Page 100 of Loving the Legend
He shivers when I brush a kiss against his tip. I grin and brush another, swiping my tongue across for a final taste. His legs tremble, and he slides down to the floor until his back hits the rug. Panting, he pulls me against his chest and closes his eyes. I reach for a throw pillow and tuck it under his head as he dozes off. I settle my ear against his chest, fish my phone out of my robe pocket, and scroll through social media. I’m not surprised to see images of Sid from the club trending. His ripped body and gorgeous face should be sculpted in stone for posterity. I read an obscene number of thirsty comments—so many wet tongue, eggplant, and peach emojis. Damn!
I glance up at his peaceful face and grin.Mine.
The Knights' social media account posted a reel of me doing the Running Man, making me grin. There are thousands of comments from people wishing me a “Happy Birthday”. I scroll through wild-looking reels of me at the club, sandwiched between groping women. My face warms thinking about Sid watching that shit. In my defense, I look hella faded.
I shake my head and close out the app. I stare up at the purple-blue sky until I drift off. I fall asleep wondering if birthday wishes are like prayers in that sometimes they come true.
I whimperas Sid’s lubed fingers enter me, and soft kisses pepper my neck. I melt into the pillow, realizing I'm dreaming until my eyes shoot open, and I gasp as his cock slides inside of me.
“Sid,” I hiss.
He groans in my ear, sending a bolt of heat down my spine. “Hmm?”
I fist the sheets and moan as he fucks me deep, massaging my prostate on every drive. "You feel incredible," he rasps.
My eyes sting as he makes love to me. I don’t know why, but I’m most sensitive in the morning.
I whisper, “I love you,” as he thrusts deeper and deeper inside of me.
He kisses my tear-stained face and whispers, “I love you too. Always.” Pulling me closer, he reaches his arm around to stroke me. Whenever I sob when we make love, he never lasts long. We fall apart when we reach the impossibly tender place that only our lovemaking can traverse. The tether that’s forged through every stroke, every teardrop, every orgasm feels sacred and everlasting. I know we cannot possess another person, but Sid is mine, and I am his forever. I feel it in the marrow of my bones, the tendons of my heart, the core of my soul.
“Come with me,” he whispers. We’re so intricately fine-tuned that the minute he sucks in a deep breath signaling his release, my own ruptures from me, and I clench around him as my body shudders. He bites into my neck as he moans out in ecstasy. His heart races against my back as he strokes me through my release. I’m out of my body, drifting with the sea breeze as I drift back to sleep.
After a morning of jet skiing,swimming, and watching my favorite F1 driver win the Miami Grand Prix on TV, Sid’s driving us to my birthday gift. We stopped at his house on the way to swap the Porsche for the Bentley Bentayga and change into fresh clothes. His lips are ironclad as he rudely ignores my guesses on where we're headed, however practical or outlandish they might be. I was told to eat a light breakfast this morning. Though that doesn’t tell me much.
We pull up to Hard Rock Stadium and I see signs for the Miami International Autodrome.
I flash him a confused grin. “What are we doing here? The race was this morning."
“I know. I watched it with you.” He hands the keys to the valet and gestures for me to wait as he steps away to make a call.Odd.
With the phone to his ear, he signals for me to follow him, and I trail him through the lot. As we reach a gate, a woman approaches from our left, waving a phone at him. He waves back and hangs up the call as she gestures for us to follow her. He turns to me and shrugs as we trail her through a corridor to a suite of lounges protected by an army of security guards. A couple of the guards do a double take. I’m glad videos of us at the club trended, and Sid posted a happy birthday message to me earlier. It gives us cover.
“Please wait in here,” the woman says, directing us into a private room.
“What’s going on?” I ask Sid once we’re alone.
He pulls me into a quick kiss instead of answering me.
I look around for cameras. “What was that for?”
“I can’t kiss my sexy boyfriend during his birthday weekend?”
“Of course, you…” The door opens, and in walks none other than the champ and my favorite F1 driver, Archie Jefferson.
“Shut up,” I scoff, backing away and covering my mouth.
No way!
No fucking way!
Sid chuckles at my reaction.
“What’s good, man! I told you he was a genuine fan,” Sid says, dapping Archie, who's in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with sponsorship logos plastered across it.
“My bruv, good to see you!” Archie says. The sides of his hair are shaved low, and intricate cornrows are braided down the center. I stare into his warm, hooded eyes and shake my head. This isn’t real.
“I hear it’s your birthday, Ty. I’m a fan of yours, both of yours, actually,” he says. “Epic Miami game between you two. Don’t tell him”—he gestures to Sid—“but I was rooting for you.”
