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I nod, understanding his need to focus on hockey. It's his life after all.
I spend the day in a daze, thinking about our encounter last night. The taste of his lips, the feel of his bare skin against mine, the way he moaned my name.
I spend hours replaying every detail in my mind until I find myself at the arena, watching him skate with the team. His movements are graceful yet powerful, his focus intense. I feel proud yet also jealous of the sport that takes up so much of his time.
Finally, it's time for our secret tryst. I wait for him in the locker room, heart pounding as he walks through the door. Our eyes meet, and I bite my bottom lip. He's breathless already, knowing what awaits us.
We stumble toward the locker room, our hands all over each other. His touch is rough, possessive. He's already hard under his sweats. I can hear his heavy breaths as he unlocks the door and pushes me inside. The scent of sweat and desire fills the small space.
We crash onto the floor, his body blanketing mine. His lips devour mine, his tongue demanding entry. I moan, arching upinto the kiss, feeling his cock rub against me through our clothes. I whimper, needing more.
Without breaking the kiss, he tugs at my shirt, revealing my lace bra. His warm breath fanning across my pale skin sends shivers down my spine. He grips it in his teeth, pulling it down slowly, exposing my pebbled breasts to his hungry gaze. I gasp as his lips trail hot kisses down my neck, sucking and nipping at my flesh.
"Tyler," I whisper, my voice hoarse.
He thrusts his hips against me, his erection rubbing against my core through our clothes. I grip his hair tightly, urging him on. His lips move lower, his teeth graze my sensitive skin. I gasp when I feel his breath on my hardened nipple. His hand squeezes my breast, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body.
"Fuck, baby, you're mine. You know that? Only mine," he growls against my skin.
"Yes, Tyler," I pant, my eyes fluttering shut.
He stands up, yanking off his shirt, exposing his muscular torso. I run my hands over his skin, tracing the lines of his abs and chest hair. He groans loudly when I wrap my legs around his waist, grinding against him. We devour each other, our need palpable. We're lost in this moment—a beautiful chaos of desire and lust.
"I want you so badly," he whispers, his voice rough with desire.
I gasp when he pulls down my skirt, exposing my panties. He swiftly unfastens them, and my panting becomes more intense. His fingers trace the edge of my panties, teasing me before sliding inside. I cry out, bucking my hips against his hand. My nails dig into his shoulders as I lose control.
I can't believe how much I need him. I've never felt this way before—he consumes me. His kisses are demanding, his touch possessive. I've never been so desired. And I love it.
His hand moves between my legs, finding my wetness. I gasp at the first touch of his fingers inside me. He pumps his hand faster, his mouth finding my other breast. I grind my hips against his touch, my moans echoing in the room. The combination of his fingers and lips send me over the edge, and I climax hard. My body shudders, and my scream is muffled by his lips.
He follows me over the edge, his hips thrusting against mine. We both pant, our chests heaving as our hearts race together. I feel an intense connection with Tyler, like we're one being sharing this moment. It scares me how much I enjoy it, but it also excites me.
The afterglow is filling the room, and Tyler rolls off of me, panting heavily. He smiles at me, a satisfied grin on his face. I smile back, feeling drained but fulfilled.
We lie there together, eyes locked, our breathing slowing down.
"That was... intense," I say softly.
Tyler laughs and kisses my forehead. "I'll make you feel like that every time."
I blush, not sure if I should be embarrassed or thrilled by his confidence. But I am both. I am his, and that thought both excites and terrifies me.
Tyler cleans us both up and gets dressed to return to the game. As I pull on my clothes, I can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over me.
Tyler is mine, and I am his.
EPILOGUE
One YearLater
Tyler
I wake up, my arm wrapped around Emila's waist, her body pressed against mine, and I feel at peace. Our apartment is bathed in morning light, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and cooking bacon filling the air. I smile as I watch her sleep, her lips slightly parted and expression peaceful.
My fingers trace the elegant curve of her jawline, trailing down to her neck as I brush a stray lock of hair away from her cheek.
Our space is small but cozy: a shared bedroom, a kitchenette, and a living room with a worn-out couch that doubles as our bed. Pictures of us together adorn the walls—me holding up the hockey trophy we won last season, Emila in her cheerleading uniform, our hands intertwined at graduation. College-ruled notebook paper covered in our messy handwriting serves as amakeshift calendar on the fridge, reminders of dates and plans scribbled in between drawings of hearts and inside jokes.
