I pull off the condom, tie it, then chuck it in the trash by his bed. I turn back to my husband whose body is covered in sweat. “Need to check you and make sure I didn't tear anything.”
He turns his head to look at me, those rich amber eyes meeting mine. “What?”
“Spread yourself for me. Let me see.”
The tips of his ears go pink first, then the color spreads down his cheeks. “Connor—”
I shift down the bed, positioning myself behind him. “Do it.”
Ryan groans as he reaches back, then pulls his ass cheeks apart. I lean in, checking him. He’s pink, a little swollen, but no blood. “You're good.”
He lets go and buries his face back into the pillow. “So fucking embarrassing.”
“It was necessary.” I get up and grab his towel from the back of his desk chair, which is still damp from his earlier shower. I clean my chest and abs before holding it out for him. “You need to clean up.”
He grunts but takes it, rolling onto his back. He wipes off whatever’s still on him, then tosses the towel on the floor. “Get back in bed.”
I drop onto the mattress, then tuck my arm behind my head. “You can barely fucking move and you're giving me orders?”
He huffs but scoots closer, resting his head on my chest and draping a leg across mine. “Dickhead.”
I kiss the top of his head. “Yourdickhead.”
He snorts, then he nuzzles against me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Stay here. Stay in my bed for the entire night. Please.”
“Not going anywhere.”
Chapter 29
Connor
The drums pound through Citi Field, loud as fuck. Joan Jett's belting out “Bad Reputation,” and Ryan's screaming along to every word like he's possessed.
Never seen him like this. Ever. Not at practice, not when we win, not even when he's coming. He's fucking glowing.
The black Joan Jett shirt he made me buy is too fucking tight. Never thought I'd be caught dead in this shit. But it’s worth it to see the grin he keeps flashing my way. And I don’t miss the way his eyes rake over my chest as he bites his bottom lip.
Fuck.
Everything this man does gets me hard.
Ryan leans over during the brief pause between songs, his breath warm against my ear. “Thank you. This is perfect.”
I squeeze his hand, my thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Anything for you.”
The only reason we're even here is because Jackson can't focus for shit. Asked him and Viktor to help find anything I can use as leverage against my parents. Something that’ll destroy them if it goes public.
I even broke into my father’s home office two days ago. The house was empty. Fuck knows if they left on another trip.
But I haven’t found shit yet. Fucking sucks since blackmail is the only option I have. The police won’t help, not when they’re in my father’s pocket.
Jackson got bored yesterday while Viktor was running decryption and started fucking around online instead. That's when he found out Joan Jett was playing nearby and tickets were still available. So, I grabbed two.
“When are you going to get cleared to play?”
“Next week.” I can’t wait to get out of wearing that stupid red jersey. Hate no contact practice, but lights still fuck with my head sometimes. “You ready to take on Quinnipiac this weekend?”
“Yeah. Just wish you’d be playing too.”
