“Mine,” he demanded. “This pussy. This body. Thislife. All fucking mine.”
He pounded into me, relentless, one hand sliding around to rub my clit in tight, filthy circles. I came again,harder, my pussy milking him, tears streaming down my cheeks as my whole body convulsed.
Matty followed, driving deep until he finished and the excess was dripping down my thighs and then onto the bench.
We collapsed forward, my cheek pressing against the cool wood, his weight heavy and perfect on my back.
He kissed the back of my neck. “Fantasy number forty-three, check.”
I laughed, breathless and wrecked. “There are still four hundred and twelve to go.”
He grinned against my skin. “Good. We’ve got forever.”
Then he nipped my ear, his voice dropping to a dark whisper. “Want to hear more obsessed things I want to do to you?”
I shivered, still impaled on him. “Yes,” I said instantly, because Matty telling me every obsessed, insane thing he could come up with was my favorite game.
He pressed deeper, rutting in and out slowly as he talked. “I’m going to marry you, Ophelia. Even if you say no. I’ll drag you to the altar, put my ring on your finger, and fuck you in the vestry while the priest waits outside.”
I grinned, clenching around him.
He kept going. “I’ll breed you in every room of our house. Make you wear my jersey to every game, pregnant and glowing, so the whole world knows who you belong to.”
I moaned, pushing back against him.
“It’s going to happen, Ophelia. All of it,” he murmured as his fingers brushed against theMrs. Adleron my hip, making me shiver in ecstasy.
“Now there are only four hundred and eleven to go,” I whispered, blissed-out and on the verge of falling asleep on the bench…despite our precarious position.
He laughed, happily, and thrust again.
“Challenge accepted.”
EPILOGUE 2
MATTY
Our first class since the championship, and the lecture hall felt like someone had crammed a stadium’s worth of noise into four walls. People were still riding the high of the win. There were lots of orange hoodies, phones flashing clips from the final seconds on repeat, and half the class looked like they’d been celebrating nonstop, judging by the hungover pallor to their skin.
Garrett dropped into the seat beside me, still smelling faintly of beer from last night’s festivities. His hoodie was half zipped, baseball cap pulled low. It was the same one he’d worn through the entire season. His superstition.
He had his phone out before his ass even hit the chair, scrolling fast through another mock draft thread. His name kept showing up in thetop tenin every one. He’d already been called “the next great running back” on ESPN twice this week.
“You realize the draft’s four months away,” I muttered.
Garrett didn’t look up. “Four months is forever in draft years,” he said, flicking his thumb across the screen. “Scouts are fickle. I sneeze wrong at the combine, and I drop three slots; I’ll never hear the end of it from my brother.”
I grinned. Garrett’s brother was a star quarterback on the New York Predators. I could see that being a lot to live up to. “Yeah, you’ll survive, Top Ten.”
He smirked, finally glancing up. “You mock me now. Let’s see how you act next year when you’re the one having to wait.”
I chuckled, tapping my pencil against my notebook. “We’ll see.”
The door at the front of the lecture hall opened, and Garrett’s phone hit the floor.
Garrett followed it a second later.
He didn’t trip. Didn’t stumble. He justcollapsedstraight out of his chair, knees folding, hitting the tile with a dullthud.
