He’s barely spoken to me other than to scream in my face the whole season, though, that’s not too different from normal.
Every single time he spots a camera that doesn’t belong to us or the league, I worry that that small vein in his forehead is going to combust. I don’t know how he’s going to fare with the cameras from the other show stepping in next season, considering they’re going to be around even more to film all of us.
More and more people file into Leo’s place, and we all greet the guys and their families.
Despite how chaotic the event can be, and how stressed out it makes Leo for a good few weeks, it’s comforting.
I often find that every year, fall starts, and that familiar melancholy sets deep in my bones, and all I want is to go back to that summer.
This is the very first year in what feels like a lifetime that I don’t. Because I have it right here in this room with me.
I’m no longer huddled with the guys, terrified to make too much eye contact.
I’m here, with her, completely and totally swept off my feet.
I watch her chat with her friends from across the room, her cheeks rosy from too much wine, giggling about a story Briar is telling as her daughter, Elara, looks around for Emmett’s daughter, Juniper.
She takes another sip of wine, her fingers dancing around the stem of the glass.
I’m almost startled when her eyes pan over and lock with mine. I can see her eyes darken even in the dim room, her teeth peeking out to bite her lip.
Suddenly, she winces, and with a flip of her hand, she’s clearly telling the girls she has to step away for a second.
I watch as her hips sway down the hall.
I don’t think any of the guys have noticed, but I wait until the girls are deep in conversation again before breaking away, careful to track where the cameramen and producers are.
I make a break for it.
Taking a wild guess, I knock once on the bathroom door and breathe a sigh of relief when Amara yanks it open, pulling me in quickly with a grin.
“Here?” I ask, excitement shooting to my dick.
She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. She tips the glass of wine all the way back, finishing it off before her lips crush mine in a punishing kiss, her fingers pulling at my hair so hard it’s painful. The good kind.
But I want to finish what I started at home.
Hiking her dress up, I push her against the wall, breaking only to nip at the skin below her ear. I’m hyperaware of every single inch of her touching me, from the way her breasts press into my chest, and the way she curves her back to feel closer. The way her fingers trail down the back of my head to grab my neck, her finger pressing my chin up. Her nail digs intomy skin, but it’s one of the most welcomed pains I’ve ever experienced, a jolt of pleasure hitting my cock like a lightning bolt.
“What are you doing to me?” she asks in a sudden moment of clarity.
“I’m attempting to deserve you.”
She searches my eyes, and suddenly I’m feeling unsure. But when she squeezes my neck tighter, bringing my lips back to hers, I know that she wants this just as much as I do.
I drop to my knees before she can stop me, hiking her leg over my shoulder again before running my tongue across her soft skin, up and up toward my destination.
She grips my hair, pulling even harder, and I whimper with pleasure, biting her thigh.
“Cooper—”
“I’ll never get over you moaning my fucking name, Sweetheart.” It almost sounds like a plea. Desperate. Needy.
When I reach the pussy, I swipe my tongue over her panties, watching as she struggles under my touch before hiking her other leg over my shoulder, securing her, and lifting her.
She throws her hand over her mouth to muffle her scream of surprise, her eyes round as I bury my face in her, her cherry scent enshrouding me in the most magical haze of sex, wine, and sheer happiness.
Someone could try to come in at any moment. The door is locked, but that doesn’t mean someone can’t hear us.
