“I want it all.”

  “Yeah? Right now?” Trailing kisses over his shoulder, I loosen my hold on his waist and drag my fingers to the crack of his ass.

  A stuttering breath escapes him as I ease them between his cheeks. When I gently stroke his hole, his limbs shake.

  “I just want you to fuck me.”

  “With…?” This teasing is going to be my undoing. My balls tighten in preparation.

  “Your cock. I just want you to fuck me. Everything else later.”

  Sammy captures my mouth, taking control and simply owning me. His kisses are fierce, desperate as he grabs clumsily for a towel.

  “What—”

  “I want you to fuck me on that giant bed.”

  From the way my cock throbs, I’m more than okay with that. It’s barely lunchtime. That means we have twenty hours in this cabin. Twenty hours to see how many times I can make him come. Twenty hours to worship every inch of his skin.

  Sammy pats himself dry before throwing the towel at me and escaping from the bathroom.

  “Hey.” I laugh. “You’re not waiting for me?”

  “Getting the lube. Fuck, Bentley, I’m so horny, I’m going to bust a nut as soon as you get inside me.”

  I chuckle as I drop the towel and follow the sound of rustling. As I enter the bedroom, Sammy stands upright, triumphantly holding the bottle of lube. His smile is all smug satisfaction until his gaze dips, taking me in.

  When he swallows hard, the click loud in the otherwise quiet room, my chest expands. Having Sammy’s gaze on me, appreciation easy to read in his eyes, is a high I’ll never tire of.

  Anticipation surges through my veins like a live wire, sending shivers down my spine as I gaze at Sammy, my heart racing with barely contained need. “God,” I moan, unable to contain the arousal coursing through me. “Get on the bed and lift yourself up.”

  Sammy’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes darkening with desire. “Like this?”

  Fuck, I love his confidence. His certainty as he opens himself to me, thighs up, revealing his puckered hole. The temptation to get my mouth on him has me stepping forward.

  “Nuh-uh.” Despite the way his body trembles, amusement crosses his features. “Playtime’s later. Right now, minimum prep, then fuck me like you mean it.”

  Jesus H. Christ. What this man does to me.

  Easing forward and swiping the lube off the mattress where Sammy dropped it, I pour the cool liquid on my palm. “Are you that desperate for my cock?”

  His gaze meets mine, filled with longing as I stroke myself. He clamps down on his bottom lip and nods. “Fuck yes. Always,” he breathes, his lips parting slightly as he watches me slick my dick.

  With a teasing grin, I press my fingertip against him, feeling him yield to my touch. “Open up for me,” I murmur, my own desire surging forward as his pupils dilate.

  As he eagerly complies, I’m struck by his beauty, his arousal evident in every trembling breath and flushed inch of skin. I can’t remember ever feeling this consumed, this desperate for someone’s touch.

  I circle his entrance before gently sliding a slick finger inside. His gasp ignites something primal within me, fueling my need to possess him completely.

  “More,” he pleads, his hips moving in rhythm with my touch, his body welcoming me with an urgency that leaves me breathless.

  I oblige, adding another finger and relishing the way he stretches around me. “You feel incredible,” I murmur, unable to tear my gaze away from him.

  With each thrust of my fingers, I feel him unraveling beneath me, his cries of pleasure driving me to push further, to give him everything he craves.

  But I need more. I need to be inside him, to feel him completely, to lose myself in the ecstasy of being buried so deep that it’s like we’re really one.

  “Please,” Sammy begs, his desperation mirroring my own as I prepare to enter him.

  With trembling hands, I add more lube as I press against him, ready to fuck him so completely that his voice will be raw from screaming my name.

  His legs wrap around me, pulling me closer, and as I breach him, a wave of emotion washes over his face, leaving me awestruck by the depth of feelings in his eyes.

  I don’t want to remember a time before him. Before us.

  I sink deeper into him, savoring the sensation of being enveloped by his warmth, his acceptance feeling so perfect, so right. “You….” My voice trembles. “Fuck, Sammy, you’re fucking everything.”

  He shudders, cupping my face and tugging me down for a kiss. He explores my mouth, and I open willingly, accepting his tongue, committing his touch to memory.

  As I begin to move in earnest, my shallow thrusts become deeper. Tearing himself away from my mouth, his cries fill the air, urging me on, pushing me to lose myself and make him lose his mind.

  With every thrust, I draw him closer to the edge, his body responding to mine with a fervor that leaves me dizzy.

  “Harder,” he demands, his voice raw with need, and I comply, losing myself in the rhythm, canting my hips just so until his cries die off and he parts his lips in a silent scream.

  I’m relentless, pressing against his prostate with strained control. My balls tighten, limbs tingling. Moving faster, I work my hand between us, gripping his cock and jacking him off.

  “Nnngh….” Sammy’s hips stutter just as he clamps around me. As his body tightens, his grip on my arms intensifies. He calls out my name, his cock swelling until he releases in my hand.

  I don’t stop, so close to release. My hold on Sammy is the only thing stopping me from leaving the ground.

  “Fuck, fuck, Sammy….” My words are garbled as my vision whitens, balls drawing high before I come hard. Ecstasy pulses through me as I jerk and release inside him.

  He groans, tightening around me again. Our oversensitive bodies are on the verge of too much.

  Spent and breathless, I collapse against him. Even as he grunts at my weight, he wraps his arms around me, peppering my shoulder and neck with kisses.

  “Wow. Fuck, baby,” I whisper, my heart overflowing with love for the man who has given me everything. I rise up a couple of inches so I can see his face and check he’s okay.

  He smiles up at me, his eyes shining with affection. “That was… incredible,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin.

  I lean in to kiss him, savoring the taste of him on my lips.

  His smile against my mouth has me drawing back. “You fucked me like you meant it.” He follows up with a half-assed pat on my shoulder. “Epic effort.”

  “Asshole.” I snort with amusement, immediately wincing as his body contracts around my cock. The vise grip is worth it.

  “Let’s try for a real shower, and then we’ll eat,” I suggest.

  He nods. “Then you can fuck me with your tongue for dessert.”

  My lips twitch, as does my spent cock.

  It’s definitely time to ease out and wash up. If not, he’s going to be too sore for me to get anywhere near his ass again. That would be a tragedy, especially when we’re finally on our honeymoon.

  CHAPTER 21

  SAMMY

  The last day of fall term coincides with our final game before Christmas. It means we have a full house. What better way to start the winter break than taking in a Bears game, followed by multiple parties tonight?

  Tomorrow, campus will be a ghost town. Only our team, those students who, for whatever reason, don’t plan to go home, and locals will be sticking around. Fortunately, local residents tend to fill out the crowd when we have a game during the winter break. This year, though, we won’t be playing at home on the twenty-sixth.

  After midmorning training today, Bentley and I met up with his folks for a light lunch. Honestly, I’m still pinching myself, struggling to get my head around how incredible they’ve been.

  Once Bentley told them he’s now a married man—with the bombshell that I’m his husband—they started talking about home renos and adding on an extension to make life easier should we move in with them next year after college.

  Not only that, Lauren—my mother-in-law—has been in touch with my mom, and we’re all playing big happy families on Christmas Eve and heading to my folks’ place to celebrate our first holidays together.

  “Your head in the game?” Bentley’s nudge at my side has me snapping my attention from my phone to him.

  We’re in the locker room, waiting to head onto the court. What I should be doing is getting in the zone. What I am doing is looking at house prices and rentals close by his parents’ place and figuring out what kind of cash I need to be earning to eventually get a place of our own.

  Not that their offer isn’t incredible. But no way do I want them to do work on their house and spend money on it for us. It’s all just a little too much.

  “Yeah.” My nod is weak, and Bentley knows it.

  He leans into me a little, saying, “I explained that their offer is incredible, but I’ve told them no. It’ll all be okay. For now”—his knee knocks into mine—“let’s focus on giving everyone out there a reason to celebrate tonight, yeah?”

  There’s no denying him. His smile is wide, his gaze steady.

  At the upturn of my lips, he squeezes my knee and stands. “Now, listen to your music. We’re heading out in two minutes.”

  I jam my EarPods in, hitting Play on my music app. “Lemon Pepper Freestyle” fills my ears, and I bend my head forward and close my eyes. I focus on the beat more than the lyrics. My pulse settles as I draw in a breath.

  It’s gonna be a kick-ass game.

  I crack my neck side to side and rub my hand over the back of my head, focusing on the texture of coarse hair from the fresh fade. Feet appear before me, just like they do every single game since playing for Brixham.

  One more deep breath and a steady exhale, and I’m ready. My gaze connects with Bentley’s. The slight curve of his lips is the same one I’ve spent almost four years focusing on for just a beat before I stand.

  “Ready?” His voice is steady, familiar.

  “Fucking A.”

  And then we’re moving, making our way onto the court as Dean, fully decked out in his mascot gear, is dancing his giant, furry bear butt off, getting the crowd revved up. The room is electric tonight. Our colors span the majority of the crowd, chants and cheers already blowing the roof off.

  This game is being televised. Several cameras are set up. With this being my fourth season in, they’re no longer a distraction. Most of the time, I forget they’re there.

  We warm up, shooting hoops, practicing passes, our team surrounding each other, working as a unit. The usual five of us are starting tonight, just the way I like it.

  I wonder what it’ll be like next year, switching on the game and watching the Bears, a new starting five taking the mantle. It’s wild. A year from now, our lives are going to be so different, which is absolutely not what I should be thinking about right now.

  Kieran calls us over, and we huddle close. “Bears, listen up. Bentley, Leon, I need you both locked in from the get-go. Bentley, I want you driving that offense. Ty, you’re our defensive anchor—shut down anything that comes your way. Let’s set the tone early and show them what we’re made of. Break!”

  We take our positions, anticipation filling the air, and the adrenaline kicks in. The ref blows the whistle, and the game begins with a lightning-fast pass from Bentley to Kieran, who sinks a three-pointer.

  The crowd erupts in cheers, electrifying the atmosphere twofold.

  And we keep moving, not stopping.

  With each possession, we execute our passes and shots with practiced precision, feeding off the energy of the crowd and dominating the court.

  The game is fast. I barely have time to wipe sweat from my eyes as the Pythons push hard.

  “Sammy.”

  The moment I hear Kieran, I’m moving to center court. The Pythons have possession. We’re winning by nineteen, and their mistakes are piling up. Dodging left, then right, I intercept, immediately passing to Bentley. More points, and the crowd goes wild.

  As the game intensifies, Leon’s relentless. His presence on the court is a sharp-as-hell thorn in the side of the opposition’s forward. The guy’s red in the face, getting pissed. I hang back, holding my line, ready to intercept when I get the chance.

  A second later, Leon captures the ball. I move, ready to make myself available just as the forward lunges at Leon, his arms flailing in an attempt to dislodge the ball.

  That or the guy’s taking up some dickish dance move I’ve never seen before.

  The ref’s whistle pierces the air, signaling the foul. Again. Immediately, the forward, a guy with short dreads, scowls, muttering a curse.

  I snort, raising my brow and shaking my head. The dude seriously doesn’t want to piss off this ref. Donnie isn’t known for suffering fools.

  We move immediately as soon as play continues. Undeterred by the occasional shoves and frequent whistle blows, we press on relentlessly.

  “Time-out.”

  It’s from Coach.

  “You think we’re going to be entering a scene from Fight Club or something soon?” I chuckle, side-eyeing the dark expressions the Pythons are shooting our way.

  Leon’s at my side. “They weren’t this bad before, right?”

  Ty shakes his head. “It’s their new captain. The guy’s a prick.”

  I angle a look over my shoulder, realizing it’s number 2, the forward who fouled Leon earlier. Well, one of the countless fouls made against him, and that’s just in fifteen minutes of play. “You know him?” I peer back at Ty.

  “He’s a prick on social media.”

  My brows shoot high. His school lets him get away with that? “A prick how?”

  “Team, gather around,” Coach instructs, preventing Ty from answering. “Bentley, I want you supporting Leon.”

  Glancing around with a frown, I wonder what Coach’s play is. I go to look back at him but pause when I notice Tiller’s face of thunder. He’s pissed.

  “Yes, Coach.” Bentley’s tone is grave, and fuck if understanding doesn’t slam into me, probably ten minutes too late.

  The fuckers are targeting Leon. The hell?

  “All of you, keep the ball moving, keep driving forward. With us moving Bentley, I need you to shift positions and fill in that gap, Sammy.”

  “Absolutely, Coach.” Conviction, hot and bitter, races through my veins. How the fuck I missed the focus on Leon, I don’t know, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

  “Leon, a word.”

  Leon nods and steps to the side with Coach Maple. Their heads are close, their conversation low.

  “Did you hear what he called Leon?” Bentley’s voice startles me from trying to lip-read whatever Coach is saying to Leon.

  My pulse thumps heavily as I make eye contact with Bentley. Intensity burns brightly in his gray eyes. The tic in his jaw takes me by surprise, immediately putting me on high alert. “Fuck no. What?”

  “Talking shit about him and Tiller. Spouted words that need to have him pulled off the court, fined, and given a broken nose.”

  My brows dart high just as Bentley blanches. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. You know I’d nev⁠—”

  My gut twists even as I squeeze his arm. “It sounds like he’d deserve a broken nose, and I know you wouldn’t.” I loathe violence, but I understand the draw in situations like these.

  Relief softens his gaze, and he expels a breath.

  “Come on, hotshot,” I say. We need to get back on the court. Now isn’t the time for us to lose our focus. “We’ve got a game to win and pricks to put in their place.”

  We get moving, the teams taking the court and getting right back into the thick of things.

  Time seems to slow down as the Pythons keep pushing, just shy of fouls or away from the ref’s focus.

  The forward is talking shit again, this time out of earshot of the ref. Donnie’s dealing with a foul several feet away.

  It’s when number 2 sneers at Leon as he walks on past that I open my mouth, unable to keep a lid on it. “Man, if you have enough energy to keep spouting the crap you are, it’s no wonder you’re losing so spectacularly.” I shake my head at him, not holding back my disgust. “If you threw that energy into playing a clean game, just maybe you wouldn’t all suck.”

  The narrowed glance he shoots my way is full of loathing. I bounce my brows at him and follow up with a wink, focusing on Ty and the ref.

  The game continues, and one thing’s clear—Bentley sticking to Leon, ensuring he isn’t fouled, is pissing the Pythons off. Another layup from Leon, and the crowd cheers. Bentley jogs past me, and we high-five. The sound of the ball hitting the polished floor refocuses me a hundred percent.

  I get moving, looking to intercept, but number 36 manages to pass the ball to one of their players. My gaze snaps to the left, following its projection. Bentley’s close by, between the basket and number 19.

  One thing to know about my husband, he’s like a shield, all broad shoulders and strong arms. He jumps high to block just as the forward appears out of nowhere. He’s under him, his shoulder hitting Bentley’s gut as he seems to balance in the air.

  Blood drains from my face as the hit changes Bentley’s trajectory. He spins and flips. I can’t blink. Can’t look away. I can’t even move as he crashes to the floor.

  I have no idea what hits first, his head or his hand, but the bang reverberates around my brain like I’ve been hit in the head by a heavy plank.

  “The fuck!” I holler, already moving, fucking charging.

  I don’t know where to look, where to go. Acid burns my stomach, anger red-hot and turning to fire in my veins when the forward simply glances down, a sneer of indifference on his face.

  I’m going to fucking kill him.

  “You piece of shit.” I slam into him with my arm, shoving him away. He staggers back, his gaze snapping to mine. “You⁠—”

  “Sammy.” Kieran wraps an arm around me, his voice at my ear somehow cutting through my pulse that’s pummeling my brain and the uproar from the crowd. I go to shrug him off. His “It’s Bentley” stops me in my tracks.

 

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