25. Paige
Chapter 25
Paige
I jolted awake, my body humming with an unfamiliar sensation. My eyes fluttered open, and I found myself staring at the ceiling, my breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. The pleasure was intoxicating, like a drug coursing through my veins, making my limbs heavy and my mind hazy.
As I looked down, I saw Ryker's head between my legs, his dark hair a stark contrast against my pale skin. His tongue traced slow, deliberate circles around my mound, teasing and tantalizing me in a way that made my toes curl.
I watched as he worked, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race. His lips were full and soft, and they moved with a practiced ease that spoke of years of experience. His stubble scratched against my thighs, sending shivers up my spine.
I couldn't believe this was happening. I had never felt anything like it before. It was as if every nerve ending in my body was on high alert, responding to his touch with an intensity that was almost overwhelming.
I reached down and ran my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to me. He responded by increasing the pressure of his tongue, sending waves of pleasure crashing over me. I moaned, unable to contain the sound that escaped my lips.
Ryker's hands gripped my hips, holding me in place as he continued his assault on my senses. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge, my body trembling with anticipation.
And then, just as I was about to reach the peak, he pulled away, leaving me gasping for breath. I looked up at him, confused and frustrated, but he just smiled, a wicked glint in his eye.
"Not yet," he said, his voice low and husky. "I want to make this last."
And with that, he dove back in, his tongue working its magic once again. I closed my eyes and let myself be swept away by the sensation.
Ryker’s tongue continued its torturous rhythm, slow and deliberate, driving me to the brink of madness. My breaths came in shallow gasps, my fingers tightening in his hair. The room felt impossibly small, every sound amplified—the rustle of sheets, my ragged breathing, his low murmurs.
Then, he slid a finger inside me, and I arched my back, a moan escaping my lips before I could stop it.
“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured against my skin.
“Yes,” I whispered, the word slipping out like a secret.
“Tell me you missed me,” he demanded. “Tell me every time you were with my brother, you wanted it to be me.”
My eyes snapped open. His gaze was fierce, burning with something dark and possessive. Yet he didn’t stop; his finger moved inside me, sending waves of pleasure crashing through my body.
“Ryker—” I started, but the words tangled in my throat. The intensity of his stare made it impossible to look away.
He continued, unrelenting. “Say it.”
I swallowed hard, caught between the pleasure he was giving me and the pain of his demand. My mind raced back to those moments with Brendan—moments that now felt tainted and wrong under Ryker’s scrutiny.
His glare didn’t soften. If anything, it grew more intense, a storm gathering behind his eyes. He needed this confession like air.
“Ryker,” I tried again, my voice trembling. “Please…”
But he didn’t relent. His finger curled inside me just right, making my vision blur at the edges. The room spun around us.
“Say it,” he growled. “Tell me you wanted it to be me.”
The words lodged in my throat felt like shards of glass. This was more than just physical; it was raw and exposing, cutting deeper than any touch ever could.
I forced myself to meet his gaze fully, knowing there was no escaping this moment. My body trembled as I finally whispered the truth that had been buried deep within me.
“I missed you,” I said softly. “Every time... I wanted it to be you.”
His expression shifted ever so slightly—something between triumph and relief flickered across his features—but he didn’t stop moving his finger inside me, didn’t stop driving me insane with each deliberate stroke.
The tension in the room hung heavy between us as those words lingered in the air, irrevocably changing everything we thought we knew about each other.
His eyes bore into mine, filled with an intensity that made my heart pound. He slid another finger inside me, and my back arched off the bed, a gasp escaping my lips.
"Tell me no one can touch you like me," he demanded, his voice low and rough.
I couldn't form words; the sensation was too overwhelming. His fingers moved inside me with precision, hitting every spot that sent pleasure coursing through my body. I was on the brink, teetering at the edge of a precipice I couldn't pull back from.
"Say it," he growled, his possessive tone wrapping around me like a vice. "Tell me no one else can make you feel like this."
As much as I hated it, everything he was saying was true. No one had ever touched me like this, made me feel so completely consumed. It was maddening and intoxicating all at once.
"No one," I finally whispered, my voice trembling. "No one else can make me feel like this."
His lips curled into a satisfied smirk, but he didn't let up. His fingers continued their relentless rhythm, driving me closer and closer to the edge.
"You're mine," he said, his voice a dark promise. "Only mine."
I could feel the climax building inside me, an unstoppable force ready to crash over me. My breaths came in ragged gasps, my body trembling with anticipation.
"Say it," he commanded again, his eyes never leaving mine. "Say you're mine."
"I’m yours," I breathed out, the words spilling from my lips before I could stop them.
That seemed to be what he needed to hear. His fingers quickened their pace, pushing me past the point of no return. The climax hit me like a tidal wave, and I cried out as my body convulsed with pleasure.
He didn't stop; he lapped at the evidence of my release, drawing out every last shudder from my body. The sensation was almost too much to bear, but I couldn't pull away even if I wanted to.
Finally, when it felt like every nerve ending in my body had been set on fire and extinguished all at once, he pulled back and looked up at me. His expression was one of triumph mixed with something softer—something that made my heart ache in ways I didn’t understand.
He didn't wait for me to catch my breath. Before I could even process the aftershocks of my release, he flipped me over so I was on my stomach, my cheek pressed against the cool sheets. His grip on my hips was firm, almost bruising, as he arched my back up, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.
I felt him position himself at my entrance, and then he slammed into me. The force of it took my breath away, and I let out a muffled cry into the pillow. He was so much bigger than I remembered, stretching me in ways that were both painful and pleasurable.
His movements were relentless, each thrust pushing me further into the mattress. I could feel every inch of him inside me, filling me up until I thought I might burst. It was overwhelming, but I couldn't deny the way my body responded to him.
My fingers clutched at the sheets, trying to find purchase as he pounded into me. Each movement sent shockwaves through my body, making my muscles tense and release in a delicious rhythm. I could feel myself building towards another climax, my body trembling with anticipation.
But just as I was about to reach the peak, he pulled out, leaving me feeling empty and frustrated. I let out a whimper of protest, but he silenced me with a sharp slap on my ass.
"Not yet," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm not done with you."
He flipped me over onto my back, his eyes blazing with desire. He slid back inside me, his movements slower and more deliberate this time. Each stroke was measured, designed to draw out my pleasure for as long as possible.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer to me. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, matching the rhythm of my own. His lips found mine, and he kissed me deeply, his tongue exploring my mouth with a hunger that left me breathless.
As he continued to move inside me, I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge again. My muscles tensed, my breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. And then, with one final thrust, I was sent spiraling over the edge, my body convulsing with pleasure.
He followed soon after, his movements becoming erratic as he found his own release. He collapsed on top of me, his breath hot and heavy against my neck.
"Ryker," I said, looking over at him. "We can't keep doing this."
He said nothing, his silence heavy in the room.
I sat up, pulling the sheet around me. "I... I don't think you realize just how badly I want you," I continued. "But I want you . I don't want just sex. And I don't think it's fair to either of us if we pretend or hide this. The team is the most important thing to you, and that's not even mentioning your brother?—"
"Do not speak of my brother after I've thoroughly fucked you," he said coldly.
I sighed, feeling a pang in my chest. "I don't want to come between that," I said softly. "And honestly? I don't think I could. And that's okay. But I know how I feel about you. And I don't... I wouldn't want to be the reason things get worse before they get better."
"Is that what happened with the coach?" Ryker asked tightly.
I furrowed my brow. "What are you?—"
"From Michigan," he clarified.
I looked away, feeling the weight of his gaze on me. "Look," I said slowly, choosing my words carefully. "After you... I threw myself into work and my studies. He was there. I don't know what you want me to say."
"You covered up his shit," Ryker accused.
"I did," I admitted, feeling a knot form in my stomach. "He was recruiting players that went against the guidelines, using sorority girls to help, and it leaked. He didn’t force the girls, though I’m not sure that makes this better. Anyway, I managed to cover it up for him and the team. But after, I left him. He pressured me to lie for him and I didn't want that to be what I stood for."
The room felt like it was closing in on me as Ryker's eyes bore into mine, searching for something—truth, perhaps, or maybe understanding.
"Paige," he started, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.
"This isn't college," I said, my voice wavering. "If people found out about us, it would only add to the Serpents' reputation. And I know how important that is to you." I sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "I don't want you to be stripped of the captaincy or traded in order to restore faith in the team."
His gaze pierced through me. "What about what I want?"
"And what do you want?" I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.
He stayed silent, his eyes intense but unreadable. The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Standing up, I wrapped the sheet tighter.
"Look," I murmured, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's not a good idea. Because we will get found out. And then what?"
Still, he said nothing. His silence spoke volumes, filling the room with an unspoken tension that seemed impossible to break.
"Well?" I pressed, feeling frustration bubbling up inside me. "Don't you have anything to say?"
Ryker stood up, his movements deliberate and controlled. "I think you've said plenty," he replied, his tone cold and distant.
I watched as he got dressed, each action a painful reminder of the wall building between us. The room felt colder without his warmth beside me, and a part of me wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap forming between us.
But I knew it was futile. The reality of our situation loomed over us like a dark cloud, threatening to burst at any moment.
As he finished dressing, he glanced at me one last time before turning away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the suffocating silence that followed in his wake.
I threw on my shirt and hurried after him. He was already at the door, shrugging into his sweater with a kind of mechanical detachment that twisted my insides.
"How are you going to get home?" I asked. "I was your ride, remember?"
"I'll manage," he replied, his tone cold.
"Ryker, I?—"
Before I could finish, he was on me. His hands gripped my shoulders, and he pushed me against the wall. His eyes, dark blue and stormy, bored into mine. There was so much flashing in them—anger, pain, something else I couldn't quite decipher—but his lips remained pressed together in a thin line.
"Just… stay away from me," he said, his voice a harsh whisper.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my heart cracked with each word.
"That's what you want, right? So… stop."
He released me abruptly, stepping back as if my touch burned him. The sudden emptiness where his hands had been felt like a gaping wound.
Without another word, he turned and walked out of the door. The sound of it closing echoed in the room like a final goodbye.
I stood there for a moment, leaning against the wall for support as I tried to steady my breathing. The room seemed colder now that he was gone, the silence pressing in on me from all sides.
What had just happened? The intensity of our exchange left me reeling. Part of me wanted to run after him, to force him to talk to me, to explain himself. But another part of me knew that it wouldn't do any good. Ryker was a fortress built on years of pain and perfectionism, and no amount of pushing would make him let me in.
I sighed and pushed myself off the wall, rubbing my arms as if I could warm myself up that way. This wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't what either of us needed. But maybe it was what we deserved.
With a heavy heart, I walked back to my room and sat down on the edge of the bed. The sheets were still rumpled from our earlier encounter, a bitter reminder of everything that had just happened—and everything that couldn't be undone.
I buried my face in my hands, trying to gather the strength to move forward. Because no matter how much this hurt right now, I knew one thing for sure: giving up wasn't an option.
Not for me.