I raise a brow in question.
“It means we go public. The only person who wears my jersey is my person. You’re mine and I’m yours and we’re together. Everyone will know, Tess. The team, our friends, the fans…Troy.”
I hate the sound of his name spoken from Ryan’s lips. I send up a silent prayer that it’s the last time he ever says it.
“Whatever happens, we face it together, yeah? Good press, bad press, and all the press in between,” he goes on. “You handle your ex. If you want me to stay out of it, I will. But running and hiding from him are off the fucking table. If you’re mine, you stand and fight. We don’t hide from our pasts, and we don’t keep secrets. Truth and trust. No more working alone, alright?”
I nod again. It’s scary for me with all my baggage, but I want this. I want Ryan and the uncomplicated happiness he’s offering me. I want to leave my past behind and move forward. I want to trust him. He’s holding out a hand like a lifeline, and I’m taking it.
“You’re mine,” I say, the jersey pinned between our naked bodies as I brush a hand down his chest, over his abs. With a smile, I palm his dick, stroking along his shaft with my fingers until he twitches in my hand.
“I’m dying, Tess,” he says with a soft groan. “If this is a tease—”
I cup him tight, and he gasps, his hands going to my shoulders. Stepping into my power, I hold his gaze. “Outside these walls, I’ll be Langley’s girl. I’ll go to your games and wear your number and cheer for you. But we both know that inside these walls, you’re Tess’s boy.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, his cock twitching in my hand.
“This body is mine,” I say, leaning forward to kiss along his chest. “Every inch. I’m gonna put on this jersey, and then I’m taking what belongs to me.”
His jaw clenches tight as his pretty green eyes darken. “Do it,” he says. “Show me who owns me.”
I drop my hand away from him, and he lets out a sharp breath through parted lips. “Get on the bed,” I command.
“Put on the jersey,” he counters, his eyes narrowing at me.
With a smirk, I break our gaze and focus on the jersey. Flipping it around, I stuff my hands inside it, raising it up over my head. I tug it down, my head popping out through the open “V.” A few loose curls fall in my eyes, framing my face, and I let out a little laugh, watching the way his eyes light up.
Oh, this is just too easy.
I tug the jersey down over the girls. It’s a snug fit, but it works. The bottom of the jersey sits tight around my hips. The sleeves are too long, practically covering my hands. “Well?” I say, lifting my hands to the side and doing a little turn for him. I’m sure I look ridiculous wearing just the jersey and nothing else, my pussy and dimpled booty on full display.
“Fucking perfect,” he says with stars in his eyes.
My smile widens as my heart beats a little faster. “You like what you see, hockey boy?”
“So fucking much,” he replies. He wraps an eager hand around his hard dick and gives it a few slow pulls. “I’m finding it very hard not to pin you to the bed and fuck you ‘til you scream,” he admits, his voice low.
“But that’s not the game we’re playing tonight,” I tease. “I’m in charge, remember?”
He drops his hand away from his dick, taking a deep breath, shoulders squared at me. “I’m yours. Fuck me ‘til there’s nothing left.”
We collide, bodies crashing together as we reach for each other, unable to hold back a moment longer. His hands reel me in, and we sink down on the bed, right on top of the spread of disgusting photos meant to tear us apart.
I climb onto his lap, my bare pussy resting over his hard dick. We both gasp, his hand dipping between us to adjust so I can grind along his shaft, my wetness making it slick and warm.
“Fuck.” His hands grip my lower back as we move together.
I cup his face, my fingers brushing the stubble of his cheeks. He’s got a few days of growth. The blond stubble does little to mask his beautiful, youthful face. I tip his chin up, claiming his lips as I grind on him.
“I missed you all day,” he says against my lips, his hands drifting down to grip my bare ass as we move our hips, our skin heating from the friction. “Ten hours is too fucking long. You’re mine,” he groans, shoving his hand up under his jersey to play with my tits.
I break our kiss, arching back as I let my body feel his hands on me, smoothing over my skin. His hands are calloused from years of gripping a wooden stick. The pads of his fingers are rough. I fucking love it. I love the way his palms scratch even as they soothe.
I drag my fingers through his hair, holding onto him as he drops a hand between us. I think he’s going for my clit, but then he’s wrapping his hand around his dick.
“Just a taste,” he murmurs. “Please, baby. Just one taste. Then I want you to own me.”
I gasp, lifting up on my hips as he positions himself at my entrance. At the first feel of him prodding, I lower my hips, sinking down to claim his tip. A shiver shoots up my spine, and I grip tighter to his hair, jerking his head back to make him look at me rather than where we’re joining.
“Look at me,” I command. “Look in my eyes as I take you.”
He holds my gaze, the green rim of his irises framing the black of his pupils. His lips are parted, his breath coming out in short pants as I sink lower down his shaft.
“You’re so beautiful.” I smooth my hands over his blond curls. “You’re so gentle, so kind. I don’t deserve it,” I admit, letting my own vulnerability free.
His grip tightens on my hips. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he says, his jaw clenching tight as he pulls on my hips, sheathing me to the hilt. “My Tess will never say that again. You’re in my jersey, riding my dick. You’re gonna treat yourself the way I treat you. You are a fucking queen. Say it.”
I drop my hands to his shoulders, grinding my hips, moving with him so deep inside me. “I’m a queen,” I pant.
“You’re the beginning.”
“I’m the beginning,” I whisper, my core burning with need.
His arms move off my hips to brush over my shoulders. Then he’s cupping my face, pulling me down for a kiss. “You’re the end,” he whispers against my lips. “Tess, you’re my end.”
“And you’re mine,” I reply.
We kiss, mouths opening, claiming the other’s essence. God, he’s such a good kisser. I could just do this all night and be satisfied. But we both need more. I need to feel in control, and he needs to let go. I can count on one hand the number of men I would ever trust to be this vulnerable with me. Now that Ryan’s in my life, the list is only him.
Just thinking about how much I love him, my orgasm is about to crash through me. I cry out, shoving off him. I lift my hips, freeing myself from his dick. We both groan at the sudden loss. I want him inside me. I want his come in me.
There’s always later.
I scramble to my feet, panting for air, my pussy’s wetness warm between my thighs. “Get on your hands and knees,” I command. “Show me what’s mine.”
With a hungry groan he attempts to turn over, only to be met by the boxes and my half-packed suitcase. Even now, his weight crushes some of the photographs—all proof of what we’re determined to overcome together.
I watch all the muscles in his back tense as he makes a dramatic sweep with both arms, sending the suitcase and the boxes crashing to the floor. The smaller box overturns and my unsigned divorce papers rain down like snow, covering the braided rug.
Watching them fall, the truth hits me: I don’t care if Troy ever signs the fucking papers. Either way, I’m free.
Ryan crawls on the bed, not caring that it’s still littered with clandestine photographs of our entire relationship. He glances over his shoulder at me. “I’ve never done this before,” he admits.