Page 125 of My Pucked Up Enemy

He spreads my legs and slides one finger inside me. I moan, back arching. He curls it just right, watching my face with dark, greedy eyes.

"So hot, so tight. This," he pumps again, "is going to undo me."

He adds a second finger, working them in slow, deep strokes that make me tremble. My fingers dig into his shoulders as I pant, losing all sense of time.

“Alex… please…”

“I know. I’ve got you.”

He keeps going, building me up until I’m writhing, right on the edge. And then he replaces his fingers with the thick, hard length of him, sliding into me slow and deep, a stretch that feels like heaven and heat…and home.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, anchoring him to me.

“You feel like forever,” I breathe.

His mouth captures mine, hungry now. “Then hold on.”

We move together in a rhythm that feels ancient and holy—our breaths syncing, hearts pounding, hands roaming like we’re mapping constellations on each other’s skin.

I come first, shattering beneath him, moaning his name like a secret I finally get to say out loud. He follows, burying his face in my neck, groaning low and primal as he loses himself in me.

We stay tangled, flushed and breathless, long after the final wave crashes.

“I’m pretty sure that counts as a championship warm-up,” I tease.

He rolls onto his back, arm slung behind his head, smug as ever. “There's more where that came from.”

I glance back over my shoulder with a smirk. “I'm not even sure I can walk straight, Alex. I don’t know how much more I can handle.”

Then I pause and grin wider. “At least not without food.”

“Oh, I’m making breakfast,” he calls after me. “You’ve never seen someone chef up a spinach protein scramble with this much pride.”

Sure enough, ten minutes later, he’s at the stove, shirtless, flipping eggs like he’s auditioning for a Food Network competition. I sit on the counter, watching him.

“So this is your routine?” I ask.

He shrugs. “More or less. Gym, practice, torture my teammates, eat green things, avoid feelings.”

I smile. “Guess I’m messing up the last part.”

He walks over and stands between my knees. “You’re rewriting it.”

There’s a long pause. Not heavy. Just full.

“I keep thinking about where I started when I got here,” I say softly. “Alone. Unknown. Guarded. And now?”

“You’re the heartbeat of the team,” he says. “And mine.”

I blink quickly, then kiss him before he can say anything else.

Because if I speak, I might cry.

After breakfast, we settle on the couch with our coffees. I lean into him like he's my favorite pillow.

"You know," I say quietly, "I almost didn’t stay. The job offer was everything I thought I wanted. Safe. Prestigious. A straight shot to a bigger name and everything I thought I was striving for."

Alex brushes his thumb over my shoulder. "So what changed?"

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