Orla
I’ve spent years listening to athletes tell me they usually ache the next day after a session with me, but Jesus Christ, I never truly understood the depth of that feeling until this morning. I opened my eyes slowly, just in case I’d imagined the whole thing.
But no, sleeping comfortably and sinfully by the side of me, looking like the cat that got the cream was Tyler fucking Reed. And Tyler fucking Reed had knocked me so far off my axis last night I wasn’t sure I’d ever find the ground again.
Every inch of me was deliciously sore, tender in all the right ways, like my body had finally been shown what it was supposed to feel like. My thighs, my hips, and my throat, all hummed with the aftershocks of him.
I’d never, ever felt anything like what he gave me last night.
He was stretched out beside me, an expanse of warm skin and heavy muscle that took up more than his fair share of the bed.
The early light filtered through the gap in the curtains, catching the messy, golden brown of his hair.
It was darker at the roots, a rich, toasted shade that looked soft enough to sink my fingers into.
A single stray lock had fallen across his forehead,
The sharp, perfect cheekbones that usually looked so arrogant on center court were softened by sleep. His lashes were unexpectedly long and dark, casting tiny, feathered shadows against his skin. God help me, he looked like the only thing I ever wanted to wake up next to again.
Jesus. How quickly things had changed.
I lay there quietly, tracing one of the lines inked across his chest with the tip of my finger, following it to his shoulder, wondering what each one meant, what stories he hadn’t told me yet.
Suddenly his voice rumbled from his chest “I’m surprised you’re still functioning after that,” he murmured, eyes still closed.
I giggled, actually giggled, and he pulled me in, kissing me again like he needed it more than breathing.
Fuck. His kisses. All tongue and heat and worship. I practically dissolved against him.
“I love it when I make you giggle like that,” he said, grinning.
I looked up at him and couldn’t fight back my satisfied smile. Those impossible, emerald-green eyes shining like he’d been handed the world. He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and my stomach fluttered. “That definitely wasn’t part of the rehab plan, right?” I said.
He laughed. “Oh, I’m happy to work on that every day.”
I’d forgotten what this felt like. To be wanted and worshiped by someone. To feel like enough.
He brushed his thumb across my cheek, voice dipping into that smooth tone. “Stay right here. Don’t move. Your body’s gonna need caffeine after last night…and after what I’ve got planned for you this morning.”
My breath stumbled. “Tyler.”
His eyes flashed with something wicked. “Yeah, that look. Keep that for later.”
I bit my lip, and he saw it, of course he did. His answering smile was nothing short of devilish.
A minute later, the rattle of the coffee machine drifted from the suite’s lounge. The scent of dark, rich espresso began to cut through the heavy, lingering musk of the night. I stayed in bed, grinning like an idiot, soreness still singing through my bones.
I groped for my phone under the pillow. The group chat was already on fire.
Kate:
Earth to Orla? Are you still alive?
Gwen:
If she doesn’t respond by lunch I’m sending a search party.
Kate:
Seriously though are you okay? You called us Wednesday night saying how much you loved tequila and then… silence. If I wasn’t in a different hotel I’d have stormed in.
Me:
I can confirm that I am alive.
Kate:
Thank GOD.
Gwen:
Jesus, I was one step away from flying out there myself. How you holding up, bird?
Me:
I’m doing… surprisingly well, considering. But I did confirm something.
Kate:
What?
Gwen:
WHAT???
Me:
Tyler Reed definitely has a massive fucking cock.
Gwen:
NOOOOOOO. Mate. You didn’t??
Kate:
Orla Marie Sheehan, what are you saying right now?? OMG are you still in his bed?? I nearly dropped Noah when I read that.
Me:
I can neither confirm nor deny.
Kate:
Jordan says it’s true. He’s seen it. says his is bigger though
Me:
Kate! Don’t tell him! I have a reputation to uphold… and a job.
Kate:
He won’t say anything. He values his life too much.
Gwen:
Group call later. We need details.
Kate:
Sod that. I’m in the same city. I’m coming to hunt you down.
I was still smiling like a deranged woman when Tyler walked back in with two steaming mugs. The rich smell of coffee hit me, then the sight of him, tattoos, bed hair, that unrepentant grin.
“What are you looking so smug about?” he asked.
I grinned up at him. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the six-foot Californian covered in tattoos bringing me coffee in bed.”
He smirked, setting the cup into my hands so the warmth seeped through my fingers. “Anything for my girl.”
My girl. Whelp.
The words knocked the air out of me. My stomach did another backflip.
“Tyler…” I said cautiously, fingers tightening on the mug. “Could we maybe keep this quiet for now?”
His brow lifted, but he didn’t look the least bit offended, just amused. “What, you don’t want the world to know I absolutely railed you last night?”
I swatted his arm. “It’s not that; I’m not embarrassed of you, Tyler. I just… I don’t want to look unprofessional. People already make assumptions about women in my job, and I can’t have it seem like I only took this gig to shag tennis players.”
He grinned. “Just how many of us are you shagging?”
The word sounded ridiculous in his accent.
I shoved his arm again. “You know what I mean.”
“Alright,” he said, lifting his mug to his lips and taking a sip. “I’ll be your dirty little secret, if it means I get to have you after hours.”
My grin softened into something warm. “Deal. Just for now. Until we figure this out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out about you, baby.” He propped a shoulder against the wardrobe, eyes bright with mischief. “But if you’re serious about keeping this under wraps we’re gonna have to get creative”
“Creative?” I narrowed my eyes.
He grinned lethally. “Yeah. Like sneaking into your room. Or dragging you into mine between rehab sessions. Or pulling you into stairwells when no one’s looking.”
I clenched my thighs, heat rising through my abdomen for not the first time this morning. “You’re ridiculous.”
He smirked. “Ridiculously good in bed, though. And I fully intend to remind you of that in every city, every hotel, every night.”
I hit him square in the chest with the pillow, my cheeks flaming. “You really are impossible.”
He stepped closer, brushing his knuckles along my jaw as I took a long sip of coffee, almost failing to swallow it with any dignity.
“Sweetheart…you’re the one naked in my bed. Impossible isn’t quite the word you’re looking for.”