Page 10 of Take Two

“I can’t get enough of you. I want your ass all night,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice rough with want, his breath hot against my skin.

“Yes,” I gasp, reaching back to grab his ass, pulling him closer. “I need you.”

He groans, his hips snap against mine, his dick hits my spot and I cry out and beg to him or whoever will listen for this to never end.

“Fuck, Blue. You feel so good,” he says, planting kisses down my neck and over my shoulder.

I whimper, every muscle straining with the effort of holding back, my dick throbs in his hand. “Don’t stop,” I beg, my voice breaking. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growls.

He keeps going, his hips piston against mine, his fingers grip my dick hard, working me over in time with his thrusts, as he fills me, stretches me, ruins me. The pleasure builds, coiling tight in my gut, my balls draw up against my body. I climb higher, delirious with pleasure, my body tightening with every thrust, every stroke of his hand.

“I’m gonna—” I gasp, my head falling back against his chest, my back arching. “I’m gonna cum again.”

“Do it,” he growls, his voice rough. His hips grind against mine. “Cum for me, Blue. Give it to me.”

Pleasure crashes over me in waves, cum shoots across the bed, spilling over his fist, making a mess I couldn’t care less about. He follows me moments later. I shake in his arms, completely spent as he slides out of me, leaving me bereft. He tosses the condom and lays down beside me, turning me to face him, pulling me into his arms once more.

We lie like that for a long while, our bodies tangled together, our hearts hammering against each other’s chests. We fuck until the first light of dawn creeps through the curtains, painting the room in shades of gold and pink. Eventually, he passes out beside me, exhausted. I know I should go. I know this is over, but I can’t bring myself to move, not yet. His arms are still wrapped around me, his breath warm against my neck, his fingers trace idle patterns on my skin even as he sleeps, and I want to bask in this feeling a little longer.

Another hour passes and I slip out of his arms, leaving him asleep in his bed. His face is relaxed in sleep, his lips slightly parted, his dark lashes fanned out against his cheeks. I want to wake him. I want to tell him my name, ask him his, but I know that wasn’t what this was. It takes a herculean amount of effort, but I leave. I don’t look back. I don’t leave a note. I just walk away, leaving behind the man who made me feel, for one perfect night, like I was more.

Like I was real.

Chapter 4

Jamie

(Present Day)

The post-win celebration is in full effect. Alright by Kendrick Lamar is blasting from Devan’s speakers, rattling off the locker room walls with enough bass to vibrate the metal benches. He’s half dressed, chest bare and gleaming, showing off the new tattoo stretched over his left pec, his daughters’ names, Chloe and baby Tiara, curled into the shape of a heart, still looking tender at the edges and healing. Three months old, that little girl, and already permanently inked onto her father like she hung the moon herself.

“Jamie! Jam! Why are you still on your ass? It’s a celebration,” he shouts over the music, arms thrown wide like he’s personally offended by my stillness. A few teammates reluctantly peel themselves off benches and join in with the kind of dancing that should legally require a signed waiver from everyone watching.

I force a smile and bob my head along to the beat, enough of a performance to pass for someone who is present and accounted for. My shoulder rocks seem to be enough to satisfy him because he shifts his attention away from me, whipping around to shout at Derrick, who is currently helping his husband, Sebastian, out of his pads with the focused tenderness of someone who has forgotten the rest of the room exists entirely. Those two have always operated in their own private world, completely sealed off, and tonight is no different.

“Tor!” Devan shouts in Bailey’s direction, but our captain is already dressed and moving toward the door with the quiet efficiency he brings to everything. He never lingers after his post-game speech unless there’s press to deal with, and tonight he and Ridley are clearly of one mind, both waving Devan off without breaking stride as they slip out of the locker room.

“Scott! You have interviews! For the love of all that’s holy! I know you want to celebrate but give our ears a break. Get dressed and meet the PR team in the hall. Now!” Coach Lennox’s voice cuts through the music from the doorway, the words sharp but his expression carrying unmistakable amusement at the scene in front of him.

Tobias reaches over and cuts the music off without ceremony, leaning in to whisper something directly into Devan’s ear. Whatever it is, it works. Devan pouts dramatically for approximately four seconds before something lights behind his eyes and he disappears toward the showers at a near sprint.

I’ve been with the Vipers for over three years now, and these men have quietly, thoroughly become my family. They didn’t let me vanish beneath the weight of all their collective fame when I first arrived, and there is a lot of it, enough to swallow someone whole if they let it. I could have been just another body filling a roster spot, another cog turning inside this vast, glittering machine. None of them ever treated me that way. Not once. Even before my own family finally made the decision to relocate to Seattle a few months ago, I never truly felt alone here. I owe that entirely to the closeness of the men in this room, and it is not something I take lightly.

If nothing else, that alone is something worth holding onto. I should be flying high right now, riding the wave of a game that was genuinely good, three assists, a goal, solid two-way play from start to finish. Yet every quiet moment between the noise keeps pulling me back to the same place.

Back to him.

It’s been years now. Two of those years spent carrying the knowledge of exactly who he is, the full picture finally filled in. Cyaire Reed. An actor. Not just an actor, a famous one, the kind of famous that means I can’t walk past a magazine stand or a cinema lobby or a streaming platform without his face surfacing somewhere, composed and untouchable behind whatever character he is playing that season. He couldn’t be more in my face if he tried.

It doesn’t help that fame seems to run in the family. His brother is Julian Reed, who’s married to Malik Carter, two musicians whose names are almost impossible to avoid.

When I met him that night at the bar in the Langham Hotel, he was none of that. He was just a man. My mystery man. My Blue. There are moments, quiet ones, late ones, where I almost wish I could unknow everything else. I want to go back to the version of that night that existed before context, before recognition. I want to go back to holding him close in the dim quiet of my hotel room, tasting his lips, breathing in the warm, clean scent of him like that was something I was allowed to keep.

I watched him from a distance all this time, saw him photographed with men and women alike, living a life so thoroughly public that every corner of it was documented and discussed. I told myself the conclusion was obvious. That for him, I was just the night. A pleasant thing that happened and then didn’t. I had no reason to believe otherwise, and I had too much to lose by testing it.

Then tonight, in the hallway outside this very locker room, his eyes landed on mine, and the shock on his face was real. Unguarded. He had no idea I played hockey. After all this time, he had no idea, and something about that detail sits strange and heavy inside my chest in a way I haven’t quite sorted out yet.