He pulled back, bringing his hand to my cheek as he examined my face. “Say it,” he demanded, clenching around me.
“W-what?” I asked, out of my mind with pleasure.
“Say the words. I saw your face last night. You wanted to, but you held back. Don’t do that.”
I slammed my eyes shut, shaking my head. “I don’t want to scare you,” I said, groaning as he rolled his hips.
“I’m not scared. Open your eyes, Sawyer.” I cracked my eyelids and found him staring into my soul. “Say. It.”
“Fine,” I breathed out, my voice broken. “I love you so fucking much I don’t know what to do with myself. Happy?”
“Yes,” he purred in my ear. “Very. And thank you for loving me even when I didn’t love myself.”
My eyes were fixed on his, searching, needing to see his truth.
“I won’t rush to say the words back to you,” he promised, touching his forehead to mine. “Because when I do, I want to mean them as sincerely as you do now.”
“I love you,” I said, repeating the words I’d kept locked away for so long. “I’m so in love with you, Hen. Always have been, ever since I first saw you at that football game. Always will be.”
He laid kisses all over my face, and then I flipped us so that he was on his back. He wrapped his legs around my waist, and I sped up, pumping in and out of him with everything I had in me.
His eyes began to roll up, his neck arching, his body taut with desire. I stroked his cock in time with the movements of my hips, then changed the angle until he let out a cry of pleasure. His cum striped his inked belly, turning his tattoos into an impressionist painting.
Every emotion raced through me, and I let myself go, filling him, whispering “I love you, I love you, I love you” with each heart-pounding thrust. His widening smile assured me that he wasn’t afraid, his expression telling me I could say it again and again, and he’d love hearing it every time.
We lay on his bed, an entire hot mess, and I gazed at him until my eyes became grainy with the need to blink.
“Wow,” he breathed, his smile as bright and guileless as that of a little kid. “Now I get what the big deal is. Nothing feels better than this.”
I buried my face in his neck, inhaling the essence of him, grateful. “As much as I wanted you, I didn’t know it could be like this, either.”
He kissed my head. “Stay here. I’ll get something to clean us up with.”
Hendrix Cavanaugh hopped up from the bed looking like the punk god he was, covered in tattoos and cum, his black hair spiky and all over the place.
There was a lot heading our way, and I’d have been lying if I’d said I wasn’t terrified. But something was growing in my chest alongside the love that had always been there. Something an awful lot like hope.
DB was surprised when I showed up at the Dallas office the next day, but he knew I hadn’t battled through four hours of I-35 nonsense for a social call.
“I’m assuming you have something you couldn’t tell me electronically,” he said, facing me across his large, modern desk with three enormous monitors plus a flat-screen on the wall.
I nodded and wasted no time. “I want your friends to do a deep dive into Richard DeWitt’s businesses. He’s holding Hendrix’s contract over his head, and I can’t sit by and do nothing.”
DB didn’t seem put off by my request. He merely asked a few questions about the nature of the contract and started pulling up files he had no legal access to.
After a few minutes of reviewing the documents, he whistled through his teeth. “Man, they fucked him over a couple of times. This newest contract is worse, though, because it was made to look like a better deal than it actually was.”
I cursed under my breath. “Hendrix wouldn’t let me read it before he signed. Said his manager knew what to look for.”
“If his manager knew what to look for, there’s no way he’d have missed this.”
Fucking Paul. I’d deal with him later.
“Can you take care of it?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said, lifting a hand as though it were nothing. “But the real question is, how do you want it done? We can keep it clean. Go in, fix the contract, get out.”
“DeWitt would never let it go at that. He needs to be crushed so that he never tries to touch Hendrix again,” I said, bringing my fist down on the desk.
