Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
After a few long pumps, he raises his face. “Want to kiss you,” he rasps out.
“Do it,” I command.
He drops his lips to mine, and it’s a whole new kind of kiss. It’s tender and hungry. Dirty but needy.
It’s the kind of kiss you can’t give up, and this is the kind of sex I want to have again and again. Hot, intimate, passionate sex.
With him.
I’m overwhelmed by the heat of our bodies and the drumbeat of my heart. By the intensity of this unexpected connection we’ve built in the last week. By the whirlwind of lust and emotions.
Most of all, by the way we are with each other. We support, we uplift, we laugh, and we care.
I want it all with him, but I can’t have it. Instead, I give in to the sensations whipping through me, building in a mad frenzy. “I’m close,” I groan, slipping a hand between our chests, angling for some room.
“Me too,” he murmurs, then pushes up on his palms as I get my hand down to my dick.
I’m so far gone now. I stroke hard and fast, and my orgasm crashes into me at full speed. It’s not waiting for anything. But he’s not waiting either. He growls my name in the sexiest, most carnal voice I’ve ever heard.
And we come together.
Hunter collapses onto me, peppering my neck with sloppy, wet kisses. “That was…you are…I’m just soooo…”
“Me too,” I murmur, looping my hands around him, holding on tight. “It’s the same for me.”
Why can’t he live closer? Why can’t I work in London somehow? Why can’t we have a chance for more than a week?
But sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose.
That’s just how it goes.
I don’t want to think about tomorrow morning, when he leaves this room, or Sunday night, when I leave the country.
In the morning, we don’t make a big deal of goodbye. We don’t linger in sad farewells or drawn-out departures. This was always supposed to be a week—nothing more, nothing less.
Hunter simply walks away, his bag slung over his shoulder. And I pretend it doesn’t feel like a part of me is leaving too.
37
THE LONG GOODBYE
Nate
Nothing beats a hometown crowd, but this is damn close. Triumph Stadium is electric on Sunday evening.
Kickoff is deafeningly loud, and it’s impossible to tell who the crowd is rooting for—Hawks or Leopards.
The answer is probably both. The fans are here for a show. After the Hawks win the coin toss, we take possession and Jason comes out of the pocket on fire, slinging the football right to me in a long pass.
I haul it from the sky into my arms, hellbent on an opening touchdown reception.
But the Leopards cornerbacks have something to say about that, so I scramble out of bounds before I’m tackled.
Still, I pump a fist as we get back in the huddle.
A couple plays later, Devon catches the ball on the five-yard line and runs it into the end zone.
Touchdown!
“That’s how you start a game,” I say to Jason, pumped up already, as we jog to the sidelines.
“You know it,” Jason says.
After the extra point is good, the Leopards offense takes the field. Coach Tierney calls Jason over, so my gaze strays to the stands. It roams the sea of fans waving foam fingers, decked out in Hawks and Leopards jerseys, then continues higher still to the suites.
I’m hunting for the control room. What does Hunter do when the game’s on? Is he in that broadcast suite across the field or a different one?
I wish I knew. Wish I could see him one more time before the team’s flight tonight.
But what’s the point? No one wants a prolonged goodbye.
Devon jogs past me, smacking my arm. Where did he come from?
“Hey. Time-out’s over. We’re up.”
I blink, realizing I zoned out through the Leopards entire possession and a commercial break.
I shake off the pointless daydream and return to football.
Third and long, two minutes to go. We are losing, but only by seven. We can tie this baby up and go into overtime.
“C’mon, Hawks,” I say after Jason gives us the play in the huddle. “Let’s do this.”
I line up at the edge of the field, then go into motion. The second Jason drops back in the pocket, hunting for me, for Devon, for any open receiver, I’m lasered in on the quarterback and the ball.
The noise is rock concert level. I race downfield, but the Leopards secondary is swarming me big time, and I can’t get open. Jason runs the ball instead, but only manages three measly yards.
Fourth down, fighting for our lives, we return to the huddle. Jason calls for the Hail Mary play. When he drops back, I run like hell.
I stretch my arms, jump into the goddamn air, and reach for that ball.
But a safety comes out of nowhere, knocking me down. The ball tumbles, thunking onto the grass beside me.