every touch feels like it means something I’m not ready to feel. The slow rhythmic motions of our hips moving against each other are easy to get lost in while his hand starts toying with my nipple.

There are no words left between us, only ragged breaths and quiet moans as we move together, his thrusts picking up pace as my body relaxes around him. Our lips hover only inches apart as we breathe the same air. Neither of us closes the distance, our eyes locked on each other, and unable to look away.

When my eyes finally drift shut, overwhelmed by the feeling building inside me, he finally speaks.

“Look at me, Avery. I want to see you while you come for me.”

I do, focusing on the green flecks in his eyes at the exact moment he sends me over the edge, my body arching off the bed as I ride it out while he groans, coming inside me.

If this were like any other time I’ve ever had sex, this would be when he pulls out and gets off me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in, kissing me slowly with his cock still inside me. It might be the hottest thing a man has ever done to me.

When he does finally get up, I watch him walk away, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions at war in my head.

I should want him to leave. I always want them to leave. Distance is easier because the future can’t become a problem if no one sticks around long enough to see what it could be.

There’s got to be a part of him that expects it. He’s no stranger to me pulling away, and he promised this date came with no pressure, which is probably why he stops halfway back to my bed and slides back on his boxers.

Before he can finish getting dressed, I surprise us both.

“Can you stay?”

27

Grayson

The bar slams back onto the rack, the sound echoing through the weight room while Liam steps out from under it and immediately starts cursing at nobody in particular.

“That’s bullshit.”

“No,” Wyatt says from across the room. “You just suck.”

Liam throws his towel at him without missing a beat.

The entire team is scattered around the gym, moving through what Coach has labeled a workout but really feels more like active recovery. A few guys are on bikes near the windows overlooking the practice rink. Others are working through mobility drills with the trainers. Classic rock is playing quietly through the speakers, losing every battle against the clanging weights.

My body is still aching from last night’s game, and we already have to play again tomorrow.

Playoffs are fucking brutal. Every hit feels heavier, and even our recovery days don’t really feel like much of a recovery anymore.

“Seeing how they play up close, it makes no fucking sense that Charlotte was ranked higher than us,” Nathan complains, stepping under the bar to take his turn.

“We did play like shit for a while there,” Wyatt points out.

Nathan grimaces, knowing his injury was partially why.

“At least we get an easy first round out of it,” I say, circling the bar to spot him.

The mood around the room is lighter than it’s been in months.