Chapter 16
AUSTIN
—Born to Be Yours
by Kygo & Imagine Dragons
The next three days pass in a haze of mind-numbing sex. It’s reckless and indulgent and exactly what we shouldn’t be doing in the middle of a tournament.
I wake Johnson up with handjobs, and I enjoy watching his face shifting from sleepy confusion to heated awareness in the span of seconds.
By the second day, he’s perfected his blowjobs and knows exactly what I want.
He knows when to slow down, when to go harder, and when to look up at me with that infuriatingly smug expression that never fails to make me come down his throat.
But the most memorable times are when I’m inside him.
The way he softens and tenses all at once, the way he says my name, the way he reaches back for me like he needs the contact. God, I can’t get enough of fucking him.
We rarely go downstairs for food anymore, preferring to order room service that we have to pay for ourselves because our government isn’t that generous.
We eat in bed half the time, stealing kisses between bites, Johnson introducing me to different wines he likes, the world outside our door feeling irrelevant until we have to join the others for training or whenever Coach calls Johnson for meetings and his captain-related duties.
The morning of our game against Croatia comes too fast. Even though we know we have to leave early, we don’t stop until three rounds of sex have left the both of us exhausted.
We crash around one in the morning. And I swear I’ve only just closed my eyes when I feel a wet mouth on my dick drag me back to consciousness.
I open my eyes with a grin already forming, and I watch as Johnson greedily sucks me to full hardness.
Since I don’t know if we’ll be fortunate enough to share a room again, I tear open a condom and lube up my cock.
If we win today, we’re leaving for Sheffield, and if we lose, we’re out of the tournament.
So, yeah, I need to fuck him one more time.
I may not be able to until I find a way to see him in London.
Shit, what if he doesn’t want to see me anymore?
I shove that thought down and pull his head up from my cock.
I make him roll to his side and press two lubed fingers into his hole.
He’s still open from our last fuck marathon so it doesn’t take much.
As I stretch him, he lets out a guttural groan.
It gives me a high knowing how much he loves it when I play with him like this.
I take my time, scissoring my fingers in him so I can hear that sound again.
When I finally replace my fingers with my cock, he exhales, his body yielding easily and welcoming me in.
“I’ve turned you to such a cock slut,” I murmur against his neck, sounding breathless.
He chuckles and reaches back to knead my thigh. “Whatever, just fuck me.”
I smile into his skin and start thrusting into him like he asked.
I can never get over having him like this.
Both fucking him and the fact that he’s so into it, he’s practically fucking himself on my cock.
He’s bigger and broader than me, and yet here I am clinging to him from the side, holding him close while I drive into him.
I’m sure we look ridiculous, but he doesn’t seem to care, and frankly, neither do I.
When I hit his prostate, he lets out a sexy moan, his nails digging into my thighs in a way that should be painful, but it only spurs me on, making me want to draw out every last sound out of him.
There is no way I’m making him come untouched today because I’m already teetering too close to the edge myself.
So, I take his cock in my hand and pump him in time with my thrusts.
The smell of sex and sweat mix in the air, the slap of skin meeting skin filling the room.
His head presses back into the pillows, jaw slack, all that control he carries everywhere else gone, and for a fraction of a second, I imagine our teammates walking in and seeing what I’m doing to their captain.
Their stoic, no-nonsense leader coming apart on my cock.
It drives me insane how he isn’t shy with his need, that he takes what he wants from me without any shame.
“Fuck,” he rasps, nails biting harder into my thighs when he comes, filling my hand.
The feel of him losing control tips me straight over.
I give him two more thrusts before I’m coming too, the force of it ripping through me until I can’t do anything but cling to him and breathe through it.
I stay glued to him as we come back down, our hearts pounding, uneven but in sync until my softened dick glides out of his hole.
He rolls onto his back, and I immediately drop my head on his broad chest like I’ve been doing since we got here.
It doesn’t take long for his hand to drift to my hair, fingers combing through it in a way that almost lulls me back to sleep.
“Where are you from?” he asks.
I snort against his skin. “Are we getting to know each other now?”
I don’t tell him I’ve known everything about him since he got called up to the big leagues.
I don’t tell him I’ve been following his career religiously—and not because he was my best friend’s husband, not even because I wanted to play in the same league as he did.
There’s no reason to make it weird. Not when we have this old domestic couple thing going and I’m trying to hide how happy it makes me.
“I’ll let you guess,” I say. “And the one hint I’ll give you is I’m Yoruba.”
He huffs out a laugh, the vibration rumbling beneath my ear. “I know that,” he says, his free hand tracing lazy lines up and down my back. If I hadn’t already come four times in only few hours, I would be hard again.
“Let’s see,” he says, pretending to think hard about it. “Your surname suggests Lagos.”
I tilt my head to look at him. “I feel like you knew already.”
“I don’t, actually,” he says quickly. “I never asked S—” He cuts himself off and clears his throat. “Anyway, I’m from Lagos, too.”
I nod instead of speaking. I’ve noticed he avoids saying Sandra’s name, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s feeling guilty about us, or if it’s something else.
I don’t bring her up either, but for different reasons.
I try not to think about what would happen if she ever found out because it’ll probably sting knowing Johnson has no problem with sex and intimacy, he just did not want them with her.
Not that I plan on letting that happen. I know I should feel bad, but I can’t quite manage it.
This is a dream come true for me, and nothing can change that.
We drift into an easy conversation like we usually do.
He tells me more about his childhood, how he never met his father, that he lost his mom his first year at the academy.
I tell him about my parents. How they died and how I still missed them.
At some point, we fall asleep, still in each other’s arms. When we wake up, the room feels different.
As we start getting ready for the game, I catch his reflection in the mirror.
I can see my fear reflected on his face, the creeping possibility that this may be the last time we get to share a room.
But it won’t be the last time. Not if I have anything to do with it.