I cup one of my hands around my mouth and spit in it, not hesitating once in my thrusts. I drop the liquid on Dylan’s ass, using my thumb to spread it around her puckered hole, before gently teasing the tip of my thumb inside it. She moans loudly, her breath ragged, as her mouth pops off Matthew’s cock and she turns her head to look back at me. I smile coyly, but I don’t stop what I’m doing.
“Tsk tsk, Dylan. No one said to stop sucking Matthew’s cock. Put your mouth back on it or you don’t get to come, and I bet you’re so close.” Jacob lets his fingers slip back through her strands of hair before wrapping them around his hand and pulling her head back. “Do you want to come?”
“Yes.” Her voice is raspy and breathless.
I’m so fucking turned on I can’t take it anymore, slamming my cock into her as I fuck her ass with my thumb. My balls tighten, hinting at my looming orgasm, just before my cock jerks. I slow my movement, riding out the high, until there’s nothing left inside of me.
I pull out of her slowly, watching my spunk drip out. I climb off the bed, and Jacob hands me a rag to clean myself before moving into the spot I vacated, slamming his cock inside of her.
Tonight is going to be fun. I just hope we have some energy left for tomorrow.
Chapter 40
Dylan
The stadium lights are blinding as we rush out onto the field, the familiar smell of fresh-cut grass filling my lungs. The crowd roars in excitement, and my heart races with a mix of nerves and adrenaline. It’s just a scrimmage, I remind myself, nothing more. But the energy in the air says otherwise. For some of us, tonight feels bigger than any regular game.
I glance up at the stands, taking in the sea of Summerview Falcons fans across the field. They're loud and obnoxious. My eyes flick back to our side, where the coach is yelling something I can't quite make out. My chest tightens. I try to steady my breathing, but it’s no use—I’m too nervous about this game.
And then I see him.
Brock Johnson.
My body goes rigid, the confidence I’d been holding on to slipping away as if someone yanked it right out of my grasp. There he is, standing with his helmet tucked under his arm, looking as smug as ever. His face barely registers with the casualonlooker, but to me, it’s a punch to the gut. Everything from that night comes rushing back in vivid, horrible flashes. His hands. His voice. The way he walked around afterward like nothing had happened.
My breath catches, and I force myself to stay still, forcing my feet not to turn and bolt in the opposite direction.You can do this, Dylan. He doesn’t get to have power over you anymore. This is your field, your game. He may have gotten away that night, but tonight? You’re going to take him down.
The words echo in my mind, but I don’t quite believe them yet. My hands tremble at my sides, and I squeeze them into fists, hoping no one notices. Breathe, just breathe.
“Dylan!” Ford’s voice pulls me back to the present. I turn just as he jogs up, concern written all over his face. His broad shoulders are tense, and I know him well enough to sense that he’s picking up on my energy.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice low enough that no one around us hears. His eyes search mine, and I feel my stomach flip. Ford has always been able to read me like a damn book.
I force a smile, even though it feels weak. “Yeah, I’m good. Just... nervous.”
His eyes narrow a bit, like he doesn’t quite buy it, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he nods, giving me a reassuring look. “You’ve got this, Kitty. I’m right here, okay?”
I nod, grateful for the momentary distraction. Ford has this grounding presence, this quiet strength that makes me feel like I can handle anything, even when the walls are closing in. But not even he can stop the flood of memories from resurfacing. Brock’s face, the way he looked at me that night, the way he twisted everything to make me out to be the bad guy.
I shake my head, trying to pull myself together as Ford jogs back toward the huddle.Focus, Dylan. You can’t let him get to you like this. Not now.But it’s easier said than done. Every timeI glance in Brock’s direction, I feel the familiar anger creeping back up my throat.
“Let’s go, Dylan!” Jacob’s voice calls out from the field, snapping me out of my thoughts. I take a deep breath and run over to join him, keeping my head down as much as possible. Jacob is all smiles as usual, his hand resting on my lower back for a second, offering a comforting squeeze. I lean into it for just a heartbeat, letting the warmth of his touch soothe the anxiety swirling inside me.
“You sure you’re good?” Jacob asks, his tone softer now, more serious. He tilts his head, his green eyes full of concern. Jacob’s always been the one who checks in on me, even when I don’t realize I need it. There’s something so disarming about the way he cares—it makes it harder to hide from him.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie, flashing another smile. “It’s just this whole scrimmage thing, you know? Feels more intense than it should.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go, nudging me with his shoulder. “We’ll crush it. You always step up when it counts.”
I try to believe him, try to channel his confidence, but Brock’s presence is like a weight I can’t shake. And it’s not just him. It’s everything he represents. The memories, the shame, the anger. The fact that I never told Ford or Jacob—or Matthew—what happened that night. And now it feels like this huge secret, a wall between me and them.
My stomach twists with guilt. How can I look any of them in the eye after this? I’ve been keeping it all in, pretending like everything’s fine, but it’s not. I can’t do this much longer. I need to tell them the truth—about Brock, about that night. But if I do it now, in the middle of this game, they’ll go after him. And while I could care less about what happens to Brock, the last thing I want is to see my guys in trouble, or worse—get kicked off the team.
I bite my lip, glancing over at Ford again. He’s watching me, always watching me. And then there’s Matthew, leaning against the bench, his sharp eyes flicking between me and Ford, already picking up on the tension. Matthew never misses a thing.
I should have told them sooner. I should have told them everything.
The whistle blows, signaling the start of the game, and we all get into position. I’m running on autopilot now, my body moving through the motions without really thinking. Ford, Jacob, and Matthew are all close by, their presence usually enough to make me feel invincible. But tonight, it’s not enough. Not with Brock so close.
