The Thing About My Rival (The Boston Commoners #1)

Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

DREW

I have never wanted anyone as badly as I want Hugo. And I’ve never wanted Hugo as badly as I want him right now. Not just because I’m high off our victory, not just because he spoke up for me to my dad, and not just because he told me he loved me.

He said, we have each other . And those might be the sexiest words I’ve ever heard.

It hadn’t occurred to me till right that second that I’ve never really “had” anyone. Not someone who has my back, who supports me unconditionally. And I’ve never really been that person for anyone else, never given myself to anyone in that pure and total way.

So maybe I should allow myself to believe in him, to quiet the constant nagging thought at the back of my mind that this isn’t practical, logical, or workable, and believe in it because he loves me.

And maybe I should let him have the whole of me as well—no more holding back little corners of myself for safety, in case they get trampled on.

I grab the front of his shirt and, walking backward, tug him into the locker room.

Sex in the workplace—not once in my whole life have I ever considered it before. It’s dangerous. It’s risky. We could be caught. The consequences could be terrible. Humiliating.

But this man inspires me to step closer to the edge. Not to make do with things that are fine, but to push life to its limits. Not to take the safe route, but the one with hairpin turns and sheer drops. Not to play it safe, but to see what’s really possible. To be really alive.

“This is hot, Wilcox,” he says against my mouth, reaching behind him to shut the door as we pass through.

He breaks free from me for a second to turn and lock it, then jogs to the door to the hallway and locks that too.

“Right.” He rubs his hands together, a smutty smile lighting up his beautiful face. “Come here, my little locker room lover. I have some new training techniques I’d like to try out.”

He grabs my butt and holds me against the hardness that’s already taken hold in his pants.

His mouth on mine is warm and wet, full of need, and lust, and love.

I’ve wanted this man before, lusted after him, wanted to feast on his beautiful body, to feel him move inside me. But this moment is different. This is a desperation born of love.

It might only have been three weeks since that night in the pub, but it doesn’t seem odd to think I might be doing this with him for the rest of my life.

If we love each other, if he has my back the way he just did, if he makes my insides wobble and my heart burst every time he looks at me, how foolish would I be not to allow myself to believe that it’s possible for this to be my life?

And oh my God, what a thrilling, unpredictable life it would be.

While he kisses me, one hand finds its way under my shirt to cup my breast and roll my nipple, while the other slides down the back of my pants, fingers slipping between my butt cheeks and continuing their journey down and under until they find my hot, wet core.

“Christ, Wilcox, you are so ready for me.” His mouth is right by my ear, tongue teasing the lobe.

“Readier than I’ve ever been.” In more ways than one.

“You want me now?” Two fingers slip inside me, joining us together. “Right now? Straight away?”

I let out a hard sigh and twist to capture his bottom lip between my teeth. “Sooner.”

We’ve already had the conversation about me being on birth control and him being tested—thank God.

“You don’t need to say that twice.” He slides my thong and pants down as I untie the drawstring on his track pants.

Then we’re kicking off our shoes, breathless, mouths making contact whenever possible during the lower clothing removal process, desperate, needing skin on skin like the desert needs the rain.

I push his jacket off his shoulders and, as he finishes the job, I finally take his long, hard, beautiful dick in my hands.

“Christ, Wilcox,” he groans. “We could get fired for this.”

Cupping his balls in one hand and stroking his length with the other, I lean into his neck. “Everyone’s distracted with the celebrations.”

“Have I led you astray? Am I a bad influence on you, Wilcox?” His head drops back, and his eyes drift shut.

“Maybe. Or maybe I was always like this underneath, but it took you to bring out the real me.”

He withdraws from my hands and slips his rock-hard length between my legs. All thoughts fly from my mind as I lose myself in the sparkling sensation of his flesh against mine.

Back and forth he rocks, sliding deliciously from my clit to my core. Back and forth.

His mouth is on my neck, my ear, hand back on my breast, kneading, massaging.

A groan spontaneously flies from my lungs when he nudges at my entrance.

“Fuck, I need to be inside you,” he breathes against my ear, making my body tingle all the more.

“And I need you there.” I grab the front of his shirt again and haul him over to the lockers.

We fall apart as I lie on the bench, left leg bent and pressing against a locker, right foot on the floor.

He looks down at me, erection bobbing in front of him, that cat-about-to-get-the-cream smile lighting up his face. “Well, this is a first.”

“For the sweet love of God, get down here and get inside me.”

“Like I said, I don’t need asking twice.”

He leans over me, placing himself perfectly at my desperate entrance, picks up my right leg and holds it tight to his waist.

I curl it around his back, press my heel into his solid butt, and pull him to me .

His first nudge inside me always makes me cry out, but I try to stay quiet, and force my eyes to stay open, to witness him buck, his back arching, to watch his lips form the word “Jesus.” It’s a beautiful thing to see.

Wrapping both legs fully around him, I draw him deeper, harder, until I’m full of him, have as much of him as it’s possible to have, until he completes me.

After the elation of the win, then the coldness of my father, I just need to feel like me again, experience primal real life. Like nothing else matters other than me and Hugo, our bodies as one, him pumping into me on the locker room bench.

He thumbs my clit, sending sparks shooting to every part of me, encouraging my walls to drip against him.

Curving down over me, he takes my mouth in a kiss full of passion and want. I push my fingers through his hair and slide my hands down his back, over the peaks and valleys of his muscles, and down to his clenching ass.

My fingers press into his muscular flesh as I clasp him hard against me, like somehow if I can get even more of him inside me, everything will be fine, everything will work out right, there’ll be no job decisions, no bad outcomes, and everything will be perfect.

His mouth swoops to my neck, kissing a line up to my ear, where he rests his lips, panting in time to his thrusts.

“I fucking love you, Wilcox.”

The combination of his words, the tickle of his breath, the circling of his thumb and the pounding of his dick sends me over the edge.

“Holy fuck, Hugo.” As I fight for breath, the rest of the world vanishes. All that exists is the part of me that’s connected to part of him.

My inner walls contract and release around him. Contract and release. My back arches off the wooden bench, my head thrashes from side to side and everything inside it melts and explodes at the same time.

Hugo’s groans turn to cries as he thrusts harder, circles his thumb even more eagerly and extends my pleasure beyond anything I’ve ever felt. This man knows how to take me there, get me there, and keep me there for as long as humanly possible.

We both let out another cry simultaneously, in total harmony, like we were born to come together.

“Fuck me, Wilcox.” He rests his damp forehead against my damp forehead and looks down into my eyes through his dark lashes. “That was amazing. You are amazing. And that was possibly the best idea you’ve ever had.”

I drag my fingers up his back, across his shoulders and rake them back into his lush, thick hair. “What’s your best idea?”

“Funny you should ask, because I might have just had it.” He scoops his arms under my back. “Hold on tight.”

“Whoa!” I cling on to his hair and clench my thighs to his waist as he picks me up, still inside me, and carries me across the room.

“Where are we going?”

“Do you have a change of clothes here?”

“Yes. Why?” Oh, shit. I see where he’s heading. “ Really ?”

“Oh, yes,” he says in a gravelly voice that echoes as we enter the tiled, open showers.

Hooking one arm under my butt, he reaches for the tap with the other hand.

Despite his best efforts to keep us out of the initial spray, the water makes a sudden loud spurt, and splatters us with cold water, making me squeal .

Hugo dips his head and takes my nipple in his mouth through my shirt. “These were already hard, but now…” He groans as he tongues me.

Once the water has settled into a steady stream, he straightens and holds his hand out into it.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking it’s a good temperature for you. It would be thoughtless not to.”

“Very thoughtful, yes, but I don’t need a?—”

Every drop of air shoots from my lungs when he swivels me around and rests my back against the cold tiled wall directly under the showerhead, the water hitting my chest, soaking my shirt and running over my belly to where the two of us meet.

“Are you insane?” I push my soaking hair out of my face with one hand and hold onto his bulging bicep with the other.

“Possibly.” He trickles his fingers over my breasts and my hard, hard nipples. Despite the layers of wet fabric between my skin and his hand, his touch reignites the fire within me. “But I wanted to see what you looked like in a wet T-shirt.”

He grows inside me, hardening again, enlarging, starting to move again. “And it’s very fucking hot.”

I let my head drop back against the wall and give in to it all once more. But this time with warm water cascading over me.

I hook my ankles together behind his back and grip his shoulders, supporting myself between him and the wall.

He leans forward, resting a hand on either side of me against the tiles, and dips his head to lick my breasts through my wet shirt.

I’m floating in space, between Hugo and the wall. It’s the physical embodiment of his words we have each other —I’m trusting him to hold me up, to catch me if I fall.

As he moves in and out, he slides a hand under my butt.

Carefully, gingerly, his fingers drop to the gap between my cheeks.

He lifts his head and our lips are drawn together, water running between our mouths as we drink each other in.

He circles his hips and pants into my mouth as his pinkie finds its way to that precious circle of nerve endings.

“I fucking love you, Wilcox.”

Just the tip of his finger teases my sphincter, shooting flames of desire, distracting my mouth from his kisses so much my head falls back against the tiles again. “Oh, God, Hugo.”

“I know,” he says, circling his hips and his pinkie, bringing us both higher and higher once more. “It’s magic. You are magic. We are fucking magic.”

And I reach the peak again, am gone again, lost again, coming undone again.

The world disappears as our groans and sighs merge with the sound of the water and rhythmic movement of our bodies.

He’s right. This sensation coursing through my veins, my body, my soul, is so otherworldly that it has to be magic. There’s no other explanation.

He pounds into me, the water rolling between us, soaking us as we soak in each other.

Then finally, just as my waves die down, he lets out a groan so deep, so guttural, from so far inside him, it sounds like it’s coming from the very core of his being. He’s utterly lost in pleasure. Pleasure from me. Pleasure from us.

I open my eyes to find his foggy, lust-filled gaze on my face, and that oh-so-Hugo smirk growing at one corner of his mouth. “In all my footballing years, I have never had a better victory celebration.”

“Yeah, it was okay. I guess.”

Coming back to reality, I’m aware of my spine rubbing against the tile and shift a little.

“Careful,” he says, wrapping his arms around me. “I got you.”

“You do,” I tell him, placing my lips on his in a slow, deep, shower-soaked kiss.

Does he ever. The whole kit and caboodle. He’s got me.

“Come on,” Hugo says as I emerge into the office in fresh clothes with my hair half dry from a quick blow with the hairdryer, which is, indeed, much stronger than the one in the women’s locker room. “The guys will wonder where we are.”

“Just need to grab another layer. It might be chilly up there now.” I round my desk to get my jacket from the back of my chair.

As I’m slipping it on, my phone buzzes on the desk.

JILL

Spoke to the general manager. Essentially, if you want to come back we’ll have you any way we can. Let me know when you’re free for the three of us to video chat. So excited !

I lean on the desk, overcome by the relief of knowing I have a future, a job to go to if it doesn’t go my way here.

“You okay?” Hugo asks. “Is that bad news?” His eyes widen. “Oh, it’s not your fucking dad upsetting you again, is it?”

“No, no.” I darken the phone and slip it into my pocket. “It’s nothing.”

“Come on, then. They have beer and snacks, and I’m thirsty and starving.”

I nod at the man who has rocked my world, who’s made me believe I could give myself totally to him, but whose orbit I can’t possibly be in for much longer, and follow him along the hallway to the stairs to the owners’ box.

When this season is done, either he gets the job and I’ll go to Portland or I’ll get the job and he will doubtless move back to the UK.

There are no wins here. This is now nothing but a lose-lose situation.