Chapter Nineteen
In the car, the energy between us crackles like a live wire as Gareth drives us away from Bridge Point.
Neither of us says much while quiet music hums softly through the speakers.
Gareth drives with his wrist draped over the steering wheel, his arm resting on the center console, hand hanging over the edge close enough to touch my skin.
Every so often, he glances over at me, as if he’s checking I’m still there.
I don’t fill the silence with idle chatter. I can’t imagine the range of emotions rippling through him after a game like that. I have no idea what his post-game rituals look like. The last thing I want is to overwhelm or overstimulate him by talking nonstop the entire drive.
A weight settles deep in my belly, guilt swirling. I should have been there for him more throughout his career. I should’ve showed up for him like he always has for me if I needed him to, or hell, if Dylan asked him to.
City lights blur into dark country roads, and I know exactly where we’re going.
When the last signs of Bridge Point are behind us, Gareth lets out a deep breath and slides his hand onto my upper thigh. His smile is warm, as if all he needed was to touch me to relax.
It feels like the most natural thing in the world when I rest my mine on top of his.
I haven’t been to Gareth’s ranch since I was a teenager, and I think that trip was what solidified the exact magnitude of my feelings for him.
It’s also the trip where I met Whimsey—my favorite dog on the planet.
I can’t wait to see her again. When Gareth told me she’d gotten lost, I was devastated at the thought of not seeing her one more time.
I know she’s getting up there in age, but I think about her every day.
Which is strange considering she’s a dog I met once, but sometimes your soul animals aren’t yours to love—you have to cherish them in your heart from afar.
The truck creeps along the winding roads, the engine loud against the quiet night. I remember the drive taking close to an hour, but tonight we make it in forty-five.
Our headlights spotlight the main house, and I’m instantly transported back in time, nostalgia settling deep in my chest. Gareth wastes no time killing the engine. There’s a light on in one of the guesthouses, and the other remains dark.
“Do you remember this place?” he asks, almost shyly.
I turn to him, moving as much as my seatbelt allows. “Of course I do. I’m fairly certain I fell in love with you here.”
“It took you that long?” he teases. “We were seventeen when we all came out here.”
“You knew sooner?” I unbuckle, then lean back against my seat.
“Since the moment I laid eyes on you when you were thirteen, and I was fourteen.”
My breath hitches. “That young?”
“I’m surprised you’re surprised, Trouble. I thought my intentions were clear from the get-go. I would’ve made you mine years ago if your brother hadn’t gotten in the way.”
My heart lurches in my chest, a wave of sadness trickling into my bloodstream. I look down at my hands, trying to decide how to respond.
“I respect and cherish my friend,” Gareth continues. “Which is why I listened to him for so long.” He glances up at me, and something darkens in his eyes. “But that ends now.”
Hopping out of his truck, he comes around and opens the door for me, taking me by the hand. “C’mon.”
“Taking me to bed, Golden Boy?” I say with way too much excitement. God, it’s been a long time coming, and I can’t wait to have this man naked and inside of me.
He smirks, then leads me into the house, flipping lights on in each room we pass through. Not much has changed in the picturesque home since the last time I’d been here, but there have been some upgrades to the furniture, and by the looks of it, the carpet is new.
Honestly though, I barely get to spend any time looking with how quickly Gareth’s leading me into the furthest bedroom down the hall.
His room at the lake house, if memory serves.
Tossing open the door, he reaches over and turns on the light, barely giving me time to come into the room before he slams the door shut and his lips are on mine.
He backs me against the wall, kissing a path down my neck as his fingers find the hem of my shirt—his jersey.
“Seeing you wear my name does something to me, Indy. It’s the only thing I could think about when I was out on the field. You in the stands, my last name and number on your back, telling the world you belong to me.” His fingers are warm as they skate across my midriff, teasing me slowly.
“Gareth,” I moan, my clit throbbing, begging for his attention.
“Tell me you’re mine, Indy. I want to hear you say it.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe, my hips rocking into him, head slamming back against the wall as his hand burns a trail down my chest to the bottom of my short skirt.
I whimper when he slides his hand underneath it, his mouth kissing the corner of my lips.
“Say it again,” he whispers against my skin, his fingers brushing over my core so gently I may have imagined it.
“I’m yours, Gareth. Jesus Christ, just touch me.”
He chuckles against me—jerk—then applies pressure to where I need him the most. I grind against his hand and moan, the sensation driving me wild.
It’s been too long—too long waiting for him, too long since I’ve let a man touch me.
“Fuck, Gareth, please don’t stop!” I cry out as he bites my collarbone, picking up the pace of his fingers. He’s rubbing me over my underwear—over my fishnets—but it feels so good, I don’t ever want it to stop.
Euphoric tingles rack my body, the pressure growing higher and higher while heat floods me. Gareth seems to know exactly how to handle my body, finding the exact rhythm to have me writhing against the wall.
“You’re so damn beautiful, Indy. I can’t wait to taste you—to slide inside of you.” He catches my lips with his desire taking over as his grazes demand access, immediately deepening our kiss with urgency, groaning when I let him in.
“Gareth…yes! Fuck!” I cry out as I’m brought to orgasm, arching against his fingers as they relentlessly circle my clit. Arousal floods me, drenching my panties as my legs threaten to give out.
“God, you’re perfect.” He withdraws his hand and starts to work the buttons on the jersey I’m wearing, expertly unhooking each, never taking his eyes off me.
When the jersey falls open, Gareth drinks me in, his eyes roving over every inch of my skin like he’s trying to commit me to memory. The way he’s looking at me—no man has ever looked at me like this before.
It makes me feel special.
Beautiful.
Seen.
I grab the hem of his T-shirt and pull it up, my movements hurried and clumsy, so he reaches behind to the neckline and yanks it off his body, discarding it on the ground beside us.
Gareth’s cut like a Greek god—sharp edges and deep ridges for days. I trace each cut of his abs, my finger trailing down to his Adonis belt before pressing my hand against his impressive hard-on.
Our eyes stay locked as I caress him through the sweatpants that are doing nothing to hide how turned on he is.
A rattling groan leaves him, but he quickly slaps his hand against mine. “No. Not yet. I have plans to worship you, Trouble.”
Threading our fingers together, he leads me over to the bed, guiding me to sit on the edge. My heart thunders as he sinks to his knees, reaching for my ankle.
His moves are gentle and measured as he tugs my foot up, resting the sole against his bare chest. Then he undoes the laces on my boot, loosening them until he can tug the shoe off.
He tosses it aside before he repeats the move with my other foot.
His eyes flick back to mine, sheathed in hunger.
Like I’m a feast, and he’s a starving man.
A rush of heat spreads through my body, pooling in my core. He’s going to ruin me, and I can’t wait for him to do it.
Pressing forward, he rests on both knees in front of me, and the next thing I know, he’s pulling my fishnets off me, my body arching as I fall back onto the bed.
When they’re off, he dips his head and kisses his way up my legs, slow and tortuously. He takes his time, alternating between kisses that are soft and rough. The anticipation drives me crazy, turning me feral as I writhe beneath him.
This moment has been years in the making, and I can’t wait another second to feel him inside me.
“Gareth, please,” I beg, barely recognizing my own voice.
“Have patience, Trouble.” The zipper of my skirt whines as he pulls it down.
“I’ve spent years thinking about this moment.
I’ve dreamt of your taste, the sounds of your moans.
How you’d feel when I sink into you for the first time.
How this perfect pussy”—his fingers find my clit again—“tastes. God, Indy, I’ve wanted you for so long, I’d almost convinced myself I already knew all of these things, but I can’t wait to experience it for the first time.
So let me worship you, because nothing would bring me more pleasure than making you come on my fingers, my mouth, and my dick, as many times as possible tonight. ”
Pushing my legs apart, he climbs onto the bed, maneuvering my body like I’m nothing more than a rag doll until there’s space for him between them.
The next thing to go is my panties, and I sit up on my elbows, watching through hooded eyes as he rubs them between his fingers. “You’re so fucking wet for me, Trouble.”
“You’re not the only one who’s been dreaming of this, Golden Boy.” I laugh, my voice hoarse.
A wave of arousal drenches my core when he wraps his hand around his girth, using my underwear as he strokes himself from root to tip.
“Do you remember me keeping a pair that night?” he asks, referring to when he snuck into my room shortly after we turned eighteen and we almost had sex—the night I’ve been replaying in my mind for years, wondering how we both got so close to letting everything between us finally come to light, then firmly shutting the door.