Page 10 of Game Face

I draw in a quick breath as his cock slides deep inside me from behind. When I begin to fall forward, he grips my hip to steady me as his free hand flattens on my tummy. I ache for more, threading my hand through his and coaxing it lower until he’s circling my clit with his fingers.

“Oh, that’s my girl,” he says, his teeth grazing the beaded skin at my neck. My tits shake as he pushes into me harder, his pace picking up as my cries grow louder.

Fuck, if Whiskey hears what’s happening in here and still decides to open that door, then he’s as big a pervert as I tease him for. But right now, I could not care less who hears or sees me being absolutely owned by Wyatt Stone.

I leave his hand on my pussy and grab both of my breasts, tugging at my own nipples to release the ache building in the hard pink skin.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Wyatt says, the scruff of three days of not shaving scratching my bare shoulder as he peers over me.

My head falls back against him as his hips work faster, his cock pushing in deeper with every thrust until the pressure between my legs becomes unbearable and I fall over the edge. Wyatt holds me to him as he continues to drive into me, riding the wave of my orgasm and drawing it out until I nearly pass out.

When the burst of warmth fills me, I lean forward and brace myself on the counter once again so Wyatt can fully release inside of me. His body covers mine as his hips pump slowly, every thrust matched by the flex of his cock in my pussy. We lie like this, connected, half-clothed, and covered in our own sweat and cum, for several minutes. The door never opens. And I can’t wait for this to be the thing we do every night.

Chapter Five

What Peyton said about leaving Tasha alone stuck with me, and I still can’t shake the weight of it this morning.

She teased me about dragging ass on moving in together, saying I had cold feet or whatever, but it was never that. Hell, I’d drop down on one knee and marry that woman yesterday with zero fear in my heart. It’s not me I worry about—it’s her. And not that she’d say no, because we’re rock solid on our feelings for one another. It’s that I’m not sure how fair it is to leave her alone so much. Kind of the same way she worries about Tasha.

The next few years are going to be a bit wild, and while this season will pull me away for travel, our lives will still be pretty much in sync since she’ll be cheering. That all changes when I enter the NFL. I don’t want Peyton to feel isolated, as though I pulled her away from her support system just to abandon her.

But fuck was it nice waking up with her in my arms. And yeah, it’s probably going to feel even better when Whiskey isn’t sitting in the kitchen in his boxers when Peyton and I leave the bedroom.

“What took you so long?” Bryce’s voice rattles me out of my thoughts as I enter the weight room, his shitty country music already queued up and blasting through the speakers. I’m regretting that olive branch, though now I’m feeling mighty motivated to kick his ass.

“I like my beauty sleep. What can I say,” I respond, holding his gaze for an extra second, just long enough that it feels uncomfortable. I think he knows what I meant bybeauty. I won’t flaunt Peyton in front of him because I have too much respect for her, but I’ll be damned if I don’t drop a few damn good hints.

“Hope you’re not too tired to hit the incline,” he jokes back, a clear bite to his tone.

“Never too tired, brother.” His eyes flicker to mine at my response, his expression temporarily devoid of the macho façade. I call most of my teammates brother, and I decided when I woke up this morning that I was going to set the kind of example this team deserves. Maybe Bryce will prove me wrong and turn out to deserve it too.

“Alright, let’s get after it,” I say, pulling my sweatshirt off and tossing it on top of my gym bag on the floor. I step up on the center treadmill and pull my right foot up from behind to stretch my quad, Bryce matching me stretch for stretch. We both start with an easy jog, and after a minute of running, I amp up my speed. Again, Bryce matches me, both of us cruising along at a solid eight miles per hour.

“You feel that burn?” I joke, mostly to show off the fact I have zero trouble talking while running at this speed. I’ve been doing nothing but cardio since my injury. My lungs are ready for the challenge.

Bryce is panting, though not hard. He glances my way with a smirk and shrugs his shoulder. “It’s all right.”

“Ha! Liar,” I fire back. It feels good to give him shit the same way I would Whiskey. It feels almost natural. There’s still this underlying tightness in my chest, though, and I’m not sure that will ever go away.

When his hand moves to raise his incline, I do the same, pressing the plus button every time he does. I usually stop at three, but Bryce pushes us to four, so I do the same. We run in unison, our heavy shoes slapping the rubber mat as it whirls beneath us in perfect sync. After a full two minutes, I notice that my mouth is hanging open, my bottom lip heavy with the rhythm of my pant. That extra percent on the angle might be kicking my ass a little bit.

“What do you think? One more?” Bryce’s words come out choppy, and I’m glad to hear this isn’t easy for him, but fucking hell!

No! I do not think one more anything.

“Sounds good,” I say, because I’m a man, one step away from comparing dick sizes.

Bryce ratchets his speed up to nine, so I do the same, and it’s not quite a sprint, but it’s a quick stride. The soles of my shoes feel a little like they’re igniting on fire, so instead of concentrating on how much it fucking hurts, I let my mind wander back to this morning and the feel of Peyton’s bare back pressed against my chest. How smooth her shoulders were as I kissed them. The way her nipples hardened under the thin layer of sheets, and how she writhed next to me as my hand brushed over the cotton covering them. The way she tasted when I trailed my tongue down her stomach to her pussy, pushing my tongue inside her and making her come in my mouth—the perfect start to my day.

Ten minutes pass before I know it, my mental distraction pulling me out of my body while it works to prove that I’m the best athlete in the room. By the time I’m present again, I’vecrossed into my running high, and I could easily go another level, but I can tell Bryce is working hard to stay in his own zone to keep up. Four years ago, I would have pulled the dick move and demoralized him just to prove a petty point. But now? Now, we’re teammates. He called me a mentor of sorts. And goddammit, I’m going to be one.

We finish out our four miles together, cooling down to a walking speed as our offensive line pours into the room to get in their morning lift. I reach across to my left, holding out a fist as I hit stop on my treadmill, and Bryce pounds his knuckles into mine as he slaps the stop button, too.

“You think maybe next time I can pick the music?” I joke through ragged breaths.

“Ha! Fuck, no. This stuff is good shit!” He hops off his treadmill and snags a towel from his gym bag while I stare at him with an open mouth.

“What?” he says, finally noticing my reaction.

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