Chapter 31
CHAPTER 31
HENDRIX AVERY
“Are you sure you can be here?” Micah asks me while looking around nervously.
“There isn’t a rule that says I can’t be.” I glance down at my gold jersey, some random number in the center of the chest because they either don’t sell ones with Tahegin’s name yet or they were all sold out in the gift shop. Looking at Micah, I clock his dark hair sprayed with glittering gold temporary hair dye. He looks like a unicorn fucked a lucky pot of gold and then gave birth on top of his head. It’s completely ridiculous, which means I also look ridiculous because he tagged me with the same stuff before we left our hotel earlier.
Since my team is on our bye week, I decided to travel to Seattle to watch Tahegin’s game. So far, no one has noticed one of the Rubies’ receivers sitting among them, but Micah is being totally paranoid about it. The last two months have been . . . trying. Tahegin and I may be living in the same city, but our practice schedules are so packed that we hardly see each other, especially when we’re both traveling for games every week. I did manage to find a modest house nearly perfectly equidistant between our two training fields, but Coach Mathis’ words have stayed with me, even when buying a house. He’s right; the paparazzi are everywhere. Just last week, some player in Aleks’ queer—sorry, inclusive group—was caught walking into a BDSM club, and the picture ended up splashed across every news article and gossip magazine. It was so bad the discreet sex club had to relocate to a new, undisclosed location.
So when purchasing a house that Tahegin and I are to share, I’d done the smart thing and, with his permission, put the house in Micah’s name. It’s safer that way, for now.
Even with the house in the middle, our careers have gotten the best of us more than a few times. If I’m going to be too late or have an early morning the next day, I usually don’t make it as far as Tahegin’s house while he sleeps at the middle house. If he is going to be very late or early, sometimes he gets a hotel room next to his training field. It’s strange to return to a house I call my own—Micah’s name on it excluded—to see how it has been lived in by someone else. It’s all Tahegin—affirmations on the bathroom mirror and laundry left on the couch where he didn’t quite get around to folding it—and I love every reminder that he has been there. I love leaving notes or a fresh vase of flowers for him, too; he texts me every time he sees them around the house.
Tahegin’s house, I’ve noticed, has been oddly . . . quiet. I haven’t seen a whiff of his staff since he went to the Treasures, but I did come home to find the dishes washed and put away one day last month. He probably just backed them off since he isn’t staying there as much, though I haven’t thought to question him about it.
“So.” Micah’s voice drags me back to the stadium, where the teams have disappeared into the locker rooms for halftime. He’s holding up his hands and ticking off his fingers as he wonders aloud. “The two teams in the Super Bowl aren’t in the same—what was it?— thingy .”
Gregory Ellingsworth, Tahegin’s father, is a man with all the patience in the world. Apparently, he spent last season teaching Micah the positions on a team and what each one does. Since Tahegin is on the Treasures now, they haven’t had much time to go over anything else, though Gregory started to explain the conferences and divisions to him during the preseason game between the Treasures and the Rubies. It seems they are picking up where they left off last time.
I’ll admit, I was nervous as hell to be around Tahegin’s family without him as a buffer, but Micah and Gregory are close, so it has been manageable so far.
“Conference,” Gregory explains. “There are two conferences, and the highest-ranked team from each competes in the Super Bowl.”
“How do they determine the ranks?”
“By the games played in the regular season, then the playoffs.”
“So, all of this thingy plays each other”—Micah holds one hand out—“and all of the second one plays each other.” He holds out his other hand. “That determines the rank?”
I roll my lips between my teeth to stifle my chuckle and think to myself, Good luck with that question, Greg .
“Um—” Gregory thinks on it, but Micah interrupts.
“Are the Rubies and the Treasures in the same thingy ?”
“Conference,” I correct him. “And no.”
“So why did you two play earlier this season?”
“It was a preseason game. Different rules.”
“What about next week?”
Right. Because our two teams are facing off again next week, and this time, it actually counts.
I’m stumped, trying to figure out how to explain the complicated schedule when he can’t even remember the word conference , much less the names of the two and the divisions within them.
Football is not an uncomplicated sport.
“Can I see your Skittles?” Gregory asks me, so I pass him the unopened bag. Then, he signs to Willow, asking for her M&Ms. “Okay, Micah. You have two conferences—Skittles and M&Ms.” He holds up the two different bags of candy as a visual aid. Willow looks questioningly at me, so I automatically begin signing for her everything her father is explaining to Micah. “So, each of these is divided up?—”
Micah groans. “There’s more ?”
“This one is easy. North, South, East, and West. Like a compass.” Greg opens the bags and lines up the candies, Skittles on one side and M&Ms on the other. Each side has four rows, and each row contains four candies of the same color. Yellow, green, orange, and red. “Two conferences, four divisions each, see? Now, it gets a little tricky, so bear with me. During the regular season, each team will play the three other teams in their division twice. Take the Rubies, for example.” He holds up a red Skittle. “They will play the Arizona Monsters, San Francisco Dragons, and Seattle Emeralds two times—one home game, one away.”
“Wait.” Micah raises his hand like we’re in high school. “Question.”
“Go ahead.”
“If the Emeralds are a red Skittle, why are they playing a red M&M today? Is it because they’re in the same compass direction?”
Greg chuckles, shaking his head. “Division, and no. They’re both West divisions, but they’re different conferences. Skittle and M&M, see? They are playing today because it is red M&M’s year to play them. Next year, it will move to a different M&M color. It rotates on a four-year cycle.”
“That’s why the Rubies and the Treasures are playing next week. Red M&Ms and red Skittles.”
“Now you’re getting it,” Greg praises with a smile. “Okay, so the rest of the schedule?—”
“Woah, Greg. Don’t drown me with information today. We can pick this up next week.”
We laugh at his ridiculousness as the teams run back onto the field, and then Willow taps my shoulder to get my attention. I look at her, grinning when I see her matching glittery getup to Micah’s and mine.
“ Do you have any more princess stories? ” she signs.
I scoff playfully. “ Do I? Have I told you about . . . Princess Willow? ”
She gives me a big, gap-toothed smile. “ Her name is Willow? ”
“ Princess Willow, and she is the most beautiful princess in all of princess-land. ” My gaze slides to the field, unconsciously seeking Tahegin out among the gold jerseys on the sideline. When I find him, I see he is already watching me.
Tahegin’s gloved hands rise, and he signs, “ Princess-land, huh? ”
I flip him the bird, and he laughs so hard he has to bend over and clutch his belly.
? ? ?
“One hundred and fifty yards,” Tahegin pants against my mouth. “Congrats.”
“Only because you weren’t out there,” I respond, just as breathless. His coach had taken him out after a collision ended with him limping slightly. I spent the rest of the game wishing he could be on the field with me, even if I would have to fight him for the ball. The tension between us only grew, and when we arrived in separate vehicles at his house, I practically jumped him in the garage before carrying him up the stairs to his bedroom.
Playing against the Treasures again—against Tahegin—had me nervous going into the stadium. The last game we played head-to-head, I let the hype of the rivalry get the best of me and snapped at Tahegin for something that was ultimately my fault. He’d simply wanted to know if my elbow was okay—since I’d started taping it—and when I’d let that distract me from my job, I accused Tahegin of sabotaging me. He hadn’t done it intentionally, and I’d spent a long time that night after the game making it up to him.
My hands fumble with his sweater, yanking it off so quickly that sparks of static prick along his skin. I run my palms down his smooth, muscular back, over his ass, and pause just below his cheeks. “How’s your leg?”
“It’s fine,” he mutters between peppering my neck with open-mouthed kisses. His hands slip under my shirt as I arch into him, opening myself for more of his touch. “They just took me out as a precaution.”
Fingers grapple with my fly, but I catch Tahegin’s elbow as he begins to lower to his knees. “Wait, I don’t want to hurt your?—”
“My hamstring is fine , Rix. Stop stressing.” His lips capture mine in a bruising kiss, the action so rough that it sends my back crashing against the bookshelf behind me.
“I know, I know,” I murmur around his attack.
“And you know that if I had been out there”—he nips my bottom lip—“ we would have won.”
“Actually, with Kit gone, we wouldn’t have been out of the running.” Since Larson no longer has an excuse to fabricate penalties against us , I add silently.
Tahegin buries his fingers in my hair, using his grip to tilt my head back against the bookshelf, and sucks on my throat. “Still fucked-up that Mathis traded him to Miami.”
“It was—” I break off as his teeth find my earlobe, his breath fanning across the shell of my ear, and a moan slips from my mouth. “ Jesus. Fuck, T. It was— nngh— for the best. Are we really going to talk about Kit right now ?” My hands shift, one sliding to the front of his joggers, the other onto his ass to finger over his crease.
“Mm, no. Definitely not.”
We leave our words behind, swept under a wave of desire and frantic hands. Clothes are discarded on the floor, and I walk Tahegin backward toward the bed. When we reach it, the back of Tahegin’s knees hit the mattress, and I feel his wince on my lips.
I pull away with an accusatory glare aimed in his direction. “You are hurt.”
“Rix—”
“On the bed.” I narrow my gaze when he tries to argue. “Now.”
He obeys, and I position his naked body how I want it—on his back, head on the pillows, legs straight out and slightly spread. My weary muscles complain as I carefully climb onto the bed and crawl over him, detouring to take his hard length in my mouth. Just once. Just long enough to coat him in a slick layer of spit. I move upward, licking the divots of his abs until I reach his navel. Every time I touch him here, his body has this innate, primal reaction—one that sends his back arching off the bed and has all kinds of lewd noises and curses falling from his lips. And my name. I love hearing him moan my name, knowing it’s me making him feel this way.
Tahegin grabs my hair for dear life and pulls me even closer to his belly. Remaining still, I let him writhe against my tongue, using me for his pleasure. His cock rubs against my chest with every roll of his hips, and I hum with delight.
When his moans grow closer together, I pull away. He whines in complaint, but then I’m capturing his pierced nipple between my teeth, and he’s once more a victim of desire. Straddling his hips, I lower myself until our cocks brush each other, and he rocks against me, chasing a release I’m not ready to give him yet.
My mouth meets his in a kiss, and I whisper against his lips. “Tahegin.”
“ Rix ,” he groans, thrusting.
“T.” I pull away just far enough that he can’t reach me for another kiss.
Our eyes meet in the dim light, the lust clouding his clearing slightly. “What? What is it?”
“Do me,” I blurt before I can psyche myself out.
Those sapphire blues blow wide in surprise.
“F-for your hamstring,” I stammer, backpedaling. “I mean, I can be u-up here, and you can lay there. Like this. To keep your leg from hurting, you know. I’ve been, um . . . practicing.”
Tahegin gapes. “Practicing,” he repeats.
I nod. “In the shower. With my . . .” I hold up my hand, wiggling my fingers.
He cups my cheek with a gentle palm and gives me a soft smile. “You know you don’t have to, Rix.”
“I want to. I mean, if you want to. If you don’t, we?—”
“Sh. Calm down. Of course I do. I just want you to be comfortable.”
Instead of facing the nervous shake in my voice, I lean down and capture his lips in a deep kiss, trying to show him how I feel about this—about us. How I want us to be together in every way possible.
Tahegin must understand my silent communication because he takes control of the kiss, one hand on the back of my neck, holding me close while the other disappears for a moment. When it returns, his fingers are slick with lube. “Stroke us,” he encourages me as those fingers slip between my ass cheeks. I unconsciously tense, but one tug of my fist on our joined cocks has me melting into a puddle of pleasure. Tahegin eases a finger inside me, the sensation foreign and strange. In and in he goes—for what feels like forever—and I can’t imagine how deep it will feel once his dick is inside me.
Adjusting his finger, Tahegin caresses my most intimate place, searching for?—
“ Ahh , fuck ,” I breathe when he finds it. My head falls to his chest as I hold on for dear life, body trembling.
“Yeah?” His chest rumbles beneath my forehead as he chuckles. “You like?”
That finger sweeps again over what I can only assume is my prostate, and I shudder. Gooseflesh spreads across my arms. How can something hidden in there feel so toe-curling good? Like he’s stroking my cock from the inside, at the heart of pleasure. “God, T,” I gasp.
“Keep stroking us, Rix.”
I restart my pumping fist, not fully confident if I’m thrusting forward into my hand or backward onto his finger. No, fingers . He’s as gentle with me as possible, and with the work I’ve done on my own these past few weeks, he stretches me to three fingers in no time.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his slick tip nudging my hole as his fingers slip out.
I bury my face in his neck to hide my nervousness and nod.
One of his hands holds his shaft steady at the root as he carefully enters me, and when I instinctively clench, his other dives between us to stroke me. Slowly relaxing, I open myself for his intrusion, my fingers tangling in his dark curls as I hold him close.
He lets out a guttural groan, pausing halfway to withdraw and enter me again. The slow burn almost seems worse than if I were to just get it over with so we can move on to the fun part.
Once I have the thought, it refuses to go away, so as Tahegin pulls out and eases in again, I submit to the idea. I push on his chest, slowly sitting up to adjust to the feel of him inside me, and as our eyes lock, I drop my hips to meet his.
Tahegin cries out, curling toward me.
Me? I feel like I’m being split open and my guts are being forced into my chest cavity.
“Shit,” I breathe through the discomfort. “Did I hurt you?”
“Did you hurt you ?” he counters. “Jesus, Rix.”
I circle my hips, testing. The fullness is different, not uncomfortable, and the movement has him rubbing deep inside me. I feel stuffed. Filled up and owned by him. God, this is the hottest thing I have ever felt—or done—or thought—or anything. There aren’t words to describe it, but I know I want more.
“Rix?”
“ More , T,” I lean down and moan against his lips.
He grins, letting out a nervous chuckle. “So, um.”
I pull back to eye him warily.
“Funny story . . . My hamstring is fucking killing me.” He gives me a sheepish look. “So, you might have to do most of the work.”
Though he’s acting like I’ll be upset about having to participate during sex— as if —I focus instead on the part about him being in pain. I want this, even if I have to fuck myself on him, but I don’t want to hurt him any worse. I’d rather wait if we need to or do something else. There are plenty of ways to get off. We’ve done pretty much all of them already.
Using my hands on his chest to steady myself, I rock up, dragging him out nearly all the way before falling back down until our hips meet again. “Does this hurt?” I ask, breathless at the feel of him inside me.
He grabs my ass and pulls my cheeks apart so I slip further down his length, to the hilt. The groan he releases is all pleasure. “No,” he breathes. “You feel amazing, Rix. So tight.”
Wordlessly, I begin to grind on him, up and down and forward and back, finding a rhythm that feels good inside me. By Tahegin’s awed, blissed-out expression, he is enjoying it, too. I dig the fingers of one hand into his pec and rub my other thumb over his navel as pleasure builds and builds. He holds my ass, helping lift and drop me, and then he uses his grip to tilt my hips. At the new angle, his cock slides along my prostate, making my entire body shudder at the ecstasy coursing through me.
My eyes snap to his. “I’m close.”
“Me too.” One of his hands leaves my ass to slip between us. He fists my bouncing cock, stroking me as my pleasure soars high, riding a mountain top. His gaze lowers to watch his hand on me or maybe his cock as it disappears inside me. He bites his lip so hard the color pales. “Fuck yeah, Rix. Make me come.”
His filthy words, his hand on me, his dick in me, his pleasure and mine . . . It all collides in a rush of bliss, and I come. Hard . My release covers his bronze chest and abs, a hearty spurt even managing to nail his collarbone. Beneath me, Tahegin tenses, gutturally crying out my name when his climax hits, and I feel him. Inside me. Twitching. Pulsing. Dripping .
“Oh, fuck me,” I pant as I collapse on his chest, too exhausted to care about the mess squishing between us.
“Just did,” Tahegin chuckles, sounding just as breathless as me. I laugh, too, and the movement causes his softening cock to slip out of me, a gush of something warm and wet following close behind. It’s not an amazing feeling, but thinking about what it is and where it came from has me smiling to myself.
No doubt, I’ll be sore tomorrow. For now, though, I nestle in Tahegin’s sweaty embrace and accept the kiss he places on my lips before trying to clean us up with a discarded T-shirt as well as he can without my cooperation.
“Love you,” I murmur sleepily as exhaustion takes me under.
I barely catch Tahegin’s contented hum and whispered “Love you, too, Rix.”