No bending her over the physio table. A personal attack on my favourite fantasy.
Onlyshewas allowed to touch anything during sessions. Just straight up cruelty.
Absolutely no kissing unless we were behind a locked door.
Talking was allowed, apparently—how fucking kind of her. I secretly used to like her bossing me around and I loved it even more now.
I didn’t get much time to enjoy her between finally getting her into my bed and hopping on to the next city in the tour. By the time we boarded the flight to Canada, I was strung tighter than my racket strings. I wanted nothing more than for her to be in the seat beside me so I could plant my hand on her thigh and whisper every filthy thing I planned to do to her the second we landed.
But she was two rows ahead on the other side, pretending we were nothing more than colleagues, and I respected it. I respected all of it: her rules, her boundaries, her need to keep this thing quiet.
Didn’t stop me from feeling like a live wire every time she shifted in her seat and glanced back at me with that knowing little smirk, though.
During the flight, she sat across the aisle laughing with Emma, a younger up and coming player who’d joined the tour, and Cara, casually pretending she could function like a normal human after the way she begged me not to stop last night
Meanwhile, I was wedged between Ted and Ben, shifting every few minutes in my seat like some frustrated teenager.
The Orla effect was real. I was done for, fully, willingly and beautifully fucked.
Despite narrowly losing the Washington final, I was on fire. Storming through rankings, commentators talking like a top-three finish wasn’t even a question anymore. I always knew I had it in me; my coaches had screamed it at me for years, but I hadn’tbelieved them until she came along. Until she looked at me like I could be better, and suddenly I wanted to be.
At the baggage claim, I didn’t even wait for her to reach for it. I stepped in and hauled her battered, navy suitcase off the belt in one fluid motion. I wanted to do everything for her—the heavy lifting, the door-holding, the constant protection that a boyfriend was supposed to provide.
If that’s what I even was. We hadn’t exactly sat down over the hotel breakfast to have that conversation yet. Between the "No Ass Grabbing" rule and the frantic pace of the tour, we were operating in a high-voltage gray area.
“Way to make it obvious, Reed,” she muttered, trying to sound irritated and not even remotely pulling it off.
“Shit, sorry. Didn’t even think.” I said, shaking my head at myself.
I wanted to claim her right there in the middle of the terminal, but the rules were still ringing in my ears. For now, all I could do was carry her bag and hope she noticed that I wasn't just doing it to be polite, I was doing it because I didn't want anyone else to touch her world but me.
By the time we reached the hotel, I was seconds from combusting. The rest of the team drifted down the hallway toward their rooms. Mine was just ahead. Hers was right next door, of course it was.
She padded up behind me, her medical bag clutched tight against her side. She’d pulled her hair down since we left the terminal, those dark, silken waves that made my fingers itch to tangle in them again. She still managed to look breathtaking despite the grueling blur of flights and the shifting time zones. She kept her eyes fixed on the patterned carpet, a model of ‘nonchalant’ professionalism, clearly hoping to slip past my door and into the safety of her own.
Not a fucking chance.
I slid my keycard into the lock, waited until she drew level. Before she could take another step, I reached out and snagged the edge of her hoodie. I didn't ask; I just yanked, pulling her backward and into the room with me in one fluid, precise motion. The heavy door slammed shut on the empty hallway.
“Tyler!” she gasped, half-scandalized. “You absolute menace…”
But her hands were already firm against my chest, my mouth already muffling whatever attempt she was about to make at scolding me. I’d been forced to keep my mouth off her for twelve straight hours, and now I was claiming back every second.
Hours of pent-up need spilled over at once in a mess of tongues and heat.
“I’ve watched you all goddamn day,” I rasped against her mouth, kissing her again. “Walking around like you don’t remember me giving you the best orgasms of your life. I’ve been a good boy, O, but fuck, even I’ve got limits.”
A wicked, flickering smile tugged at her lips—the look of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. “And what exactly are those, Reed?”
I flicked my gaze to the sliding glass doors. We were on the highest floor. The balcony was an enclosed sanctuary of glass and steel. No eyes. Just the city glowing like a bed of embers below. My mouth curved into something dark. “Balcony. Now.”
I didn't wait for an answer. I grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward the glass, the cool night air hitting us like a physical shock as we stepped outside. Her eyes widened, reflecting the neon lights of the skyline. “You can’t be serious.”
I kissed her delicate neck, dragging my teeth along that soft skin until she shivered. “Sweetheart, I’ve never been more serious.”
Her laugh stumbled into a gasp when I tugged off her hoodie, peeled away her T-shirt and unclasped her bra until she was bareto the night. I took a peaked nipple into my mouth, biting gently until she responded with a needy hiss.
“Tyler…fuck…we can’t…”
