Chapter 34
Noelle
“That was some game.”
“Mm.”
“What are the standings now?”
He looks up at me, still fiddling with his phone.
“We’re behind by a game,” he says quickly before grabbing a chair from the desk and plopping it right in front of the television.
I don’t know what's going on, but flying to Arizona for another away game and spending the night trapped in a hotel room wasn’t on my radar for this weekend.
It’s week fourteen of the season, and standings are close, so everything is getting more intense.
I need to do more research. I had a plan to go to Club Trick and speak with Dante.
I want him to set up a meeting with Rhett.
I know Nik will never let me speak to him alone, but I think the only way to get to the bottom of all of this is to bring everyone who was there that night into one room. Ghost needs to be exposed.
But something else is going on. Nik was keeping track of my every move and asking a ton of questions about the article. I tried to assure him I wasn’t writing anything and until I have something solid, I wouldn’t be. But he kept pressing.
The phone continues to buzz as Nik sits on the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the glowing screen, thumb swiping and scrolling, jaw tightening every time another score update flashes in the corner.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters, half to himself. “That upset ruined everything. Dante’s gonna lose his mind.”
I scoff. “Dante, I should have known.”
His head snaps my way. “What’d you say?”
“I thought you were upset about the standings, but all you're worried about is your bets.”
His jaw ticks. “Noelle,” he says, his eyes flashing.
I brush him off, grab my laptop, and crawl into bed.
I ignore all the feelings that are reminiscent of the last time we were away together.
I thought we were in a better place, that we were going to figure this mess out together, protect each other.
“You’re not going to get out of this until you actually step away from it all.”
“And you don’t know what you're talking about.”
Then his phone lights up again, vibrating like it’s about to crack in half. He curses under his breath, stands, and pulls on his jacket.
“Where are you going?” My voice comes sharper than I mean it to, but I don’t back down when he looks at me.
“Out. Just for a little while.”
I sit up on my knees on the bed. “You dragged me with you because I’m not safe alone, yet here you are running out again.” I can feel the heat rising in my chest, my frustration boiling over.
He gives me a glance but says, “You’re safe. I wouldn’t leave you otherwise. Stone is right outside.”
I sit back down, turning sideways, away from him. “Whatever, Nik. Go win big.”
He stands where he is for a moment, but when I don't acknowledge him, he leaves. And when he does, I get up and open the mini fridge, taking out a bottle of wine. I pour and settle in to do a little writing. I need to organize my thoughts: what I know, and what I don’t know.
And I need to give something to my editor to appease her.
The glow of my laptop lights up the bed and the television, now on mute, flashes lights across the ceiling and wall. My last few weeks crowd my mind. Seems my world has completely turned upside down since meeting Nik.
The story of Saint Nik Papas is not what one would expect. It’s certainly not the one that’s been painted in public. But if the public were to know, would he still be loved?
An internal university memo I uncovered had redacted pieces of information telling staff to “limit press access,” “position as medical,” and, most telling of all, “ensure Papas is unavailable.” It wasn’t an absence. It was a cover.
I read it back to myself. Can I do this? Can I really turn this in, out him, and crash his life?
I close my laptop, nervous energy running through my veins.
I’m at a crossroads because I know there’s something bigger here—we both do.
It’s a scandal that’s been covered up by someone close to him.
It’s a scandal that affected an entire team and changed history in the college championship world.
And the people pulling the strings don’t want it known, and if I release even a part of what I know, it won’t end well.
On the other hand, there’s Nik. There was something about him from the start.
Something that pulled me in, making me need and want to know more about him, even though I knew the image was a facade.
I want to help him, I want to be there for him.
If someone is out to get him because I asked questions, I want to fix it.
And I want him to come out stronger. I thought we’d be stronger together.
But instead, he left. He’s still stuck in this other world, which he won't leave.
My eyes land on his duffel bag tossed open by the chair, and there it is, his game day jersey, dark green, worn for the entrance only, smelling faintly of him.
Before I question myself, I’m taking the jersey to the bathroom, stripping out of my own clothes, and throwing this on.
I turn to admire myself in the mirror. It’s huge on me, hitting just above my mid-thigh.
I’m not sure what reaction I want from him, but I want him to know I’m not turning and running.
We’ve already proven our passion is what fuels us and now I want him to know it goes deeper than that.
With each passing day I feel we take two steps forward, but then days like today, I feel we go back three.
There are just so many questions left unanswered and so many what-nows.
But I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t want him to leave.
Time blurs until the hotel door clicks open again. Nik steps inside, phone finally dark in his hand. The small desk lamp is on, and I’m sitting on the bed, knee bent, leaning against the headboard. He freezes mid-step, his gaze locking on me.
The air changes instantly. His eyes drag over me, and this, right here, this is the reaction I was hoping for. I want him to feel.
“Noelle,” he says, his voice rough.
I finish the wine in my glass, then get up from the bed and make my way to the mini fridge, pulling out the bottle to refill. He tracks me the entire way, and I feel empowered.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting more wine. Want some?” I turn to him, hand on my hip. His body is rigid, like he’s trying to keep himself under control.
Nik’s eyes rake over me like he’s starving. My breath catches, heat rising to my cheeks, but I don’t look away. His jersey hangs off me, swallowing me whole, but the way he looks at me, I might as well be wearing nothing.
He shrugs out of his jacket, dropping it where he stands. Carefully, he begins to undo his cuffs and rolls his shirt sleeves up. He moves slowly and deliberately, and it sends a pulse low in my belly.
“It’s not wine I want,” his voice rough as he kicks off his shoes.
“Oh? Well, I saw scotch in there, too. Have at it.” I fill my glass, excited at this cat-and-mouse game we’re playing.
He moves slowly toward me. “You still mad at me for leaving?”
“Yeah.” I try to say it with fervor, but it comes out more breathless.
His mouth curves into an amused smile. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I turn my back on him, and before I get two steps away, he's on me. His front covers my back as his hands grip my waist.
“Nik,” I breathe out, some of my wine sloshing over the side of the glass.
“What are you doing to me?”
“What do you mean?” I tilt my head as he nuzzles my neck.
“You know what I mean. You pick a fight, then walk around here with my jersey on, with my name on your back. Do you know what that does to me?”
“If it bothers you, I’ll buy a Loving jersey,” I say, loaded with sarcasm, and I feel his body tighten. I giggle at the response as I look up, seeing him in the reflection of the mirror in front of me.
His eyes are lasered in on me. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Oh, we’re going to be territorial now? You’re twenty-three years old, Nik. You don’t get to have those feelings.”
He scoffs. “And you’re a thirty-year-old woman, you think you’d know better than to tease me.”
He turns me to face him, and I should push him, shove at his chest, remind him I didn’t ask to be thrown into his world. But when he steps in, takes my glass and puts it down, all I can do is let him. His scent, the jersey, the room, everything about Nik Papas is making me dizzy.
“You’re making it harder and harder for me to leave you.”
“Good.”
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his fingers grazing my cheek.
My skin burns under his touch, and before I can think, I’m clutching at the front of his shirt, pulling him down to me.
The kiss is desperate, and it surprises me.
He grasps at the hem of the jersey, bunching it and pulling it up, grabbing hold of my waist again.
I stand on my tiptoes, trying to get as close as I can, even though he overwhelms me in size.
His teeth graze my bottom lip, and I can’t hold back the sound that slips from me. His eyes darken at the noise, and suddenly it’s all heat and urgency, every barrier between us slipping away. Again.
“See what you could’ve had instead of running off to chase numbers?”
I want him to realize he doesn’t need to live that life so closely anymore.
I shove him back, but with every step he takes, I follow, until he falls onto the loveseat.
His eyes never leave mine as I climb onto his lap, my hands braced against the back of the sofa.
The night lights spill through the window, stars dancing across the sky.
“Is all of that really more important than right now?”
His hands slide up my thighs, pushing the jersey higher, slowly, enjoying the tease of exposing every inch of my skin.
I raise my arms and he pulls the jersey over my head, letting it fall next to us on the loveseat.
He grips my waist and pulls me over the hard line of his cock, only his dress pants and my panties between us.
“I have business to handle,” he says.
“You have business here,” I whisper. “Maybe it’s time to focus on just one.”
His eyes hold mine as his hand smooths down my leg. He lifts himself, yanking his pants and boxers down in a well-practiced move. And a moment later, he’s pulling my panties to the side.
“I’m focused,” he says as he grips his cock and lines it up with me. I lean up on my knees, allowing him to play until I sink down on him.
We both let out sighs of relief.
“Kavalíste me,” he pants out, “ride me, Noelle.” He lays his head back on the loveseat, but keeps his eyes on me.
I pick up my pace, leaning one hand on his leg behind me, the other on his chest, while he grips me tight at my waist. He lets me have my moment before he circles his arms around me and pounds me from underneath. Gripping my hair tight, he says, “Jesus, Noelle. It’s never been like this.”
I brace myself and take over, rocking my hips over him in a wave-like motion, and he grabs my tits.
I’ve never felt so sexy and so alive. It’s as if anything I do, he’s happy with.
I try to keep my mind from the past, but it lingers on where Dylan wanted me to be missionary style all the time.
I wanted to please him, but he didn’t care about the foreplay or the actual intimacy.
He just wanted to get off and be done with it.
So this, taking control and giving both Nik and me pleasure, is freeing, and unlike anything I’ve ever known.
And I want more.
My moans bounce off the walls, and his large hands span my rib cage, urging me on. My tits bounce with every thrust, and he cups them, a dirty grin tugging on his lips.
Breathlessly, I ask, “What are you smiling at, rookie?”
"You're riding the fuck out of my cock, why wouldn’t I smile?”
I laugh, throwing my head back, and continue working my hips, gaining speed, and feel my impending orgasm approaching.
He grips my breasts, flicking my nipples before pulling me flush against him.
He pounds into me from underneath, and I'm so close.
Just when I'm ready to break, he pushes me back into a sitting position on him and throws his hands behind his head.
“Páre me mazí sou,’ he lets out a breath. “Fuck, take me with you.”
I take over, swirling my hips. His eyes stay on my tits. I’m frantic with my motion as he presses his thumb to my clit.
“Ahh, Noelle!” he yells out, as I feel his cock get even harder inside me.
“Touch me, keep going,” I cry, loving the feel of him on me. He grabs my breast and smacks the other. The sharp slap like an electrical current straight to my pussy.
“Fuck!” I gasp. “Do it again."
He chuckles, low and sinister, and slaps me twice more, and I break. Fuck, do I break, my orgasm washes over me like never before. And he follows, his body locking up inside me, his face tight with pleasure and pain.
I fall onto him as he circles his arms around me, holding me tight, still rotating his hips under me. The feel of him so close only has me crying for more. Panting and trying to catch my breath, I ask, “Jesus, how do you know how to do that?”
“It’s just you. I don’t know a goddamn thing until I’m inside of you.”
Fuck, he says every right word I could ever ask for. I wanted to push him tonight, to make sure he knows what he’s leaving, but in the end, there’s going to be no leaving. I’m not going anywhere.
And in those moments when I rehash it all, I know I’m not going to write the article my editor wants me to. I can’t. Nik is more important than that.