by S. R. Grey
I have a feeling it won’t be much longer before we both lose control.
And you know what?
I can’t fucking wait.
Not About the Dishes
Over the next couple of weeks, Graham and I have a blast. We go out to eat and take in a couple movies.
The team loves it, and we’re informed that we’re playing our roles extremely well.
Ha, if only they knew we’re not playing.
This is as real as it gets, folks.
We’ve totally fallen for one another.
Though the Comets are pleased with our relationship, it seems not all of the fans are. The men don’t care one way or the other, but a lot of the women are unhappy. Not the real fans, they’re okay with us. But the newer ones who just like how Graham looks hate that I’m in the picture.
I blame the team for the way they’ve been marketing Graham, building him up as some kind of a sex symbol for the female fan base. Graham’s been featured on even more hot magazine covers. There was even a spread recently with a photo of him naked.
Thank God, it was only from the back, showcasing his hard, hot ass.
Even I haven’t seen that view yet. At least, not in person. Though I fully intend to remedy that.
I feel like we’ve taken things slowly and cautiously up to this point, just like I requested. Graham never presses; he’s respected my wishes from day one.
But I’m ready to move to the next level.
Since we live together, we’ve become exceptionally close. I feel like I know him quite well, his good points and his flaws.
I just freaking know him, okay?
God, that makes me smile.
And I have to laugh too. Just like Graham assured me in the beginning, he never uses all the hot water. I can’t tell if that’s due to him taking fairly quick showers, or if it’s because we have a really large hot water tank.
Not that it matters.
I’ve also learned that Graham’s pretty neat and clean, except in one area. Just like he warned me, he leaves a lot of dirty dishes lying around.
That’s why, one evening, when I walk into the living room and find Graham sprawled out on the sofa eating a big bowl of ice cream, I just have to give him a hard time.
“Hey,” I begin, “I hope you’re planning on taking that bowl and putting it in the dishwasher once you’re done.”
Glancing over at me, a playful glint in his eyes, he drawls, “Hmm, I’ll think about it.”
I place my hands on my hips and glare over at him. “I’m serious, Graham. I’m tired of cleaning up after you.”
I have to admit I’m actually a little irate, though it’s not really directed at him. It’s just that I’m so freaking tired of not being able to touch him everywhere.
“Ah, babe, don’t get mad at me,” he says. “Maybe I can make it up to you beforehand?”
Oh, he has my interest now.
“Beforehand?”
“Yes.” He nods. “Why don’t you come over here and I’ll show you what I mean.”
Graham is wearing gray sweats and a tight white tee that clings to his hard pecs and abs.
Ugh, it’s been so damn hard lately. We haven’t moved beyond making out, and I think, as a result, we’re both feeling sexually frustrated.
That’s why I don’t hesitate to go to him.
When I walk over, he puts his hands on me, just like I hoped he would.
I murmur, “Go ahead. Make it up to me beforehand, Graham.”
“You got it, babe.”
Swiftly, he pulls me down on top of him and we stretch out on the sofa.
Cupping my jean-clad ass and shifting beneath me, he murmurs, “This isn’t really about dishes, is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your irritation with me, I have a feeling it’s due to something else.”
Playing coy, I ask, “Like what?”
“I think you know.” He lowers his hands, his fingers splaying dangerously close to where I want him so badly.
I let out a tiny gasp and lower my mouth to his.
“I do know,” I confess against his lips. “And you’re right. I need more.”
“I do too. But I want you to know if we move forward we don’t have to do everything.”
This man, he’s too perfect.
“You really are too good to be true,” I murmur.
“Not actually,” he warns. “The things I’m thinking about doing to you right now are far from good. Some may even call them very, very bad.”
“Oooh,” I rasp. “I think you should definitely do them all to me, especially the bad.”
The man doesn’t need to hear another word. He undoes my zipper and yanks my jeans down my legs, sliding his hand into my panties.
“Unh, Graham…”
Caressing, circling, he works me like a finely tuned instrument.
Damn, this man is good.
“Yes,” I hiss.
His free hand moves up my filmy blouse. Slowly, he takes care of each button, but leaves my shirt on when he reaches inside to unclasp my bra.
We’re frantic as our mouths find each other once more.
While Graham kisses me, hard this time, he works my clit.
Excited and already close to release, I grab and claw at the hem of his tee.
“Off,” I demand.
Chuckling, Graham leans up and yanks the damn thing over his head. And then his mouth is back on me, but not just on my lips. He deposits a flurry of kisses down my neck, stopping to lick my collarbone. He then continues his descent, until he finally, finally sucks one hard, erect nipple into his hot mouth.
“Yes,” I cry out.
Graham pumps his fingers into me while working my breasts, one and then the other.
When he begins to grind up into me, I pant, “You’re so damn hard.”
“For you,” he says. “You make me like this. You make me fucking crazy.”
I can’t wait another minute to finally feel him bare. So shoving my hand down the front of his sweats—God, yes—I grasp Graham Tettersaw’s fucking huge-ass cock.
I stroke him up and down, and he groans as he moves with me.
“That feels so fucking good, Eden.”
He pumps into my hand, never letting up on what he’s doing to me. This man really is multitalented.
In the fog of impending release, the rest of our clothes are lost, leaving me under him and us bared to each other.
“Come for me,” he rasps, his fingers pumping faster and faster.
“No, I want to come when you do,” I counter, stroking him hard.
Lowering his forehead to mine, he murmurs, “That’s going to happen real soon if you keep up like that.”
“Good, ’cause I’m about to…aah…aah…Graham…”
I shatter around his fingers, but I don’t let up on him. I continue squeezing and stroking until I feel him explode.
“Fuck, Eden…”
A minute passes, and then he says, “Shit, I guess we better clean that up, huh?”
I look down to see Graham has left a mess on my stomach. I don’t care. In my post-orgasmic haze, nothing could bother me.
I tell him as much, but he insists on cleaning me up with his discarded tee.
Afterward, as he tosses the garment aside, he says, “Does this mean I can leave my ice cream bowl in here and you’ll be cool with that?”
I laugh. “Hmm, was that your dastardly plan all along when you said you’d make it up to me beforehand?”
“It was something along those lines,” he admits.
Pulling him down to me, I say, “Well, it totally worked.”
It’s Just Business
One thing’s for sure—I have totally fallen for Eden.
You’d think that’d be a good thing, though, right?
Well, maybe not.
I’m on the phone with Jock right now, and he’s telling me it’s not so great, after all.
“What the fuck are you talking a
bout?” I grind out, completely and utterly confused. “I thought this is what the team wanted all along. It can’t get any better than this. It’s fucking real, Jock. Fuck any pretend relationship shit.”
“That was what the team wanted,” Jock replies calmly. “But things have changed.”
“How do you mean?”
“The team’s thinking it may be better to orchestrate a breakup sooner rather than later.”
Wait, that can’t be right.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I snap.
“I’m saying the Comets don’t want you and Eden together, real or otherwise.”
“Why?”
He sighs. “It’s the female fans, Graham.”
“How do you mean?”
“A lot of the new ones aren’t big on the idea of you being tied down. It messes with their fantasies.”
“Fantasies? Good God. I knew those fucking beefcake pictures were a bad idea.”
“Not necessarily,” Jock counters. “That’s why I haven’t yet talked to the Comets about stopping them. You can’t deny that your popularity has skyrocketed with both men and women. The guys like you because you play damn good football. And, hell, many of the women do too. But there’s a subset of fans, those not really into sports all that much, who love you because of those photos.”
I murmur a sarcastic, “Great.”
Jock goes on to confirm my worst fears when he says, “The Comets feel it’s better for you to be unattached at this point. That means they want Eden out of the house and out of your life.”
I’m not standing for this.
“No fucking way!” I roar. “Eden is in my life to stay, Jock.”
On this, I will not bend. And that’s the moment when I realize I’ve done far more than fall for Eden Vetterly—I am head over heels in love with her.
Fuck.
Is that good?
Is it bad?
I think it’s good, though the team would disagree now.
Two weeks ago they would’ve loved this.
What a fickle business I’m in.
But I guess it is what it is.
Jock is still talking, going on about how Eden and I can do whatever we want so long as we keep it on the strict down low.
“You didn’t hear that from me, though,” he says. “The team would never approve of it.”
“Okay, okay, we’ll be careful.”
Sighing, he says, “There is one thing I can’t override, Graham.”
“What’s that?”
“Eden has to move out of the house.”
“What if I don’t want her to?” I chuff.
“It’s not your call. Remember that contract you signed?”
“Um, yeah…”
“Well, read it over, Tettersaw. It implicitly states that deciding when to break you and Eden up is solely the team’s decision.”
“That’s bullshit,” I spit out.
“No, Graham. It’s just business.”
After I finish with Jock, I go out to the in-ground pool area in the back, suspecting that might be where Eden is.
It’s been unseasonably warm for October, and she’s been taking advantage of these nice days by getting in quality pool time.
That’s one of the things I love most about her—she knows how to make the most of any situation.
Hopefully, she can do the same with this new fucked-up one.
Speaking of which, there’s that word again—love.
Now that I’ve defined and accepted my feelings for Eden, I can’t wait to tell her.
Maybe I should lead with the bad news, though. She’s not going to be happy that the team wants to “break us up.”
At least it’s only for appearances.
She and I can stay together—albeit secretly.
Ugh, this is already a confusing mess.
Well, if anyone can find a silver lining in this new shitstorm, it’s her.
I don’t make my presence known immediately, choosing instead to just enjoy the hot and sexy sight of Eden lying on a lounger by the pool, wearing only a barely there white bikini.
Closing my eyes, I think about the other night and the things we did. Watching her fall apart was pure perfection. I’ve been looking forward to doing that again, only this time I want to be inside her—loving her, pleasing her.
Maybe it’d be better to wait, though, now.
How is this even going to work?
Will I have to sneak her in the house, or sneak into her place?
What about afterward?
I wouldn’t want to leave her after such an intimate act. I mean, fuck, I love the woman.
And you can’t even tell her.
No, I can’t. I realize that now. This is going to be hard enough as it is. Revealing my heart will only complicate matters and make it all the more bittersweet.
As it is, silver lining or not, Eden is sure to be pissed when she hears about what the team wants. I’m angry myself, but I’m trying to be professional about it. Still, it irritates me that they’re derailing my forward progress.
I’m finally in a relationship, just like I hoped to be back when I wrote down my goals last spring.
Too bad I’m about to take one giant step backward.
Oh hell, time to rip off the Band-Aid.
I purposely bump into a little metal table, the ensuing scraping garnering Eden’s attention like I knew it would.
Lowering her sunglasses and peering over at me, she says saucily, “Mmm, Graham. I was just having the most delicious fantasy about you.”
Why now?
“Is that so?” I reply.
I’m trying to sound jovial, playing along, but Eden sees right through me.
“Why do you look so upset, Graham? What’s wrong?”
Sighing heavily, I walk over and take a seat on the lounge chair next to her.
“Babe, we have a problem.”
Worriedly, she asks, “What kind of problem?”
I rake my fingers through my hair. “Shit, this is hard.”
Looking panicked, she says, “Please, just tell me what’s going on. You’re freaking me out here.”
I place my hand on her thigh. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m not trying to freak you out. It’s just that Jock called, and apparently the team wants to take my image in a new direction.”
She swallows hard. “What does that mean?”
“It means they want me to be…unattached.”
“What?” Her brow creases. “Are you saying they’re breaking us up already?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But it’s only been a couple of months. I thought we’d at least have until the end of the season.”
“I know,” I sigh. “I thought so too.”
Like the full implication of what this means finally dawns on her, she looks around and states forlornly, “They want me to move out of this house, don’t they?”
I nod, a lump forming in my throat.
“I don’t want you to go,” I rasp. “We have a good thing going here. I really care about you.”
“I don’t want to go, trust me,” she says. “I lo—er, I mean, I care a lot about you too.”
Did she almost blurt out that she loves me?
I don’t have a chance to ask, as she crawls over into my lap, crying out, “Graham, this is so, so bad.”
I hold her, assuring her, “I know, sweetheart. But don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. Jock said we could stay together if we keep it hidden.”
“Does that mean the team can’t find out?”
“Yes, it means exactly that.”
My silver lining girl then looks up and says, “Then it’s settled. We’re about to get really good at sneaking around. And we’re going to make this fun. Fuck the team.”
“That’s the spirit,” I say, laughing.
I knew Eden would turn something bad into something good.
That’s why I’ve fallen in love with her.
Too bad I have to k
eep it to myself for now.
Sneaking Around
One thing Jock made clear—if Graham and I plan to keep seeing each other, which we totally do, we have to keep it on the sly.
That’s why, ever the optimist, I say to Graham, “Then it’s settled. We’re about to get really good at sneaking around. And we’re going to make this fun. Fuck the team.”
He laughs, like a deep belly laugh, and that makes me happy.
I lean into his firm, hard chest.
God, I love the smell of him, so woodsy and male. I find comfort also in the warmth of his skin pressed to mine.
I look up, though, when he says, “You’re amazing, Eden. I knew you’d find the silver lining in all of this.”
Touching his lightly stubbled cheek, I say, “What other choice do we have?”
He shrugs. “I guess not too many, huh?”
“That’s right.” I nod. “That’s why we’re going to make the most of this. It won’t be so bad.”
Graham looks at me inquisitively. “How can you say that so confidently?”
With a sly smile, I reply, “Because I know sneaking around is going to be a blast. You’ll see.”
I resolve to make it my mission to ensure that it’s true.
The next day, just as Jock warned, the team asks me to leave the house as soon as possible. They even post a “breakup pic” of me and Graham on his Instagram account.
It’s so silly. In it, we’re walking away from his car, which is parked out in a field somewhere. And we’re clearly going our separate ways.
The caption reads: Every ending is a chance for a new beginning.
They wish.
I roll my eyes.
The pic is completely photoshopped, of course.
I’ll give the Comets credit for one thing—they have a talented graphics team.
I start packing my clothes. Meanwhile, my phone starts blowing up.
My brother sends a text, asking if it’s true that Graham and I are done.
I write back a cryptic: What do you think?
I add an eye roll emoji. He’ll know now what the real deal is.
Jodi, Caleb’s girlfriend, messages the same thing.
Too bad I can’t be as honest with her. We’re becoming friends, but all I can do is type back a lie for now: Yes, it’s true.