Page 26 of Final Down

“Come here,” he growls as he palms my ass and pulls me to the very edge of the sofa back, forcefully thrusting his cock inside of me.

“Mine,” he says, moving his mouth to my neck as his hands grip my ass. His hips rock feverishly as he pummels me.

“Wy—” I can’t even finish his name, every thrust hitting me so right, so hard, that it sends shocks throughout my entire body.

“Come for me, baby,” he commands.

My body tingles, my insides tightening as I fight to hold off the inevitable. I don’t want this to end, but I need to come. I can’t take it much longer.

“That’s it,” he praises when the first whimper leaves my lips.

My open mouth lands on his shoulder, and my teeth dig into his skin as the first waves nearly knock me out. Wyatt doesn’t let up, fucking me harder with every thrust until my climax is so sensitive that I lose my breath and have to dig my nails into his back to hold on. His cock swells inside of me, and I warm with his cum as he thrusts a few more times, holding me to him through the very last pulse.

Our bodies sticky and tangled, Wyatt reaches for my thighs and pulls my legs tight around him, swiveling so he’s now leaning against the back of the sofa while his cock still fills me. Irest my cheek against his shoulder. I’m a little out of breath, but the slow strokes of Wyatt’s fingertips along my spine eventually slow my heart rate back to normal. I could sleep here, just like this, with him inside of me and our bodies melded as one.

“I just have one question,” he finally says, sweeping my hair away from my ear so he can kiss the lobe.

I shift my upper body so I can meet his gaze, and he continues to run his hand through my hair, tucking what I can only imagine are wild strands behind my ear.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Do cheer coaches wear the uniforms?”

I laugh at his question but bite my tongue when I realize he’s merely smirking. My brow pinches.

“Are you serious?”

His gaze moves to mine and his hands move back to my hips, pulling me into him as he grinds his cock into me, reminding me he’s still hard and somehow ready.

“Deadly.”

Chapter Eleven

Aone-year deal.

Bryce isn’t pushing. I respect him more because of it, too. Me signing is a huge win for him. Damn, though, but he hasn’t brought that up once. If anything, he’s been throwing out all the reasons I should walk out of here and give them a big middle finger over my shoulder.

“It’s not even a respectable number,” he says, spinning the paperwork back around on the wide mahogany table before leaning back in his chair to level me with his signature expression. “I say fuck ’em.”

He means it, too. I can tell. If there’s one constant about Bryce Hampton, it’s that he’s a shit liar. No poker face at all.

I breathe in deeply and flip through the boilerplate contract they give rookies one more time, as if something in these words is going to jump out at me and help make up my mind. Peyton left us in here fifteen minutes ago. She was so offended by the offer that she feared sticking around would only end with her storming into the front offices and wringing Mickey’s neck. Ofcourse, it wouldn’t be Mickey; it would be his assistant. And then Jerry would have to help cover up the crime. It would be a mess.

“If you want, I’ll call Jerry back in here. But you and I both know these aren’t his numbers. This is all Mickey,” Bryce says.

“And Phillips. I don’t know what it is he hates about me so much, but there is no winning that guy over.”

Bryce’s brows raise, and he leans his head toward the currently closed glass door.

“Not yet. I’m still thinking about it.”

Bryce’s body slinks into the chair, and he lets out a heavy exhale. He spins in the chair while linking his hands behind his neck. He stops cold when he makes it a full rotation, and his eyes are on me again.

“I should have let Jason handle this, man. I’m sorry. I fucked it up.”

I burst into instant laughter and shake my head.

“Dude, Jason couldn’t have sold me any better. Plus, you got Whisk a solid deal. This isn’t on you. It’s just . . . what it is.”

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