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I shook my head back and forth, pleading aimlessly in incoherent sentences as he broke, filled, shattered, and mended me.
Tatum Bryant was a work of art. Tall, strapped with muscles that rivaled mythical gods wrapped in warm, obsidian skin. Thick brows drew in with determination as he drove into my pussy again and again with an unrelenting force. Tattoos that wrapped around his arms, shoulders, and chest showcased every ripple of power. His eyes were fully focused on chasing euphoria. His broad nose flared with each powerful thrust. Full lips parted in reverence as he neared his own climax. Tatum’s throat constricted, and he said my name with a shout as he exploded inside of me. Thick ribbons of his release poured into my core, filling me until I couldn’t hold a drop more.
The bed dipped, sinking under his weight as he held his cock deep inside of me and moved to straddle my body. Tatum kissed up my bare shoulder, humming in satisfaction as he licked the salty sheen of sweat off my skin.
“You’re gonna be late for your workout with Gid,” I said on a thready breath.
His chuckle was dark and sinister. “I just got my cardio in.”
We laid together, hearts beating in perfect time as the alarms on our phones began to chime. No matter how much we wanted to lay in the afterglow, the day would wait for no one.
“Have you thought about New York anymore?” Tatum asked as we stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel off the stack and unfurled it. “Arms up.”
I rolled my eyes but did as he said, lifting my arms and resting my hands on my head as Tatum kneeled in front of me and gently dried every inch of my skin. When he was finished, he placed a soft kiss on my hip.
I grabbed a fresh towel and did the same to him. Drying each other off wasn’t something we had ever discussed. Tatum had done it to me once after a round of heart-pounding shower sex, and I repeated the gesture. There was a beauty in serving each other in such a simple way. Both of us were perfectly capable of drying our bodies—quickly and efficiently. Humbling acts of service done simply out of love reminded us daily that our relationship was a choice. We knew being together, with the odds against us, was going to be hard from the outset. Choosing the hard road didn’t make the expectation of effort any lower. Instead, it forced us to lean on each other more.
He stood behind me at the sink and dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “You’re probably making Colette antsy.”
I grabbed my comb and began to work it through the damp ends of my hair while Tatum popped open his stick of deodorant and rolled it on.
His comment was about Colette getting antsy, but I could see Tatum getting antsy, too. I didn’t want him focusing on my career when he was about to play the two biggest games of his life.
It hadn’t hit me yet that I wouldn’t be returning to the studio at the stadium to lead rookie summer. That I wouldn’t be spending my July in Ladies in Red training camp. That I would never dance in my red boots again. My last season with the Reds had ended.
My blinders had disappeared, too. The day after my last game, I showed up to a messy office. Maddox dropped a client packet that I was less than thrilled about on my desk, and Colette flooded my inbox with emails about meetings I needed to set up if I was going to lead the branch in New York. Instead of jumping in full force, I dropped into my desk chair and stared at the workload.
I should have been ecstatic. I should have hit the ground running now that my calendar was less strained. But the stress of the season and hiding my relationship with Tatum had overshadowed the growing dissatisfaction I felt every time I was assigned a new project.
Maybe Colette saw it and figured offering me the New York gig was the change I needed to get my mojo back.
I had one more day with Tatum. I didn’t want to spend it stressing over a job decision. He needed to stay relaxed and on top of his game. Tomorrow night, he would be on a plane, heading to Arizona. Monday morning, I would be heading up to Maine for a week-long design project. Colette had me consulting with a representative from Allegiant Holding Group on a string of bed and breakfasts that they had acquired for their line of boutique hotels and inns.
I stripped the bed and tossed the sheets in the wash while Tatum packed his bag for an exhausting day of practice. “Wren.” Tatum stood at the bedroom door with his gym bag thrown over his shoulder. “Where’s your head at?”
I wiggled the pillow out of its case. “What do you mean?” Giggling, I added, “If that’s your way of asking if my head is fried after the orgasms you woke me up with, the answer’s yes.”
“I meant about New York.” There wasn’t a smidgen of humor in his voice.
“Tatum—”
“I’m not quitting on you, Wren.” He dropped his gym bag. “If you want New York, then fuck it—do it. But don’t quit on me. Because I’m sure as hell not quitting on you. This thing between us, it hasn’t been easy this far. If it’s gonna be hard for another two years, that’s fine. I just need to know that you’re all in.”
I dropped the linens in my hands and moved to him. “Baby, what’s the matter?”
He didn’t look like his strong, confident self. There was something shaking him to the core. “I’m a selfish bastard, is the matter,” he muttered. “I want you all to myself. All the time.”
“Say it,” I whispered.
Tatum shook his head.
I grabbed his t-shirt and fisted the soft cotton. “Say it. Tell me you don’t want me to take the job.” I wanted him to say it. Needed him to say it.
“No, Little Bird.” He pressed his lips to mine. “I can’t do that.”
Tears stung the back of my eyes. “Why not?”
“I’m not going to tell you to give up an opportunity like that. I love you. And that means I want you to be happy, even if it’s inconvenient. Even if we’re apart. I just… I need to know.”
