I’m already there. White flashes blast behind my eyes, my brain short-circuiting as the orgasm consumes me, body and soul.
I thrust my hips a few more times, losing myself in him. My cock jerks as I fill him, giving him everything, just like I promised. His own orgasm explodes. Ropes of cum paint mychest. With a breathless moan, I collapse next to him and he rolls into me.
I tangle my fingers in his hair. “Isn’t it crazy how much better the sex gets every time we do it?”
He looks at me. “Don’t ever leave me again,” he says, his voice shaky.
So I do the only thing I can do. I lie to his face because the truth would destroy him.
“I won’t,” I tell him, knowing it’s a promise I’ll never be able to keep.
Afterward, we lay tangled on my bed, his head on my chest, my arms wrapped around him. It feels like something we could do every night if we were different people living different lives.
“I should go,” he says.
“You promised you’d give me tonight.”
“I did,” he whispers. And then he slides his leg over me and burrows into my chest. “As long as you still want it.”
“I do. More than anything,” I whisper.
Tomorrow, Tate will probably hear from Petrov again. He’ll take another step toward a trap that I helped set up. I’ll have to keep pretending to be his coach while watching him get recruited by people who will use him until he’s no longer useful, then throw him away. And that’s the best-case scenario.
Tonight was supposed to be about remembering what it felt like to want something good. Instead, it just reminded me of what I’m going to lose when this is over.
I let my eyes drift closed, trying not to think about the promises I just made. About the future we can’t build.
Everything is on the verge of crumbling.
I just hope there’s something left to salvage when it’s all over.
TWENTY-EIGHT
tate
I feel lighterafter our night together. Not just because of the sex, although it was mind-bending and otherworldly, but because he finally opened up. Telling me about his father, about the financial pressure he’s been under, about why he’s been pulling away, it all made me feel like I actually am important to him, that there might really be a future for us. That maybe one day, he will be ready to take things to the next level.
It gives me hope.
Things make so much more sense now. The distance, the evasiveness. Ten thousand dollars a month for his father’s care would stress anyone out, especially someone dealing with gambling debts.
I want to help him. I want him to know I’m here for him.
My play has been strong, too, which makes me believe a lot of it stemmed from my feelings of insecurity. Having Zane in my corner makes me feel almost…invincible, to the point where I almost text Petrov to cancel our follow-up meeting.
Almost.
But something stops me. Maybe it’s curiosity about what his consulting firm actually does, or maybe it’s the practical part ofmy brain that says I should explore all my options before making decisions about my future.
One meeting can’t hurt. Especially now that I know I’m starting Thursday, that the team still has confidence in me, that Zane and I are back on solid ground.
I head to the office building address that he texted me. I take the elevator to the third floor and am escorted to a corner office where Petrov sits behind a large desk.
“Tate,” he says, standing up to shake my hand. “Thank you for making time. I know your schedule must be busy now that you’re starting again.”
I recoil. “Wait, how did you?—?”
“Word travels fast in professional hockey circles. Congratulations. Thursday against Calgary should be an excellent opportunity to showcase your abilities.”
