Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Kiss Me
Ryan
I can't move. Spence left me completely, deliciously and wickedly drained. I know he was trying to distract me.
Mission. Accomplished.
He comes back into the room, and I roll onto my side to watch him approach. He's still naked, and his heavy, spent cock swings between his thick thighs as he walks.
Fuck. Me.
I think I may have a problem because that is god-tier dick, and I don't think I'll ever be able to get enough.
Spence crawls into the bed behind me and pulls me back until his fat cock is nuzzled up against my ass. My own dick gives a twitch, trying to rally for round three, but I don't think I could go again if I tried.
Spence reaches around and hands me my phone. I grab it and sigh, “Thanks.”
Spence rests his chin on my shoulder and says, “Go ahead and check your notifications. I'm going to watch over your shoulder, though. If I see too much bullshit, I'm taking it away.”
I nod slowly and tap the screen, bringing up all the notifications on my locked screen.
It's everything I expected. A gazillion social media direct messages and post notifications, headlines from TMZ, Sports Illustrated, and even CNN put out a story.
I close my eyes and think, Jesus, is this real life?
I scroll further down through the notifications and see a flurry of calls and texts from my sisters and several texts from my father.
Not ready to deal with his bullshit, I tap the call notification from Cricket and then put the phone on speaker.
It starts trilling, and Spence snakes his arm around my midsection and squeezes.
My sister picks up on the third ring. “Ryan, Christ. There you are. Why haven't you called us?”
I blow out a breath. “Yeah, sorry. Spence and Anthony didn't want me looking at my phone.”
“Yeah,” Cricket agrees. “Probably not a bad idea.” Then she huffs. “Still. You could have called your sisters. We've been worried.”
Over my shoulder, Spence says, “Sorry, that's my fault.”
Cricket makes a clucking noise. “I'll deal with you later, you beautiful, bad, naughty man.”
I groan. “Oh God, were you watching?”
Cricket laughs. “Of course we were watching. We're supportive like that—"
Cricket is cut off when Harper's voice booms from the background. “We saw our brother getting railed by a demigod live. I'm sending you my therapy bill. But also… well done.”
“Harper,” Cricket snaps. “Knock it off. This is serious.”
I sigh. “Thanks, Sis.”
“Of course. Don't you worry about a thing. We'll handle every detail. The guest list, the invitations, the games.”
I sigh. “What are you talking about, Crick?”
Without missing a beat, she says, “The baby shower, of course. There's no way you aren't pregnant after that.”
Harper starts cackling in the background immediately and shouts, “Good one, Sister!”
I groan, and Spence starts coughing.
“Oh my God,” I grumble. “You two are insufferable.”
Cricket giggles, then softens her voice. “Sorry, just lightening the mood.”
I groan again. What else can I do?
“Seriously, though. Are you okay?” she asks.
I smile, even though she can't see me. I'm so lucky to have them, and honestly, their teasing is exactly what I need. I look over my shoulder and meet Spence's eyes. “Yeah, I'm good.”
“Good,” Cricket says firmly. Then she chirps, “Hey. Why didn't you video call? I want to see your face.”
I chuckle. “I've had enough video for today, yeah?”
Harper cackles again, and Cricket snickers into the phone. A moment passes, and she says, “Have you heard from him?”
I blow out a breath. “Dad?”
Cricket hums.
“There's a few text messages,” I tell her. “Haven't read them yet.”
“Well, whatever they are,” Cricket says on a breath that sounds like she's exerting effort, followed by two clicks, and she continues, “fuck him and whatever he says or thinks.”
I laugh softly. “What are you doing right now?”
“Packing,” she says firmly.
I close my eyes. “Cricket—”
“Nope. Not another word. Our brother needs us. We're on the next plane.”
Harper chimes in from the background again. “Yep. No question. But can you please have clothes on when we show up?” She starts cackling again.
Spence and I groan in sync.
“You don't need to do that,” I say softly.
“No arguments,” Cricket says, and adds, “I'll text you flight info. We'll go to your condo first and get settled there.”
I sigh, resigned to the chaos that is about to converge on my world. “I'll send a car to pick you up.”
“That would be great,” Cricket says warmly. “We'll see you tomorrow night. And Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“You're perfect just the way you are. There are many things I need to say to you in person, but right now, just know we love you so much, brother.”
I feel a tear slip free from the corner of my eye, and Harper pipes up from the background, yelling, “To the moon and back!”
On a weak voice, I say, “I love you guys, too. Have a safe flight. And Cricket?”
“Yeah?”
“You guys didn’t really watch the whole thing, did you?” I ask, a little nervously.
“God no, Ryan. Harp was here with me. We turned it off. Well, after a few minutes. It was like a train wreck. Couldn’t look away.”
“Goddd,” I moan.
“We got a good eyeful of your friend, though,” Cricket says, deadpan.
“Wowza!” Harper yells.
“Oh my God, I’m hanging up,” I say on a laugh.
I end the call and heave a deep, shaky breath. Spence squeezes me again from behind and says, “I really like them.”
“Yeah, they're honestly the best.”
I take a deep breath and reach for my phone again. Might as well get it over with and see what the prick has to say. Spence kisses my shoulder and says, “I'm right here.”
I open my phone and go to the text app. Ignoring texts from teammates, coaches, and others, I tap into my text string with my father.
The first text is exactly what I expected. You're a fucking idiot. You just ruined your entire future.
The second one makes my stomach churn: We can spin this, Ryan.
You'll come home, go under rigorous treatment with my spiritual advisor.
After treatment, you'll denounce your actions and tell the world you were led astray.
That you were confused and you're a straight man who lost his way and is now ready to serve God and country.
I sigh and think to myself, Well, that's on brand.
The third text reads: Call me, Ryan. Don't fucking ignore me. You've put shame and embarrassment on the family name, and you need to answer for it. I need answers. Immediately.
Over my shoulder, I hear a deep rumble come from Spence's chest. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”
Before I can respond, another text comes in: I took care of it. I expect you on a plane tonight to follow-through with what I just promised the good people of this country.
“Oh shit,” Spence says, and my panic response hits. I scramble to open Lexicon, the text-based social platform for the ultra-conservatives. They call posts “Cons”—seriously, does no one think these things through?
And yep, the first Con that pops up on the feed is my father's. I watch as the number of comments, likes, and “re-cons” climbs before my eyes. I read the post:
“I have spoken to my son. He has been led down a path of evil, driven by pain medication from his injury and outside influences with sick intentions. These people are always trying to indoctrinate good people with their agendas. My son has always been a straight, God-fearing man. Ryan will be coming home and undergoing spiritual treatment to release him from the demons that have their grip on him. Please pray for Ryan. God and country first, Senator Buterbaugh.”
I close my eyes as I feel Spence rise up behind me and take the phone from my hand.
“What. The. Actual. Fuck?” Spence bites out.
“Welcome to my hell,” I say.
“You're not actually going to fall in line with this, are you?”
I turn onto my back, scrunch my brow, and look at him. “Are you for real right now?”
Spence shrugs. “Well, I don't know. That can't be easy to say no to—”
I laugh. “Never happening, Spence. He'll make my life a living hell and I'll have to keep a low profile for a while. But I'm not giving him what he wants.”
Spence rolls on top of me and rubs circles on my chest with his fingers. “I'm sorry, Ry. If I hadn't distracted you before your live—”
I grab Spence's chin. “No. This isn't your fault.”
Spence looks down, and I tip his chin back up. “Hey. I may have been shoved out of the closet unexpectedly. And honestly, quite comically. By a cat.”
Spence lets out a soft laugh, but I don't miss how wet his eyes are. I maintain a firm hold on his chin. “But I'm glad it's out there. Yeah, it's not ideal that it was a bare-assed affair, but the announcement was effectively made. I'm not taking it back.”
Spence hums. “But—”
I cut him off. “No buts. Unless we're talking about this cushy tushy.” I reach around and grab two handfuls of his ass.
He barks a laugh, and I quip, “I'm going to have a pillow mold made so I can sleep with my face buried in your ass every night.”
He drops his head on my chest. “Glad to see your sense of humor is intact.”
I rub his back. “Always.”
Spence smiles but then his brow does that scrunchy thing I secretly love. It means he’s paying attention to me. “How are you not freaking out right now?”
I blink at him, and the realization hits me like a slow-moving wave. Huh. I'm really not freaking out. Weird.
I let that sink in for a second, rolling it around in my head.
“I don't know,” I say honestly. “Maybe I'll crash out later. But I think...” I pause, trying to put words to this strange, weightless feeling in my chest. “I think I was just so tired of hiding.
But I don't have an NFL career to protect anymore.
And I've got people like you in my corner.”
Spence's eyes widen, dark and startled, and I immediately realize he feels put on the spot.
I laugh and hold up my hands. “Don't panic, Perfect. In no way does any of this mean you have to move up your kissy-kiss timeline.” I let my gaze drop to his mouth—that gorgeous, unfair mouth, and my voice drops lower.
“Do I want to taste those disgustingly full lips? With every bone in my fucking body.” I drag my eyes back up to his. “But I'm not going to pressure you.”
Spence doesn’t acknowledge it—he just kisses my chest. He’s been kissing my body more since the hospital.
I think it’s his way of giving me the affection I crave without completely falling off the cliff of his inhibitions.
A way to keep me interested until he feels confident that we’re it for him.
I already know he’s my end-game. I just need him to catch-up. In fact…
“Are we going to talk about it?” I ask.
“What do you mean? I thought we were—”
“You called me baby,” I interrupt.
“Ryan—”
“Nope. You claimed my ass, too” I say, teasingly.
“Because it’s mine,” he says firmly. “But the other part. It was heat of the moment, Ry. Can we just forget it?”
“Nuh-uh,” I shake my head. “You broke the seal. Now I’m gonna use the fuck out it, baby,” I tease, then smack his ass.
Spence groans and looks up at the ceiling, feigning exasperation, but there’s a smirk spreading across his face.
“Fine,” he finally says. Then he looks down at me and says, “What do you need? What can I do for you?”
I break into a devilish grin. “Hold me and tell me I'm pretty.”
Spence smiles softly at me, sweeps my hair back, and says, “So very pretty.”
“Thanks… baby.”
He doesn’t respond, but a moment passes where we're staring into each other's eyes, and I swear Spence wants to lean down and kiss me.
Forget everything I just said, because I'm now begging him in my head: Just do it, Spence. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me. I won't cross the line because I know it needs to be you, but I'm begging you. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
Another moment passes, and I see Spence's nostrils flare. Then he blows out a breath, rolls off me, jumps off the bed, and says, “Let's make some lunch,” walking out of the bedroom, naked ass flexing as he goes.
“You are a frustrating man, Spencer Stark,” I say softly enough that he won't hear. Then I cover my face with the pillow and scream into it.