Page 82 of Unwritten Rules
Sinnett stills his fingers and angles them upward. “Ride my fucking hand, Tate. Be a good girl and take all of me.”
Needing no further instructions, I do as I’m told and ride his fingers. Lifting my hips until his fingers are barely inside of me, I then slam them down. Sinnett groans and reaches for the back of my neck, attaching his lips to mine.
Between the pressure building in my core, the intrusion of Sinnett’s fingers, and the feel of his lips moving against mine, it’s too much. I can’t breathe; the sides of the car closing in on me as I rush closer to the edge, chasing the euphoric feeling only Sinnett can provide.
“That’s it,” Sinnett utters against my lips. “Come on my fingers, Tate.”
I screw my eyes shut and focus on keeping my rhythm from turning sloppy. Pressing my lips against Sinnett, I groan against his mouth. The fire building in the depth of my core is one spark away from exploding. And Sinnett feeds into the fire by sliding his hand around my throat, squeezing gently as his lips attack mine.
Yeah, that’ll do it.
My body seizes as an orgasm tears through it. Tilting my head back—with Sinnett’s hand still wrapped around my throat—my lips part as a breathless moan escapes them.
Sinnett presses his lips to the side of my mouth, his hand on my throat sliding down my chest to rest on my hip. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Tate. God, I’ll never get used to it.”
My head is too full and my body weightless to do much more than collapse against Sinnett’s chest. He pulls his hand out of me and re-adjusts my clothes before wrapping his arms around me, hugging me closer to him.
“Savin’ Me” by Nickleback sounds from the speakers, replacing the silence that settles over us. I focus on the lyrics and the warmth radiating from Sinnett’s chest. Whenever I’m with him, it feels like the rest of the world falls away. We don’t have to worry about responsibilities or the fact that we can never truly be together. But for the couple of hours we spend together in this car, we get to be ourselves.
It’s moments like these I’ve started to cherish the most.
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m proud of you,” I murmur, turning my cheek to rest on Sinnett’s shoulder.
Sinnett runs his hand over my back, the movement comforting. “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten, Tate.”
“Good, because I’m going to tell you every time you’re about to walk out onto that field, and you’ll hear it again the second you come off.”
His hand stills on my back and he exhales a sharp breath. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
SINNETT
Getting back into the regular training schedule after taking it easy the past six weeks and following a limited recovery plan is fucking brutal. I had forgotten how gruelling it can be on your body, taking the big hits and running drills for hours, that I’m fucked by the time I drag my ass to the locker room.
I slump down on the bench and reach for my water bottle, chugging the contents of it as if it’ll help my lungs from giving out on me. I reach around my back and pull my training jersey out from the waistband of my shorts. The material is cool against my skin as I wipe away the sweat and dirt clinging to each pore.
Footsteps sound in the otherwise empty room, drawing my attention from the real fear I might be dying to the man who mirrors my features. He’s dressed in one of his black tailored suits, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants while his dark hair is styled neatly with far too much gel.
Dad eyes me from across the room, and my back stiffens.
Fuck. Here we go.
“Want to tell me why I had to hear from Phil you were cleared to play and not my own son?”
After pulling my jersey over my head, I shove a hand through my sweat-soaked hair and exhale a sharp breath. I’m regrettingmy decision to step away from training—at the suggestion of Todd so as not to aggravate my quad before the game tomorrow night—for a ten-minute water break.
“I’ve been busy this week,” I grunt, trying to keep my voice even.
The truth is as simple as I didn’t want to tell him because I knew he would act likethis. Ready to control me like the puppet I’ve always been to him.
“I can see that,” Dad retorts, stepping towards me. Each slap of his shoe against the floor sets my nerves further on edge. “But it shits me that I had to wait until the day before your return to hear the good news.”
My conversation with Tatum from three nights ago echoes in the back of my mind. I revealed to her my father’s inability to express his support for me and my career. At that moment, I hadn’t planned on telling her, but as usual, her easygoing attitude and calming presence brought it out of me, and I was helpless to fight it.
Her words made me realise that I’ve spent far too long living in my father’s shadows, hoping I can one day live up to the standard he has been seeking ever since I started playing rugby. I’m starting to wonder if he’ll ever be proud of my achievements or if he’ll continue to wish for more from me.
“Well, surprise, I’m cleared to play,” I deadpan, jaw ticking. “Happy?”
