17. CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 17

“Did you realize the power you had over me when you love like that?”

Anything – Griff

Deon

C haos erupts as the ball is snapped, landing in my awaiting hands. Bodies collide along the line of scrimmage as the offensive line secures the pocket. I bounce on my toes, scanning the field, waiting for Henry to cut toward the center. Cocking my arm back, I let the ball fly from my fingers, the football spiraling through the warm Nevada air.

If we were in Seattle, my hands would be frozen.

The crowd waits with bated breath as the football barrels toward Henry’s awaiting grip. The ball softly lands in his outstretched palm, directly in the end zone. For a split second, the world is silent before Nevada fans groan in disappointment. Jack lifts Henry in the air, spinning him around in celebration.

Declan pats the back of my helmet as we jog off the field. The kick is good, and the offensive coordinator signals he’s putting in Tommy, the rookie quarterback.

We’re up by twenty-one in the fourth quarter. I don’t need to play anymore, and Tommy has been working hard in practice, he deserves the minutes.

He fiddles with his helmet as I call him over. Henry eyes me with confusion.

“Take a breath.” Tommy’s inhale is shaky. “Just have fun.”

He nods, running out on the field, and Henry pokes my leg with his helmet. “Mentoring looks good on you.” I roll my eyes, but the compliment settles in my chest. “I’m being serious. Your advice and encouragement helped a lot during my rookie season.”

“It did?”

“It was why I invited you to the diner when I needed help with Sawyer. I knew you would have my back and give good advice.”

I stare at him, the corner of his blue eyes crinkling the longer I stare. I never realized I had that large of an impact on them.

“I thought you had a stick up your ass,” Declan says with a shrug of his shoulder, and I double over in laughter.

Of course, he did.

The clock runs down, and as the game ends, I walk out onto the field, chatting with other veteran players and congratulating Tommy.

He didn’t score, but he also didn’t shit his pants, so I would say that deserves celebration.

A blur of yellow and blue flashes along my peripheral vision. I spin, and my stomach drops, nausea settling deep in my gut.

I stare at Blake Houghton, a defensive end on the Nevada Raiders. My brain glitches as I stand face to face with my past, the history I left behind after I was drafted.

Realistically, I knew this interaction was inevitable. I’ve had luck on my side the last few years since Nevada isn’t always on our schedule.

I had forgotten he was traded to Nevada, and he doesn’t play often, so I didn’t see him on the field.

It’s petty, but smugness settles in my chest, knowing he rides the bench.

“It’s great to see you, man.” Blake slaps a hand on my shoulder, and I recoil from the touch. “Even if we lost,” he chuckles, and my stomach riots at the sound. “How long has it been?”

“Five years,” I grit out, stepping away from his touch. He has no right to speak to me, not after what happened.

“Right...” His face sobers, and part of me wants to punch the look straight off his face. He has no right to act like the distance is anything but a product of his choices. “Why haven’t we spoken in so long? We used to be close.”

The question shocks me. Knocks me off my axis. He can’t be serious. I scan his features. Holy shit, he is serious. The fact he is making me dig up what should stay buried boils my blood.

“You knew, Blake. You knew she was sleeping with Brian, and you said nothing . You were someone I confided in. I told you about how I felt about her, the worries I had, and you sat back and allowed me to believe I was the problem.” The words begin to flow, five years of pent-up anger and betrayal released like a broken dam. “I-I thought I was a bad partner; that Savannah was distant and cold because I did something wrong and not because she was sleeping with my teammate. You let me believe that, and it’s not something I’m willing to forgive or forget.” His face pales, and I turn away, finished with the conversation and the painful memories it dredged up. “Don’t speak to me again.”

Jack stands by the tunnel, a questioning look on his face, as I jog away from Blake. I refuse to dig up the past, not when I’ve fought so hard to trust again, to put my faith in my friends and teammates.

I refuse to let Blake take away everything I’ve built here.

“You good?” Jack whispers, noting the tension in my shoulders. I nod, and he lifts an eyebrow. “Would you tell Maren the same thing?”

I falter a step. I would rather risk castration than lie to Maren. I am far too afraid of losing pretzel privileges, and she knows it. But Maren also loathes divulging her emotions, meaning she doesn't ask questions or pry when I don’t want to elaborate, so there is no need to lie to her. Frankly, I have a healthy dose of fear and admiration for her.

“No,” I answer truthfully.

Jack nods his head in understanding and pats my shoulder before calling out to Henry, who pauses for him to catch up.

I drag my feet into the locker room; the lingering anxiety is an incessant buzz in my ears. A small hand halts my movement, and I glance down at the five-foot-four woman who instills the fear of God into me every time our paths cross.

“I’ll cover the media today,” Jack says, saving me from being dragged into hell by Victoria. “Deon needs to stretch his quad.”

“I do?”

“Yes.” Jack gives me an Are you an idiot look.

“Right. Gotta stretch the quads.” I do a quick lunge for good measure before darting away into the visitor locker room.

I slip into the room, chatter filling the space as I find my space in the back corner, surrounded by Henry and Declan. I pull my phone out of my bag, and a dozen messages from Nathalie fill the screen.

Good luck!

Gordie says meow. That translates to 'Beat Dallas, Dad!'

OMG.

You look really hot in those pants.

But also, like you’re ready to fight in the Revolutionary War. I’m super turned on by the duality of the outfit.

The camera needs to focus more on your butt. They’re missing out.

Insane move to slip the rushing defender. Well done.

^That was Maren.

ARE YOU OKAY??

They hit you SO hard.

Oh good. You got up.

I'm not sure why I’m narrating this to you via text, but I don’t think I can stop.

Gordie says number 57 is a big meanie pants who deserves to get jock itch.

TOUCHDOWNNNNNN!!!!!

This is Maren. I am taking her phone away. She can have it back when you respond.

The smile on my face is unshakeable as an undeniable zing zaps my chest.

“You’re home!” Nathalie screams as she pops up from the couch. “I am allowed to platonically hug you, right?” she asks, and I nod my head enthusiastically.

The air whooshes from my lungs as she barrels into my chest in an unexpectedly welcomed greeting. Fuck, it’s nice to be greeted like this, as if she’s been waiting for me to come home, counting down the minutes until we could be together.

“I recorded our show,” she says, sliding down my body to land on the floor.

I drink Nathalie in, admiring the way her hair falls onto her shoulders in soft curls, when my gaze snatches on…what the hell is she wearing?

It’s a pink and purple floral pattern resembling the couch in my Nana’s home. The hem stops at her knees with a small strip of lace and hangs off her body, revealing little, but there’s something about it.

It’s odd and off-putting but also incredibly sexy.

“What are you wearing?” I ask, reaching out to touch the soft cotton fabric. It’s butter beneath my fingers, and as she shifts, I realize she’s not wearing a bra.

“Oh, this?” She pinches the dress and raises it before letting it fall. “This is my muumuu.”

“Your what?”

I have never heard of that in my life.

What she’s wearing is hideous, but she looks so beautiful in it that I’m nearly on my knees. Nathalie spins, and the dress rides up to reveal a peak of her butt.

She’s not wearing anything underneath it.

I hate the ugly dress, and I want her to buy a hundred more in different patterns.

“It’s a nightgown, but it’s loose and comfy.” Her smile is cheerful, and she takes a step closer. “I’ve been waiting for you to say it, but I can’t wait any longer…so, artichoke?”

I don’t want to rescind our ‘just sex’ deal, but I’m afraid if I sleep with her, I’m not going to be able to put my feelings in a box.

It’s not going to be just sex for me, but as she waits for my response with hopeful eyes, it’s clear I’m not making it out of this in one piece, so I may as well enjoy the time I do have with her before everything reverts to how it was before.

I’m not ready for that, but maybe if I allow myself this time with her and play pretend, then the ending will hurt less.

Wordlessly, I drag her into her bedroom, and as soon as the door clicks shut, I’m pushing her back onto the bed. I’ve never felt this sense of urgency to connect with someone. In the end, it was robotic with Savannah. In the beginning, we were young and clumsy, but I don’t think I ever desired her—craved her—the way I do with Nathalie.

I’ve been trying to deny that craving.

“Take that thing off,” I say, barely able to restrain the insatiable need building in my body. Nathalie squeaks, eyes widened with surprise, but she does as I say, slowly peeling the nightgown over her head.

My mouth dries at the sight of her bare, and I stalk toward her, a man on a mission.

“Deon—” I claim her mouth, desperate to express every emotion rioting in my brain in a single, searing kiss.

I lack the words to express what she means to me and how she’s slowly bringing me back to life. I was a shell of a person before I wound up on her couch, begging her to be my fake girlfriend. I was lonely and cynical, but when I’m with her, life is brighter and hopeful, like the first rays of a sunrise.

Facing Blake was like ripping off the rose-colored glasses on how poorly I was treated in my last relationship. I was belittled and ignored, made to believe I was the problem. I didn’t love her enough, give her enough, do enough for her.

But I’ve never felt any of those things with Nathalie.

With Nathalie, being myself is enough .

I don’t know how to say all of that to her, nor do I think it’s a smart idea, so I kiss her instead, hoping she might feel a fraction of what I do through the kiss.

My hands reach out, beginning to explore the soft slopes of her waist, and goosebumps pebble along her skin. Nathalie lifts on her elbows, her gaze full of emotion as she watches me.

“That’s the kind of response I expect every time I say the code word.” Her lips tilt upward in a smirk. “Artichoke. Artichoke. Artichoke. Now throw me across the bed again because that was hot as fuck.”

My head falls back in laughter.

Just when I think I couldn’t…I cut off the thought, and outrageous, dramatic words tumble out of my mouth.

“Please touch me, or I might shrivel up and die.”

Nathalie blinks, then bursts out laughing before crashing her lips to mine, arms wrapped around my neck as we tumble onto the sheets, a tangle of arms and limbs.

“I love it when you’re dramatic,” she mumbles between kisses.

“I usually keep my insane thoughts to myself." I’m not sure how she would respond to my delusional plan to get Lachlan deported for talking to her on Halloween or that I think about training Gordie to use the toilet.

“You should share them more often.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” I say, peppering gentle kisses around her face—her nose, her eyes, her cheeks—until she’s giggling. “You might get more than you wanted.”

“If it’s about you, then I want it all .”

She can’t make declarations like that, not when she looks at me like I’m the most important man in the room and asks me to hold her when she’s in pain. Not when this has an expiration date. Not when this is fake. Not when she’s going to leave.

Tears prick my eyes, and I push them back, gently easing her back on the bed. My chain dangles between us, and she tugs it, pulling my lips to hers.

This kiss is slow and intimate, seeping into my veins.

Her hands tug at the hem of my shirt, and I rip the t-shirt over my head. Her nipples pebble in the chilly air, and I stare as her chest rises and falls. Nathalie lifts a brow.

“I thought you said you were going to shrivel and die ,” she teases, and I cut off her next taunt when I take her breast into my mouth, teasing the peaked bud with my tongue.

Nathalie sighs, head falling back as I work down, pressing intimate kisses onto her torso.

“God, you’re magnificent,” I admit, and her cheeks flush a rosy hue. “Why are you blushing? It’s true.”

Her hands fly to her face, and my body short-circuits, brain ceasing to function as she lays completely bare before me, her knees opening slightly as I sink to mine.

“No one’s ever said that about me before,” she whispers, “No one has ever called me magnificent. But you’ve called me that twice.”

I have?

Perhaps I’ve never realized it because it’s the truth. Her beauty is magnificent. But her soul, her heart—the way she treats others with kindness and patience—those are the things that make her marvelous. Every piece I learn is more magnificent than the last.

I press a kiss against the inside of her thigh, and my breath dances along her skin. Nathalie jerks, and my laugh is husky as I scrape my teeth against the sensitive flesh, causing her to buck upwards.

“I’ve said it because it’s true.”

I let the truth sink into the words.

“I’m nobody—Oh, jeez,” she moans as I drag my tongue up and down her slit to cut off her rebuttal.

She begins to writhe as I pull her clit between my lips, and I chase the sounds, doubling down at whatever moment makes her moan and jerk until she’s panting beneath my touch.

“Don’t stop,” she demands, taking my head between her palms and guiding me back between her thighs.

Heard and understood.

I’m a man starved as I lick and suck, slowly sliding a finger inside of her, working it in and out in time with my tongue. As her muscles loosen, I add another, curling my fingers upward.

Nathalie’s movements grow erratic, and she grips the sheets, her hips bucking upward as I twirl my tongue around her clit. With my free hand, I press down on her abdomen, keeping her in place as her orgasm begins to take over.

Her moans are choppy and loud as I chase the sound, growing harder with every moan and sigh she releases.

“Deon, I think I might—” Nathalie releases a moan as she squeezes around my fingers, legs twitching as she orgasms.

A smug smile on my face blooms as she peaks beneath me. Fuck. There’s nothing greater than hearing those sounds, especially when I’m the cause of them.

Her breathing levels out, and her pupils are shot when she opens them, obvious shock on her face.

“I have never felt like that before,” she breathes, flopping onto the bed and worming her way to the other side. She leans over the edge, head dangling as she riffles through her suitcase .

I cough out a laugh at the ridiculousness of her position and snap a mental photo of the moment. I weave over her clothes, peppering the floor, and crouch down.

“Very flattering pose,” I tease, and she peers up beneath her lashes.

“I thought so. Are you going to paint me like one of your French girls?”

I jerk back, frowning. “I have no French girls.”

She pops up.

“Holy shit, my body is like goo.” Nathalie spins around, resting on her knees. “You have also clearly never seen The Titanic. It’s a quote. From a movie.”

“Oh.” Nathalie giggles, shoving me aside to ransack her bag. “What are you looking for?” I ask, staring intently at the way her ass is high in the air.

My cock hardens beneath my sweatpants, and I rub my palm over the shaft, desperate for the friction.

“Aha!” Nathalie spins, a massive box of condoms in her grip. “I’m looking for these .” She wiggles her brows, and my stomach bottoms out. “Take your pants off,” she commands, and my hands fly to the band of my sweatpants, jerking them off my body as quickly as possible.

My brain struggles to keep up with what’s happening as my heart races. Nathalie pulls a condom from the box and then shoves me onto the bed, straddling my hips.

My dick grazes the inside of her thigh, and I groan, the sensation zapping down my spine. Nathalie wastes no time, tearing the condom open and rolling it down my shaft.

She’s barely touched me, and my dick twitches in anticipation.

“I don’t think it will fit,” Nathalie whispers, eyes darting down, “and I’m still a little afraid to look it in the eye, but I’m going to try.”

Look it in the eye?

I start to ask if she’s referring to my dick when she grabs my shaft and guides it to her entrance, slowly sinking on the tip. Nathalie moans, gripping my shoulders as I stretch her, and she lowers, taking another inch.

She lifts her hips again, sinking about halfway, and her eyes pop open when a groan tumbles from my lips. Fuck, she’s tight, and every wiggle is a test of restraint as she works me deeper.

Her lips meet mine for a slow kiss allowing her muscles to relax, and she drops lower onto my cock, squeezing me with a vice grip. I capture her moan with a kiss before she pulls away, releasing a small squeal.

“Holy shit. Are you all the way in?” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I can’t look.”

I peer down at where we connect and grimace.

“If I have to guess, I would say you have about three more inches.” She sucks in a breath. “We can go slow,” I assure her. It may kill me and be a test of my mental strength, but we can move at whatever pace she needs.

“ Three?! ” Those brown eyes snap open, full of determination. “I’m going to hold your shoulders while you thrust up,” she says, nodding her head in agreement with herself. “That’s the only way that monster, ” she gazes down, “is going to fit inside me.”

I can’t fight the laugh that escapes, and as my chest rumbles, Nathalie slides down my cock, fully seated as her hips flush with mine.

“Oh, fuck ,” she groans. I white knuckle the sheets, giving her the time she needs to adjust. After a torturously long minute, her hips begin to roll against my pelvis, and she leans back, hands gripping my knees as her pace grows faster and faster.

Fuck, she was made for me.She’s tight, but we fit perfectly together.

“That’s it,” I say, marveling at the way she chases her pleasure as she rides me, head thrown back with abandon, breasts heaving up and down, as her pussy clenches around my dick. “Look how well you take me.”

I guide her gaze to where we meet, and her pupils blow.

“ Deon, ” she moans, throwing her head back in pleasure.

“Fucking magnificent riding my cock.”

Her breath hitches, and her cheeks flush at the words. I’ve read her romance books; I know what she likes.

I’ve never seen a sight as beautiful as her. Long, brown locks cascade down her back instead of her usual braids, and I itch to run my fingers through her hair.

I work my hips upward in rhythm with her movements, and pressure begins to build at the base of my spine as she clenches around me.

“Nathalie, I’m not going to…” I trail off, slightly embarrassed I’m already close. I haven’t had sex in years; it was a bit cocky to think I would last long at all.

“I’m with you,” she says, leaning forward and capturing my lips between hers. I thrust into her, barrelling closer and closer as she grinds against me. She moves along my jawline, soft kisses tingling against my skin as she begins to tighten around my cock.

Ecstasy takes over my body as I inch closer to the ledge, ready to tumble over into an orgasm.

She bucks, and the pressure cascades over, a zap of electricity traveling down my spine until my head falls onto her shoulder, and I’m coming as she rides me.

My vision blurs at the edges as Nathalie continues to move, her breath erratic as she bounces up and down, chasing her orgasm.

“I need you to kiss me,” she says, and I do as she commands, pulling her bottom lip between my teeth as she moves. “I think—I think it might happen again.”

With the last of my energy, I tilt my hips upward, hoping to hit the deeper part inside of her. Nathalie moans, and I can see when the orgasm strikes her. She gulps a deep, unsteady breath before her body begins to shake, and she falls against my chest.

We sit chest to chest in silence as I begin to soften beneath her, the last of my orgasm fluttering away. Nathalie cracks open an eye, lips twitching with a smile.

“Don’t let this go to your head,” she says, nose scrunching, “but that was the best sex I have ever had in my life.”

My grin is victorious as the compliment immediately goes to my head, where my ego grows three sizes. I lift her off my lap, disposing of the condom and grabbing a warm towel to clean her up.

“That was way better than the last guy,” she says, and my footsteps falter. “He tried to do this weird jerking thing with his tong—”

“Nathalie,” I choke out.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t talk about other men when I just got done fucking the breath out of you. They don’t exist any longer. Got it?”

Her eyes widen, and I heave air into my lungs to push away the unwelcome, overwhelming jealousy that smashes against my chest. I don’t want to hear about the men she’s slept with before me or how they couldn’t give her any of the pleasure she deserves.

“Got it.” She grimaces. “You can tell me about one of your hook-ups,” she offers, but her eyes flicker in a way that tells me she doesn’t want to know, the same way I don’t want to know about her past hook-ups.

I offer her another one of my shameful truths.

“You’re the only person I’ve slept with other than Savannah.”

Nathalie gasps.

“What?” I sit down beside her, gently wiping her skin with the towel. I avert my gaze, but her hand brings my eyes to hers. “Will you tell me more? If you’re comfortable.”

The gentleness of her question cracks the last chink in my armor.

“I met Savannah in high school. She was my first and…after I walked in on her and Brian, it’s all I could picture.” Her fingernails trail along my forearm in a soothing motion. “I tried a one-night stand as a rookie, but before we got to my hotel room, I sent her away and then threw up.”

Nathalie tilts my chin with her thumb, forcing my gaze to hers.

“You’re the first person I’ve trusted enough.” Her eyes soften, alight with understanding. “Talking about sex with Savannah never felt like something I could do. We had sex, but the one time I asked to talk about maybe trying some new things, she shut me down.”

Why change what’s working ?

It wasn't working. Every time we had sex, it felt like she was drifting further and further away, and I couldn’t understand why.

Now I know it’s because I wasn’t enough for her. She was sleeping with my best friend and teammate instead. It wasn’t working because we weren’t working, and it was easier for her to pretend than tell me the truth: she didn’t love me at all.

She listens quietly through it all, and by the end of my confession, I’m exhausted.

“We never cuddled after sex,” I say quietly.

I never found that fact odd or concerning until I held Nathalie after we hooked up on Halloween. There was something settling about the action. The small anxious knot in my chest disappeared entirely as we lay there.

Savannah rarely wanted to be touched after sex, and I respected that, but I think…I think it’s something I needed and didn’t know how to ask for.

“ Oh. ” The single syllable holds a thousand unsaid words. She pulls her lip between her teeth, and her eyes shine with unshed tears. She quickly rises to slip on her nightgown, and when she sits back down, it’s right beside me.

Her touch is gentle and questioning as she rubs my shoulder. This breaks every rule. It was only supposed to be physical. My past is not her burden to bear, but with Nathalie, I’m safe enough to ask for what I need.

No one has ever made me feel as safe as Nathalie has in such a short time.

“I think I like cuddling after sex. I think that’s important to me,” I admit, “I know it breaks rule number two, but—”

“Never apologize for asking for what you need,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Aftercare is important, and it’s something I need, too.”

Nathalie shifts to lie on the bed and pats the space beside her. Her gaze is searing, and the intimacy in it is overwhelming.

I flop onto the bed and drag her against my chest. She sighs, leaning into the embrace, and I begin to play with her hair, smoothing it away from her face.

The sex was amazing, but this moment, the soft, quiet intimacy she shows me, is terrifying and overwhelmingly real, and I crave it. The way she listens without judgment and validates my thoughts and feelings is what makes her magnificent.

It’s her soul.

She has a magnificent soul.