Page 98 of The Players We Hate
“That’s it,” he groaned, voice breaking. “Play with yourself for me. Make yourself come on my cock. I want you to lose it in my arms while I pound this pussy raw.”
The words alone nearly unraveled me, and when his hips drove up, brutal and deep, my orgasm snapped loose. It tore through me so hard I couldn’t stop the scream.
I collapsed back against him, his chest slick against my spine, trembling as the aftershocks wracked me. Talon’s grip only tightened, his mouth hot on my neck, groaning into my skin. “Fuck, that’s it. Squeeze me. Milk me dry. You’re mine, Wren. Every fucking inch of you.”
We stayed tangled in the chair, the room filled with our ragged breathing and the faint bass thudding through the walls. His arms locked around me like he’d never let me go.
Eventually, he stood, hauling me up with him, my jeans still bunched at my thighs.
“I’ll buy my sister new sheets tomorrow,” he muttered with a crooked grin, carrying me to the bed. He dropped me onto the mattress, climbing in behind me, tugging the blanket high as he dragged me back against his chest.
I buried my face in the pillow, his breath hot at the nape of my neck, and felt the knot inside me finally ease. It should’ve scared me, how much I needed this, how much I needed him, but it didn’t. Not tonight.
Tomorrow would bring fallout we couldn’t avoid. But with his arms locked around me, holding me like I was already his, all I could think about was how right it felt.
I wasn’t hiding anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wren
By the time I woke up, everything felt off. We’d left Tatum’s hours ago and crashed at the hotel, but the blur of last night still stuck to me.
Light leaked past the curtains, pale and gray, morning dragging its feet. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, the sound drilling into me until I finally reached for it.
There it was—the article.
1
BREAKING: RIXTON ATHLETICS UNDER INVESTIGATION. Sources Reveal Web of NIL Violations and Donor Corruption.
The headline punched the air from my lungs, but it was the byline that trapped it there. As told by a confidential source with firsthand access to financial documents.
Me.
I scrolled fast, my eyes catching pieces even as my brain struggled to keep up. Player accounts tied to nonprofit funds. Donor money rerouted through Brighter Futuresand back to my father. Suspicious game outcomes flagged over and over. At the bottom was a blurry screenshot of the nonprofit’s ledger.
My hands shook, not because I was scared of being caught, but because it was real now. It was out there.
A knock rattled the adjoining door. When I opened it, Talon was already there. His hood was up, eyes rimmed red like he hadn’t slept since we got back.
“You saw it,” he said.
“Yeah.”
The word hung heavy.
Kade wore a path across the carpet, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. Owen slouched on the arm of the couch, elbows digging into his thighs, his eyes locked on the muted TV where ESPN anchors debated whether the Wolves should lose their playoff spot.
“You really think they’d do it?” Rowdy asked, his voice low but sharp with nerves.
Talon leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “It’s possible. But the only player we have tied to this isn’t even on the roster anymore.”
The answer did nothing to ease the tension. It pressed harder into my chest until every breath felt tight.
“We’re getting media requests,” Owen muttered without looking away from the screen. “A lot of them. Reporters want someone on record.”
“They don’t want the truth,” Kade snapped. “They want someone to blame. If we hand them a name, they’ll tear us apart.”
