“Woah, Greg. Don’t drown me with information today. We can pick this up next week.”
We laugh at his ridiculousness as the teams run back onto the field, and then Willow taps my shoulder to get my attention. I look at her, grinning when I see her matching glittery getup to Micah’s and mine.
“Do you have any more princess stories?” she signs.
I scoff playfully. “Do I? Have I told you about . . . Princess Willow?”
She gives me a big, gap-toothed smile. “Her name is Willow?”
“Princess Willow, and she is the most beautiful princess in all of princess-land.” My gaze slides to the field, unconsciously seeking Tahegin out among the gold jerseys on the sideline. When I find him, I see he is already watching me.
Tahegin’s gloved hands rise, and he signs, “Princess-land, huh?”
I flip him the bird, and he laughs so hard he has to bend over and clutch his belly.
✧ ✧ ✧
“One hundred and fifty yards,” Tahegin pants against my mouth. “Congrats.”
“Only because you weren’t out there,” I respond, just as breathless. His coach had taken him out after a collision ended with him limping slightly. I spent the rest of the game wishing he could be on the field with me, even if I would have to fight him for the ball. The tension between us only grew, and when we arrived in separate vehicles at his house, I practically jumped him in the garage before carrying him up the stairs to his bedroom.
Playing against the Treasures again—against Tahegin—had me nervous going into the stadium. The last game we played head-to-head, I let the hype of the rivalry get the best of me and snapped at Tahegin for something that was ultimately my fault. He’d simply wanted to know if my elbow was okay—since I’d started taping it—and when I’d let that distract me from my job, I accused Tahegin of sabotaging me. He hadn’t done it intentionally, and I’d spent a long time that night after the game making it up to him.
My hands fumble with his sweater, yanking it off so quickly that sparks of static prick along his skin. I run my palms down his smooth, muscular back, over his ass, and pause just below his cheeks. “How’s your leg?”
“It’s fine,” he mutters between peppering my neck with open-mouthed kisses. His hands slip under my shirt as I arch into him, opening myself for more of his touch. “They just took me out as a precaution.”
Fingers grapple with my fly, but I catch Tahegin’s elbow as he begins to lower to his knees. “Wait, I don’t want to hurt your—”
“My hamstring is fine, Rix. Stop stressing.” His lips capture mine in a bruising kiss, the action so rough that it sends my back crashing against the bookshelf behind me.
“I know, I know,” I murmur around his attack.
“And you know that if I had been out there”—he nips my bottom lip—“we would have won.”
“Actually, with Kit gone, we wouldn’t have been out of the running.” Since Larson no longer has an excuse to fabricate penalties against us, I add silently.
Tahegin buries his fingers in my hair, using his grip to tilt my head back against the bookshelf, and sucks on my throat. “Still fucked-up that Mathis traded him to Miami.”
“It was—” I break off as his teeth find my earlobe, his breath fanning across the shell of my ear, and a moan slips from my mouth. “Jesus. Fuck, T. It was—nngh—for the best. Are we really going to talk about Kit right now?” My hands shift, one sliding to the front of his joggers, the other onto his ass to finger over his crease.
“Mm, no. Definitely not.”
We leave our words behind, swept under a wave of desire and frantic hands. Clothes are discarded on the floor, and I walk Tahegin backward toward the bed. When we reach it, the back of Tahegin’s knees hit the mattress, and I feel his wince on my lips.
I pull away with an accusatory glare aimed in his direction. “You are hurt.”
“Rix—”
“On the bed.” I narrow my gaze when he tries to argue. “Now.”
He obeys, and I position his naked body how I want it—on his back, head on the pillows, legs straight out and slightly spread. My weary muscles complain as I carefully climb onto the bed and crawl over him, detouring to take his hard length in my mouth. Just once. Just long enough to coat him in a slick layer of spit. I move upward, licking the divots of his abs until I reach his navel. Every time I touch him here, his body has this innate, primal reaction—one that sends his back arching off the bed and has all kinds of lewd noises and curses falling from his lips. And my name. I love hearing him moan my name, knowing it’s me making him feel this way.
Tahegin grabs my hair for dear life and pulls me even closer to his belly. Remaining still, I let him writhe against my tongue, using me for his pleasure. His cock rubs against my chest with every roll of his hips, and I hum with delight.
When his moans grow closer together, I pull away. He whines in complaint, but then I’m capturing his pierced nipple between my teeth, and he’s once more a victim of desire. Straddling his hips, I lower myself until our cocks brush each other, and he rocks against me, chasing a release I’m not ready to give him yet.
My mouth meets his in a kiss, and I whisper against his lips. “Tahegin.”
“Rix,” he groans, thrusting.
“T.” I pull away just far enough that he can’t reach me for another kiss.
Our eyes meet in the dim light, the lust clouding his clearing slightly. “What? What is it?”
“Do me,” I blurt before I can psyche myself out.
Those sapphire blues blow wide in surprise.
“F-for your hamstring,” I stammer, backpedaling. “I mean, I can be u-up here, and you can lay there. Like this. To keep your leg from hurting, you know. I’ve been, um . . . practicing.”
Tahegin gapes. “Practicing,” he repeats.
I nod. “In the shower. With my . . .” I hold up my hand, wiggling my fingers.
He cups my cheek with a gentle palm and gives me a soft smile. “You know you don’t have to, Rix.”
“I want to. I mean, if you want to. If you don’t, we—”
