Chapter 19 Zane
NINETEEN
zane
It’s been radio silence for days. Tate treats me like I’m just another coach, answering questions with “yes, sir” and “no, sir” like we never saw each other naked.
I pretend I don’t notice the way he won’t even look at me during film review, or how he leaves the second practice ends.
Morrison is still breathing down my neck for those compromised player names while the one player I actually give a damn about acts like I don’t exist.
“You know what they did to you in Detroit,” he said last time we spoke. “You want that to happen to others when you could have stopped it?”
That fucking chilled me. And those words have looped through my mind ever since.
“Your positioning on that last save was off,” I say after practice, keeping my voice professional. And damn, is it a struggle. “You were cheating too far to your right.”
“Noted,” he says, not looking up from unlacing his skates.
“Tate.”
“What?”
The single word is flat, empty.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
His head snaps up, eyes blazing. “Happy now?”
“Are we going to do this forever? Act like strangers?”
“I thought that’s what you wanted. Professional distance.” He stands, towering over me even in his socks. “Stepping back, remember?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I don’t know, man. It sure as hell felt like you were giving me the brush-off.” He grabs his gear bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Again.”
The reference to Vegas hits like a sharp slap, and I’m going after him before I can stop myself, crowding his space so he has to acknowledge me.
“You think I wanted to tell you that? You think I enjoyed watching you look at me like I was something you scraped off the bottom of your shoe?”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Because you deserved to know what you were getting into. Because I’m not the kind of guy you should be wasting your time on.”
“That’s not your choice to make.”
We’re standing too close now, close enough that I can smell his body wash.
“You really want to get mixed up with someone who owes money to the kind of people who break kneecaps for fun? You think that’s a smart thing?”
“It’s not keeping you away from me. And if you’re so bad for me, then why do you keep coming back?”
I scrub a hand down the front of my face. “Because I can’t help myself. Or stop myself. Even though I know I shouldn’t get mixed up with you.”
“I want to get mixed up with you,” he says, his voice rough. “The rest of it…we can figure it out. I’ve been thinking about what you said. About stepping back, about keeping me safe.” He drops his gear bag, takes a step closer. “And you know what I decided?”
“What?”
“Fuck that.”
Before I can react, he closes the space between us, puts his hands on either side of my face, and kisses me.
I should push him away. Should remind him we’re in the team facility where anyone could walk in. Should stick to the professional boundaries I’ve been trying so hard to maintain.
Kind of hard, if I’m being honest.
Instead, I’m kissing him back like my life depends on it.
“Not here,” I manage against his mouth when we break apart, both breathing hard.
“Where?”
“My hotel. Twenty minutes.”
He nods, pupils dark, lips already swollen from our kiss. “I’ll follow you.”
My hotel room is nothing special. Generic furniture, bare walls. The FBI got me a room here knowing I wouldn’t be staying long enough to create roots. But right now, with Tate pressed against the door, it feels like the center of the universe.
I unlock the door and we fall into the room, unable to keep our hands and mouths off of each other.
“You sure about this?” I ask as my hands tug his belt off.
“Shut up,” he says and pulls my shirt over my head.
We’re a tangle of hands and mouths and desperation, so much tension finally finding an outlet and ready to explode. My skin prickles with anticipation, his body pressed tight against me.
This is bad. It can’t end well. Under any circumstances.
But he forces all of those thoughts to the dark recesses of my mind and I let them go, diving face first into the lust.
He pushes me toward the couch. I land on my back, and he follows me down, settling between my legs.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” he says in a husky voice, his heated gaze melting my insides. “Every night since the equipment room.”
“I have too.” My hands find the hem of his shirt, and I yank it over his head. “And, fuck, I want you.”
He’s gorgeous, smooth bronze skin, cut muscle and swirls of ink that cover his pecs. But as I gaze at him, my gut knots with the knowledge that whatever we have…tonight, tomorrow, or the next day…it’s all temporary.
I grit my teeth. I can’t think about that right now. Tonight, he’s mine.
I run my hands over his chest, down his abs, watching his face as he reacts to my touch.
“What else do you want?” he asks.
“Everything,” I say. “I want to taste every inch of you. I want to fuck you until you can’t remember why you ever thought this was a bad idea.”
“Jesus, Zane.” His breath hitches as he tugs my belt open. “Stop talking and do it.”
I flip us over, pinning his back to the couch, and his gasp of surprise shoots straight to my cock. He’s so fucking hot like this…face flushed, eyes half-hooded, hair messed up from my hands, looking at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted.
And I want to be.
“You’re so fucking incredible,” I tell him, trailing kisses down the side of his throat. “Do you know that? Do you know what you do to me?”
“Tell me,” he says, arching into me.
“You make me crazy. Make me want things I can’t have, make me forget why I’m supposed to stay away.” I nip at his collarbone. “Make me want to mark you up so everyone knows you’re mine.”
“Do it,” he breathes. “Mark me. I don’t give a fuck who sees.”
I bite down on the spot where his neck and shoulder meet, hard enough to leave a bruise, and he moans. The sound goes straight through me, makes me want to hear it again.
“More,” he whispers, hands fisting in my hair. “Zane, please.”
I work my way down his body, mapping out every sensitive spot, memorizing every sound he makes. When I reach the waistband of his jeans, I look up at him.
“You sure?”
“If you stop now, I’ll kill you,” he says, and I laugh despite everything.
I strip off the last of his clothes, and then he’s naked underneath me, perfect and needy and mine for however long this lasts.
“Look at you,” I murmur, wrapping my hand around his thick cock. He’s hard, precum glistening on the swollen head, and when I stroke him, he bucks into my grip.
“Fuck, that feels good.”
“Yeah? You like that?” I twist my wrist on the upstroke, and his head falls back against the couch arm.
“God, yes. Don’t stop.”
I don’t plan to. I want to fuck him all night. I work him with my hand, harder and with more intensity. I watch his face, learning what makes him gasp and curse and beg for more. When I finally lean down and take his throbbing dick in my mouth, he nearly launches off the couch.
“Shit, Zane, your mouth. Fuck.”
I take him deeper, the tip hitting the back of my throat as I suck the underside of his cock. At first, he makes random sounds that I can’t make out but I know it’s because I’m making it hard for him to string together words that make sense.
Hard. Pun intended.
And then, “So good, so fucking good. Your mouth is perfect. God, I’m not gonna last.”
I pull off him with an obscene pop, and his eyes fly open wide at the loss.
“Not yet,” I tell him. “I want to be inside you when you come.”
His lips curl upward. “Yes.”
I pull off my own clothes in a hot second, and then we’re both naked, both desperate, both way past the point of no return.
“Do you have a condom?” I ask, and he points toward his jeans.
“Wallet.”
I find it, rip the packet open with my teeth, and he’s watching every move like I’m putting on a show just for him.
“How do you want me?” he asks, staring up at me from his position on the couch, stroking himself. The question nearly undoes me.
“Just like this. I want to see your face when I’m inside you, making you come, knowing what only I can do to you.”
He nods, spreading his legs wider, and I settle between them. When I push one finger inside him, he’s tight and hot.
“Relax,” I tell him, working him open slowly. “Let me take care of you.”
“I’m trying.” A hiss of air slips through his lips as he tilts his hips upward, beckoning my fingers.
“We’ve got time.” I add a second finger, scissoring them, and he rocks down onto my hand. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.”
By the time I’ve got three fingers in him, he’s a beautiful mess - flushed and sweating and begging for more.
“Please, Zane. I need you. I need you inside me now.”
I roll the condom on, line myself up, and push inside slowly. He’s so tight it’s almost painful, but the look on his face…pure bliss mixed with desire…makes it worth every second of restraint.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” I murmur when I’m fully seated. “Like you were made for me.”
“Move,” he gasps. “Please, just move.”
I start slow, with long deep strokes that have him clutching at my shoulders, his nails digging into my skin. But slow doesn’t last long. Not when he’s making those sounds, not when he’s looking at me like I’m his salvation.
“Harder,” he chokes out. “I can take it.”
I give him what he wants, what we both need. The couch creaks under us, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to break something, but I don’t care. All I care about is the way he feels around me.
“Zane, I’m close. I’m so close,” he cries out, his frenzied hands gripping me tight.
“Come for me,” I tell him, wrapping my hand around his cock. “Make me feel what I do to you.”
It only takes a few strokes before his back arches off the couch, my name on his lips as he comes harder than I’ve ever seen anyone come.
Ropes of cum hit my chest and spill over the side of my hand, and the rumble of my own orgasm rushes toward the head of my cock.
The sight of him, the way he clenches around me, sends me over the edge right after him.
I collapse on top of him, both of us breathing hard, pebbled with sweat and completely wrecked.
“Holy shit,” he whispers after a breathless minute.
“Yeah.”
We lie there together, and for the first time in months, I let myself pretend this could be real. That we could have this without the lies and the danger and Morrison’s threats hanging over our heads.
But reality has a way of creeping back in.
“I should probably go,” Tate says eventually, though he makes no move to get up.
“Should you?”
“I don’t know. Should I?” He pauses. “Do you want me to stay?”
I can see the hope in his eyes. The want. It would be so easy to say yes.
I do want. God, I want it so much it scares me. But wanting something and being able to have it are two different things.
“It’s complicated,” I say, hating myself for the words.
His face closes off. “Right. Complicated.”
“Tate.”
“No, I get it.” He’s already on his feet and moving, reaching for his clothes. “This was just physical. Scratching an itch.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.” He’s getting dressed quickly, like he can’t wait to get away from me. “Thanks for clarifying.”
“It’s not about what I want,” I try to explain. “It’s about keeping you safe.”
“From your gambling debts, right?” His voice is flat. “Because guys who break kneecaps are definitely going to care about who you’re sleeping with.”
The sarcasm cuts, but I can’t blame him for it. The gambling story sounds weak even to me, but it’s all I can give him.
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Everything’s complicated with you.” He’s fully dressed now, looking anywhere but at me. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
“Tate, wait.”
But he’s already heading for the door, and I’m still naked on the couch, still trying to figure out how something that felt so right went so wrong so fast.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, hand on the doorknob, “it was good. Really good.”
“But?”
“But I can’t keep doing this. The hot and cold, the mixed signals.” He finally meets my eyes. “I won’t survive it again.”
The door closes behind him with a quiet click, and I’m left alone with my regrets.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. A text from Morrison: Hope you’re making progress with those names. Time’s running out. And you know the stakes.
I stare at the message until the screen goes dark.
Outside, I hear Tate’s car start up and drive away, and I wonder if I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.