The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

6. Same Time Next Year

6

SAME TIME NEXT YEAR

Hunter

How do I want to finish?

I’ve given that question endless thought, devoted detailed fantasies to every scenario.

And I want it all. Right now. All at once.

But that’s impossible because physics and stuff.

“Just. Don’t. Stop,” I groan.

Nate reaches for the coffee table and grabs some lotion. With a few pumps, he returns to me then wraps his slick hand around my aching dick again.

I shudder.

Then I tremble when he comes in for a kiss. I let out a ridiculously loud moan. I’ve picked an incredible lover for a first time.

He kisses deeply as he strokes, his fingers twisting torturously around the head of my cock. He slides his fist back down to the base, then coasts his palm between my thighs, grabbing my balls, giving them a good tug.

“Yes,” I say, urging him on.

He takes a long tour of my shaft, gripping me nice and tight, then loose and teasing.

And soon, I’m panting harder, my thighs quaking.

This is a fantasy come true.

As his hand flies along, he comes back in for another hard kiss.

Then he kisses and jerks.

It’s hot and wild. Electricity crackles in my veins. I pump into his hand.

Nate urges me on, whispering, “Give it to me.”

My whole body lights up as he takes me over the edge. I come hard in his palm, and it’s the best orgasm of my life.

I’m buzzed—lit up from head to toe.

When he lets go of my dick, he kisses me more, gentle and slow this time. It’s a dizzying kiss since I’m still floating on an orgasm high, my veins humming with bliss.

Then he maneuvers off me, heads to the kitchen sink, and washes his hands.

I should move.

I should go.

I have a plane to catch.

But holy hell.

I got everything I wanted in this afternoon delight.

And yet I want so much more.

This encounter hasn’t quenched my thirst.

After I clean up, while he heads to his second-floor bedroom to get dressed, I check out his place.

I’d have expected a rich athlete-style pad with monochromatic black and white furniture, steel tables, and hard edges.

The warmth of this home overlooking the water surprises me. A soft, chocolate-brown couch commands the center of the room. Throw pillows in purples, golds, and oranges line the cushions. Photos of endangered animals fill the walls with descriptions of where they live, what they eat, and what humans can do to save them. At the bottom of each frame are the words Thanks for your platinum-level support, then the name of a charity.

Nice. The man gives a lot away to save our furry friends.

I want to ask him questions. Find out about his passions. His likes and dislikes.

I want to know a little more about the superstar athlete who treated me like I gave him something special when the opposite is true. He gave me a fantastic encounter.

But the clock is ticking. I’ve got to grab my suitcase at my hotel, catch a Lyft, and go through security.

When Nate strides downstairs, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, he studies me thoughtfully. “Do you have to take off now?”

I’m not sure how he means that—Does he want me to stay or is he asking as a formality?—so I speak the truth. “In about an hour.”

“Want to watch a show? Grab some food?”

“Sure. A show sounds good,” I say, and the offer makes me feel warm and cozy, on top of the sexiness.

I join him on his comfy couch where he grabs a remote and flicks through the streaming options.

A Gentleman’s Deal.

“That’s new. Have you seen it?” Nate asks.

I hide my face in the pillow, nodding yes.

He tugs the pillow off me. “Hunter. Just admit you’ve seen everything on Webflix.”

I just shrug. I don’t even work on scripted shows. I work on documentaries, but it’s fun to give him a hard time. “Well, do you ever miss a football practice?”

“No fucking way.”

“So yes, I’ve seen most of my shows,” I say.

Nate aims the remote at the screen like a weapon. “Then I guess we’ll have to watch a competitor,” he teases.

“And what if I root for the New York Leopards?”

He gasps, mortally wounded. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I might,” I say. “Try me. Just try me.”

“No way. You probably want to come to one of my games next time you’re in town and root for me.” His face goes blank, slack with realization. I can almost see him winding the recording back to check his own words.

His words take the wind out of me too. Is he asking me to see him again?

That would be wild.

To do this again.

To do everything.

I want that so badly. But I don’t know when I’ll be here next.

“I’d root for you,” I say quickly. That answer seems safe enough, and sexy enough. It says thank you and I want you but we both know nothing can happen .

He pats the spot next to him. I scoot closer, and he drapes an arm around me, then clicks on A Gentleman’s Deal.

As the opening music swells, he tugs me closer, then we watch the show I’ve already seen.

But it’s better like this. With his arm around me.

It’s better, too, when the episode nears its end and he tosses the remote on the table. “Fuck TV. Let’s make out more,” he says, then he climbs on me, covers me with his body, his mouth meeting mine. He kisses me passionately, and wild thoughts swirl through my head.

I want to offer to fly back for sex.

Is that foolish?

Overeager?

Probably both.

Just enjoy the moment . Remember what this is. There are plenty of men in England .

I got what I wanted today. A bit of experience.

Soon, it’s time to go. I untangle myself from him, stand, and point to the door. Nate follows me, but before he reaches for the knob, he clears his throat. “They do this carnival every year. You should come again,” he says, sounding hopeful.

“I’d love to,” I say. I don’t bother hiding a grin.

He doesn’t, either, as he grabs his phone and sends me a text.

My grin widens as I read his note, then I say I will.

And I go.

On the plane that evening across the country, I read his message one more time.

If you’re still single, come to the carnival with me next year. Same time. We can do it all over again.

It’s an invitation that I doubt I’ll take him up on even though I desperately want to.

Who knows what will happen over a year?

I resist texting him when I’m in Chicago, then New York, and soon when home in London, too, even though I want to say things like I can’t stop thinking about that day or I haven’t met anyone else or I want to do that again.