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Cally’s blue eyes, heavy lidded and almost midnight in this light, locked on mine as he raised all the way up onto his knees then sank back down, grinding against me.

“Fuck me, Mikey,” he begged, his voice a desperate, pretty whine. “Please,” he breathed out, almost as an afterthought.

My control—already so tenuous at this point—shattered. My hands slid from his chest to grip his hips, my thumbs pressing into the sharp cut of his pelvis as I thrust up into him.

Cally let out a choked cry, his head falling back to expose the long line of this freckled neck. “Yeah, fuck,” he breathed out. “Just like that. So good. Keep going.”

I drove up into him again, shallow at first, just to test out the angle, and then deeper, higher.

Cally looped his hands around my neck and fell forward, his big body curled around me, his forehead resting on my shoulder. “Harder,” he demanded, his slick chest rubbing against mine as he bounced on my cock. “More. I can take it.”

I’d played more minutes tonight than I had all season, had taken a few hard hits from that fucker Rustova, and was tired and sore for my efforts, but who was I to deny Cally anything—especially when he was making me think dangerous, ridiculous thoughts like, “I could marry this man,” “I never want to fuck anyone else for the rest of my life,” and “This is how I want to die.”

I planted my feet for leverage and fucked up into him with everything I had. The bed frame knocked relentlessly against the wall, and I prayed one of our teammates wasn’t in the room next door as I worked a hand between our sweat-slick bodies. Cally was leaking everywhere, and when I stroked him in time with my thrusts, he sobbed my name.

“Mikey, fuck. Just like that, don’t stop.”

I wasn’t going to stop. I never wanted to stop. I wanted this to go on and on and on until my body and lungs gave out.

“You feel so good,” I told him between gasps for air. “I love this. I love fucking you. I love how big you are, I love⁠—”

My words were cut off by his mouth crashing into mine, our teeth gnashing, his tongue licking into me.

I felt … fuck.

I felt like this was everything I’d ever wanted from sex, and like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

Cally tangled his fingers in my hair and tugged gently, pulling my head back to look at me.

“I’m close. Tell me you’re close,” he whispered.

I nodded, and Cally wrapped his hand around his own cock. My hips snapped upward, driving into him hard and fast, his voice coming to me in fragments through the ringing in my ears.

“… fuck me so good …”

“… love seeing you like this …”

“… love your cock …”

“Oh god, I love you,” I said as Cally’s back arched, ribbons of cum striping his abs, his chest, then his chin.

I kept moving, thrusting into him, and dropped forward to lick his chin clean before feeding it back to him with a sloppy, cum-slicked kiss.

He groaned, and when he sucked on my tongue, I went off like a rocket, coming into the condom harder than I ever had in my whole life.

“Oh fuck,” I gritted out, collapsing back against the headboard, my cock pulsing with tiny little aftershocks, my breath sawing in and out of me.

Above me, Cally’s breathing was just as labored as he bent forward to rest his forehead against my shoulder, his fingers coming up to toy with my hair.

As I came down from the high of my orgasm. I realized what I’d inadvertently blurted. I didn’t have a lot of experience with relationships, but even I knew you didn’t say “I love you” for the first time while balls deep in the guy who wasn’t even your boyfriend.

But the cat was out of the proverbial bag now, and I needed him to know it hadn’t been an accident. I hadn’t said those words because I was dick drunk and stupid.

I loved him, and I wanted to be with him.

“I love you, Cal,” I breathed out against his collarbone, my eyes screwed shut as I waited for a response. “So fucking much.”

Cally gasped, his whole body going rigid as he croaked, “You love me?”