by S. R. Grey
His hands, slipping under me, slide down to my ass and lift me so he can drill into me.
“Fuck, I need it like this,” I grunt out.
“Harder?” he breathes, his forehead, now beaded with sweat, touching mine.
“Yes.”
He goes harder, but I still demand, “More.”
“Much more and I’m going to break you, beautiful.”
“So break me. Graham. Break me.”
He doesn’t break me, though I do shatter beneath him.
I break into a million satisfied, in-love-with-this-man pieces.
Small Consolations
I give Eden everything I’ve got, and she doesn’t break. No, she’s my strong warrior woman. And damn, I love her so fucking much for it.
I also discover that I love loving her, so I do it a few more times during the night.
Soon, the fire is left waning, as is our time away from the world.
“It’ll be morning soon,” I whisper as I hold Eden in my arms.
“No, it can’t be,” she cries out, shivering and cuddling up to me. “That’s not allowed.”
I have to laugh. Any closer and we’ll be one again.
Not that that’d be a bad thing. We’re already naked, after all.
But with the fire down to mere embers, the cool autumn air has gained the upper hand.
Damn, I hate that we have to leave. I hate even more that we have to go our separate ways, her in her car to her apartment and me back to the house.
This isn’t right, I want to shout.
We should be going home together to our house—yes, our house—where we can fall asleep in one another’s arms.
But we can’t.
The team will definitely be checking up on us. I wouldn’t be surprised if they already have people in place watching. Good thing they don’t know about this secret spot of ours.
As the sun rises, Eden and I reluctantly dress. I put out the fire completely, and then we walk to our cars.
We spend an eternity saying good-bye.
“I miss you already,” I share with her.
“I do too,” she sighs. “I love you, Graham.”
“I love you too, babe.”
She leans her head against my chest, whispering, “I hate this.”
“I do too, but it won’t be for long. Once this season is over, I can renegotiate.”
“That’s still over two months away,” she laments, “and longer if you guys make the playoffs.”
Sighing, I lean back and place my hands on her shoulders. She sounds so down. This is not how I want us to part, especially not after loving her.
“Hey, hey.” I try to put on my best this-will-be-okay face. “Remember what you said. We’ll get through this. We’ll make this fun.”
“Parting isn’t fun,” she says, tears in her eyes.
“Oh, Eden, I know.” I pull her in close. “I’m so sorry I can’t fix this.”
In a tiny voice, she asks, “When will I see you next?”
I blow out a breath. “Soon. But how about if we figure it out when we’re not so tired?”
She nods but still looks sad as she says, “Okay, that makes sense.”
Ugh.
Why do I have a feeling this is not going as smoothly as we originally thought it would?
So Much for That
Graham promises me that we’ll see each other a lot, and that we’ll continue to sneak around. The team won’t keep us apart, and neither will fate.
We talk as much as we can without being discovered, and ultimately decide to meet up at our secret spot in the woods during the following week, on Tuesday since I won’t have a shift that night and practice is in the morning for Graham.
Also, with an away game the next weekend, we make a plan to sneak one town over and catch a movie after he returns.
First, though, it’s Sunday and we have this week’s home game to get through.
Damn. I hate that I can’t go to the stadium.
But I can’t, I’m not welcome there anymore.
That means I have to be content with watching Graham play on my TV at the apartment. Despite the less-than-optimal circumstances, I find myself perched on the edge of the sofa, glued to the tiny screen before me.
Jeez, I really need to get my butt out to a store to buy a fancy flat-screen.
Nevertheless, little screen or not, it’s a good game. Graham completes over three hundred passing yards, setting a new team record.
Columbus, of course, goes crazy the next day.
The entire city loves Graham now. He’s praised online and in the papers and lauded by the fans.
That’s all great, until our sneaking-around plans begin to unravel.
First, Graham’s sister, Chloe, goes into labor early. His niece is born on Monday night, and Graham flies out to Las Vegas, right after practice on Tuesday, to meet her.
We’re obviously not going to be able to meet at our secret spot tonight.
Then things really begin to fall apart.
While Graham’s at the away game over the weekend, a big article is published on a huge football site, playing up Graham’s new “single and ready to mingle” status.
Great.
All my fears are then founded. The women who lust over my man go freaking nuts. They all want a piece of Graham Tettersaw, now more than ever.
Thanks, Comets.
Of course, the team is more than willing to give the female fans exactly what they want. And that, to my horror, comes in the form of a “date” with Mr. Star Quarterback.
The website runs a contest along with the article, and some chick named Bunny wins.
Can you believe it?
Graham calls me once he’s back in town, and we have a good laugh over that one.
“I can’t believe you’re taking this all so well,” he says softly.
We’re not FaceTiming, so he can’t see me shrug. “I’m just trying to be a good sport about it.”
Hesitantly, he says, “Uh, you may change your mind about that when you hear when this ‘date’ is happening.”
My heart sinks. “Oh no, when is it?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Wait. That’s supposed to be our movie night.”
He sighs. “I know, babe, but there’s really nothing I can do about it. It’s not like I can tell the Comets you and I have plans.”
I feel like crying, but I don’t.
“I know. It’s okay. We’ll figure something out for another night.”
“For sure,” he says.
I make it through the next night without seeing Graham. But what I’m not prepared for are the tons of pictures that are plastered all over social media the next day.
“What the hell,” I grind out as I’m scrolling through my laptop in the morning, seated on my old crappy sofa, sipping a cup of suddenly bitter-tasting coffee.
I just about choke on said coffee when I come across one picture of Graham where he has his arm around this flaky Bunny chick.
Jealousy flares.
Bad enough she already looks how you’d expect a “Bunny” to look—big boobs, teased-up bleached-blonde hair, and a dumb smile on her stupid face.
“Bitch!”
Can you tell I hate her?
I slam the lid down. I can’t take any more.
Angrily, I snatch up my phone, all set to call Graham, but then it rings and it’s Paul.
Probably for the best, since the reprieve will give me time to cool down. I need to remember Graham is only play-acting. He’s simply doing what the team wants.
He’s protecting me, as well.
I reviewed the contract this past weekend and discovered the Comets aren’t bluffing. If I do defy the agreement, I’ll not only lose the money they’ve already paid to me, plus whatever’s still coming in, but the team could technically sue me, and sue Graham, for breach of contract.
One thing is clear—I absolutely cannot be caught with Graham.
“Eden? Eden? Are you there?”<
br />
Shit, I forgot I answered the call while my brain was going in a thousand different directions.
“Yes, Paul, I’m here. Sorry. I was just zoning.”
“No problem.” He laughs. “I do that all the time.”
I realize then it’s a weekday morning, so I ask him, “Hey, why aren’t you in class?”
Paul’s been doing incredibly well at school. Not only are his grades fantastic, but he never gets into any trouble like he did at his old school.
Chuckling at my wariness, he says, “Never fear. I’m in-between classes, sis. Next one is at noon.”
Switching us over to FaceTime, I smile meekly at him. “Sorry. I’m just not myself today.”
Paul knows all about what’s going on with Graham. I gave him the full rundown days ago.
So it’s no surprise when he asks, “Hey, how are you holding up?”
“Ah…” I start biting a nail. “I take it you saw the pictures of Graham and that chick?”
“I sure did.” He pauses for a beat, then chastises, “Hey, quit chewing your nails.”
I stop. “Okay, okay.”
“Eden, you know Graham’s not into that girl, right?”
My brother, he always has my back. Plus he likes Graham, and he wants us to work.
Shaking my head, I assure him, “Don’t worry, I know he’s not into”—I cough—“Bunny.”
“God, is that her name?”
“Yep.”
“Oh boy.”
We share a knowing smile and I mutter, “Right?”
Then we laugh and laugh, because hey, it’s better than crying.
Jock Comes Through
My so-called date with Bunny is ridiculous. It’s not even real, in any sense of the word.
That’s evident when Jock, who’s in town, requests that my date and I meet him at the stadium to kick off our night.
He introduces us out in the parking lot and proceeds to inform me he’ll be driving us around to procure the necessary photo ops.
“Photo ops?”
“Yes, photo ops, Graham.”
“Fabulous,” I mutter, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
Jock shakes his head and says quietly to just me, “Hey, don’t get pissed. I think it’s bullshit too.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I hiss.
“I’ll make it up to you later this week,” he says cryptically. “You’ll see.”
I don’t know what that means, but okay.
In the back seat of a dark sedan, with Jock at the helm, Bunny and I barely speak.
I have nothing to say.
Oddly, neither does she.
Fuck.
I realize then that she’s not an actual fan. The team set this up. Bunny is some kind of an actress or a model.
This is even more of a joke than I realized.
From that point on, I just go through the motions.
And so does Bunny.
Pictures are taken and promptly posted on social media. We don’t even go see a movie or eat dinner. We just pretend that we do for the “photo ops.”
In a way, I’m glad none of it is real. I’d hate to disappoint a real fan, even if she was just one of the ones who swoon over me. Though God only knows why. I’m just me. I’m not perfect by any means.
But what is perfect is when, two days later, on Thursday night, Jock comes through.
Sticking with his cryptic promise that he’d make it up to me, he shows up on my doorstep with…
“Eden?”
Door hanging open, I stand there in shock, staring at the woman I love and have been missing like nuts.
I’m happy as hell, yes, but I’m worried we’ll end up busted.
Leaning my head out the door and glancing frantically left and right, I hiss, “Shit, babe, get in here. We can’t get caught now.”
Eden, suppressing a grin, looks over at Jock. “Should you tell him, or should I?”
“I will,” Jock replies.
“Would someone freaking tell me something?” I cry out.
Jock snorts. “Calm down, Tettersaw. What we’re trying to say is there’s no need to worry about prying eyes. I’m the designated spy for tonight. The team tasked me with keeping an eye on you.”
“No way,” I scoff. “You’re my babysitter?”
He laughs and lowers his head. “I am.”
I’m still paranoid, so I insist Eden still hurry into the house.
“He’s cute when he’s stressed,” she says as we all step into the foyer.
Jock rolls his eyes. “Yes, he’s just adorable. Some say dreamy, even.”
“Definitely dreamy,” Eden agrees, snickering lightly.
In a rare moment of un-guardedness, Jock pretends to flutter his eyes at me.
Heaven help us.
“Fuck off,” I tell him, though I’m chuckling the whole time. “It’s one thing for Eden to say shit like that, but it’s plain weird coming from you.”
Jock covers his heart, pretending to be wounded. “Ouch, such harsh words for a man who’s only trying to help.”
Hmm, he does have a point. Jock did bring Eden to me.
“You are helping,” I say. “And I am eternally grateful.”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough joking around.” Jock eyes both me and Eden intently. “In all seriousness, we don’t have much time. I need to have Eden home by midnight.” He scoffs as he adds, “That’s when my babysitting shift ends.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “This is truly crazy.”
Jock ignores my commentary and goes on. “I’ll wait down here, okay? Maybe I can watch some TV or something. In any case, I’d suggest you two head upstairs and make the most of this golden opportunity to spend time alone without fear of retribution.”
“Say no more,” I state.
I know what “spending time alone” means, and so does Eden.
We share a knowing look, and then I tell Jock, “Be sure to turn the volume on the TV way the fuck up.”
Making the Most of It
Graham looks amazing tonight, absolutely gorgeous in faded jeans and a cream-colored cotton sweater.
I watch him as he walks up the stairs in front of me, resisting the urge to grab his hard-as-steel ass.
Gah, we need to get to his bedroom as soon as possible. I can’t wait any longer to get him out of those clothes.
I hope he likes what I wore and feels the same way.
When Jock called to let me know he could pick me up for a few stolen hours with Graham, I was naturally all in. After showering in record time, I threw on a red velvet mini-dress and tall black boots. It’s an outfit I bought last month, thinking it’d be cute to wear to a holiday party with Graham. That’s clearly out, but it doesn’t mean he shouldn’t get to see me in it.
Plus, get to take it off me.
When we enter his bedroom, he turns to face me. He’s already eyeing me hungrily, so I think the short red velvet dress is a hit.
“Jesus, Eden, you look so good tonight. I could eat you up.”
“Is that so?” I raise a brow. “For the record, I have no objections to that.”
Graham laughs. “I’m sure you don’t.”
I blow out a breath. “All joking aside, Graham, I miss you so much. It’s weird not seeing you every day. And it’s hard.”
“Aw, babe, come here.” He takes a step toward me, and I meet him halfway. “I miss you every single minute we’re not together. I hate that you’re not living here.”
“God, I know. It sucks.” I sigh.
“I also hate that we had to cancel our movie night.”
“Yes, for your date”—I cough, pull back—“with Bunny.”
Graham winces. “Please don’t remind me. It was painful enough just getting through it. Did you know she wasn’t even a real fan?”
“Let me guess,” I snort. “Bunny is a model.”
“An aspiring actress, actually.”
I shake my head. “This team, huh?”
“They’r
e pushing me to my limits, Eden. I swear.” Graham’s fists clench. He’s not kidding.
Shit, I should calm him down.
Graham can’t mess things up now. I don’t care about me; I just want him to continue with his second chance at playing football. He’s doing so well. Finishing this season on a high note—not to mention making the playoffs—would really set him up to dictate his own contract terms next year.
And we both need that.
I relay all that to him, and he says, “I know, babe. You’re right. It’s just hard.”
“I know, Graham. But it’s not for forever.”
Wrapping my arms around him, I lean my head against his chest, and he murmurs, “I know, Eden.”
His steady, strong heartbeat soothes me.
Sighing, I say, “We just have to be patient for a little while longer.”
We hold each other for a while, but then it’s like we both realize we don’t have much time. So, suggestively, I start caressing my hand down his back, lifting his sweater.
Graham gets the hint and slides his hands up the backs of my thighs, where he discovers I don’t have any underwear on beneath my dress.
“Damn, woman,” he rasps, “I hope you didn’t accidentally flash poor Jock. I’m about to have a coronary myself, and I’m only feeling, not looking.”
“Hmm…” I lean back. “Does that mean you’d like to see?”
This man makes me brave enough to take chances and say provocative things like that. No man has ever made me so comfortable and confident about myself, never before Graham.
It’s yet another reason why I love him so completely.
“Yes, show me,” he says hoarsely.
Backing away, I step back toward the bed. When my legs hit the mattress edge, I lie down.
Flipping up the red velvet hem of my dress, I spread my legs and ask Graham huskily, “Do you like what you see?”
He kneels before me, his warm breaths a light, sexy caress.
Roughly, he states, “Jesus. I love what I see. You want me a lot, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Uh…”
“Don’t lie to me, love, I see that you do.”
“I do,” I admit, groaning and rolling my hips as excitement builds. “I so very much do.”