18. Chapter 18

"The guys in green are South Africa, and the guys in black are New Zealand," I said, pulling my feet up onto Jamie's couch and tucking them under his warm ass. In the corner of the apartment, Brady let off a huge resonating snore and kicked a leg upwards.

I leaned forward to grab a handful of …

"Crudites! Vegetables? What the hell? To watch the Rugby World Cup final? Really?" I hovered my hand above the dish, unwilling, unable to close my fist around carrot and celery batons. "Where's the dip? There's not even any dip. How am I supposed to eat veggies without dip?"

Jamie pushed the plate closer to me. "You're a recovering professional athlete who's playing in next week's Cavs game. Healthy snacks from hereon. I could go make you a couple of boiled eggs, if you want? Or a tuna steak."

I pulled a face.

"Besides, Katie will murder me if she finds out you've been snarfing any more British junk food. So, who are we rooting for?"

"Pfft, fine." I took two carrot sticks, shoved them both into my mouth, and sat back on the couch. "Wow, I am so satisfied," I said, my mouth full of carrot chunks. "Those raw veggies have surely sated all my cravings. I could not be more satisfied if I tried."

Jamie rolled his eyes in the way that said, you're cute, but I will not be swayed. I loved that about him. It was a huge part of why I loved him. His dogged determination to stick to the plan. His unfaltering assuredness of said plan. His sheer dedication when executing the plan, or anything else. He didn't do things by halves.

All or nothing. Balls to the wall. We will triumph. And I loved that. It was what got me through my injury. Knowing Jamie was there to oversee my recovery. Keep me on track. Keep me focused.

And I loved that … for him.

Not for me, though.

From between the arm of the sofa and the back cushions, I discreetly extracted a Wagon Wheel, a delicious chocolatey, jammy, biscuity, mallowy, slightly cardboardy British teatime snack, which I had tucked there earlier in case of this very outcome. A little melted and stuck to the wrapper, but it probably still tasted the same as I remembered from my childhood.

"Who are we cheering for?" Jamie repeated from his end of the couch, a piece of raw broccoli poised at his lips. How that man could make a hunk of cold, unseasoned veg seem sexy was beyond me, but … there we were. It almost made me want to toss my slice of nostalgia over my shoulder and gobble the tiny tree right out of his hand. Almost.

It took me a few moments to clear my head and remember he'd asked a question. As always, he looked distractingly good. In bamboo-soft, grey sweatpants and a pristine, white cotton T-shirt, which pulled deliciously over his chest and skimmed the muscles on his stomach. His decorated forearms and biceps were on full display for me.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Jamie laughed. "Who do we want to win?" He said it slowly, like I was new to the language.

"Right, um, well, we usually back the All Blacks if England or Wales or Ireland or Scotland aren't playing."

He nodded as though it all made perfect sense to him.

I took a secret bite of Wagon Wheel. So weird and delicious. Exactly like I remembered. "Actually, I'm just going to text Mum and let her know we're watching the match." I removed my phone from my back pocket and shot Jamie a glance. My heart rate spiked, my palms suddenly felt sweaty. "What should I say?"

"Huh?" Now it was his turn to look at me confused. "What do you mean, what should you say?"

"Like …" My cheeks heated and found it difficult to look him in the eyes. I scrubbed a hand through the back of my hair. "Uh … should I say … just watching the rugby final with my boyfriend?" I tried to say it as casually as possible, but my voice still caught on the end word.

He frowned at me, and my stomach flipped over my two bites of Wagon Wheel. I had finally taken it too far. Asked him for something he wasn't comfortable with.

I'd wanted to make us official. Since last week at the Bobcats arena when we'd made up. When I told Jamie I loved him. And when Jamie said he loved me back. Let everyone know just how much we loved each other. But going by the expression on his face, he was nowhere near as ready as I was. His eyebrows were pulled together in the centre, his cheek lifted, revealing one side of his teeth, like a snarly, but sexy, hound.

"What?" he said, his eyes now narrowed to thin lines.

"I mean …" Oh fuck, how could I take it back? "If you're not ready for that, we can totally wait, or you know, if you want something more casual …"

He spent another few agonising moments staring me down, frowning as though I'd skated all day and hadn't bothered to shower and the smell was now at the level of wilting flowers and knocking out passers-by. Then his face lifted from abject horror to realisation.

"Boyfriend! Oh, Bowie." He slapped himself on the forehead. "It felt so natural for you to use that word, I didn't even notice it. Of course I'm your boyfriend."

In an instant, Jamie closed the gap between us, both hands coming up to cradle my jaw, his mouth moving down onto mine. A sweet kiss, soft, gentle, but with the promise of better, hotter things to come.

"Of course you're my boyfriend, you silly …" He looked into my face like he was searching for the right word.

"Numpty?" I supplied. "Wazzock? Pillock? Bellend?"

He laughed again, loud and deep. The kind that travelled straight through the sofa into my spine and made me feel warm and fuzzy and home. "None of those. Though I could listen to you talk British all day." He pulled me into a hug and I simply melted into him. "I love you, Archie Bowman, my boyfriend. Wait—Is that a candy bar melting into the front of my shirt?"

"Wagon Wheel," I squeaked as we eased apart, revealing the chocolate snack stuck to his chest, like half a puck.

"What is that?! A semi-circle candy bar?" He peeled the biscuit from his shirt and sniffed at it gingerly.

"It was a full circle just a moment ago."

"I thought you tasted like sugar." He tossed my snack onto the coffee table.

"Hey, broccoli breath, we should get this shirt off you, because you know, it might stain," I said, though I had no intentions of rushing it to the laundry room to rectify. I climbed on top of his lap, my knees either side of him, and eased his shirt over his head. Slowly, in a strip tease kind of way. Gradually revealing more and more of his muscles and ink.

"Sneaky little Brit. This was your plan all along."

I folded my arms over my chest and gave him a pointed scowl. "If you think I would waste an entire Wagon Wheel for a quick fuck on the sofa …" I wrapped my hands around the back of his head, tilted his face up to mine, and crashed my lips down against his.

In an instant, my tongue was in his mouth. Seeking the beautiful familiarity of him, drawing out those noises that made me feel like a king. Or a god. Or the horseback commander of some shouty, Roman, half-naked army. I was in charge of those noises. Only I could extract them from him. A sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper. Or a cry and a benediction. Those were mine. Just for me. And they travelled straight to my cock.

Jamie locked his arms around my back and thrust his hips upwards. His growing urgency pressed against my ass.

I broke the kiss, but didn't tear my mouth from his. "Then, you'd be absolutely right," I said, finishing my sentence finally.

"Oh, little winger." Jamie dragged a hand through my hair. "I'm not going to fuck you." He placed his thumb over my lips to stop my protestation before it had even formed. "I'm going to carry you into the bedroom and make love to my boyfriend. It's going to be slow, and I'm going to take my time. Enjoy every second. I'm going to bring you to the brink over and over. Edge you into insanity. You'll be begging for release."

"Yes, please," I said, my voice gravelled by desperation. My lips found his again, and my fingers climbed down the steps on his stomach.

Jamie grabbed the hem of my T-shirt and slowly lifted it over my head, tossing it to my side of the couch as soon as it was off. I tried to reunite our mouths, but he held a firm hand against my chest.

"Let me look at you," he whispered, as though he were uttering an unreasonable wish into a well. Like he was asking for his own country, or immortality, or an actual space rocket in the shape of a massive dildo.

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, and furrowed his brow, as his eyes drank in everything from the top of my untamable blonde tangles, down my stomach, to the rapidly growing tent in the front of my sweatpants. He looked as though he might cry. From happiness or overwhelming horn, who knew?

"Let's get you to my bed." He brushed an errant lock of hair from my face and kissed me again. "Our bed."

"But, Kitty, I should probably walk because I'm not sure your back can handle carrying the three-hundred-and-fifty-pounds of solid muscle I am, and still have enough strength remaining to give me a good dicking down."

He laughed. "Well, we wouldn't want me to expend my tiny energy reserves hauling your ass about the apartment."

I jumped off his lap like he'd lit a fire underneath me and raced to his bedroom. I sat at the foot of his bed and slid out of my sweatpants, leaving them on the floor at my feet. A few moments later Jamie appeared, looking every bit the chiselled, tattooed sex god that he was. He paused in front of me, his hair mussed from our snogging sesh, his breaths coming out fast and shallow.

This was my favourite part of being intimate with him. Sure, coming was fun. Really fun, actually. Like, super amounts of fun, but this, the anticipation, the sheer thrill coursing through every vein in my body, like electricity charged through them, was intoxicating. I could get addicted to this bit.

I hooked a finger under the elastic waistband of his sweatpants, pretending I was oblivious to the enormous erection threatening to shuck the top of its constraints, and planted a delicate kiss against his happy valley.

Jamie hissed out a breath. I buried my nose into the fabric of his pants and breathed him in. That cologne, holy crap that cologne, and the smell of his laundry, and the soft, lived-in scent of him, his skin. I breathed him in again, then leant back on my elbows so that I could look at him.

"Fucking hell, Kitty, you are literally perfect."

Jamie did a sort of shy head shake, pushed his already sexed up hair off his face, and ran his hand down the planes of his chest to the front of his pants, gripping his cock through the fabric.

My eyes went so wide they almost fell out of my skull. I wriggled backwards, like an upside down commando dude on an assault course, up to the head of the bed. Jamie crawled up over me, caging me with his massive arms.

"I've been thinking about this all day," I said, as Jamie trailed hot, wet kisses along my collarbone. "It's been so long. I'm having withdrawal."

"You had a BJ this morning. And then a wank when you gave me a BJ."

"Yeah, what's your point? Also, I love that you say wank now, by the way."

"Are you … Do you ever think about anything besides sex?"

"Do you mean, as well as sex, or in place of? Because if it's the former, I sometimes also think about hockey and, or, food. If it's the latter, no. The answer is no."

"You are impossible!" He dragged his stubbled chin down my bare chest, making me squeal-laugh.

"Okay, okay." I held up my hands as though surrendering. "I think about other things, okay?"

Jamie laid a kiss at the juncture of my jaw. "Go on, humour me."

"I think about you. About how much I love you."

I lowered my voice, because it felt appropriate to be quiet. Like we were in some fancy pants gallery, observing the priceless art and antiques. I had stumbled into the classic sculpture room, obviously, and was looking at an exquisite marble piece named Super Fucking Hot Doctor with Super Fucking Sexy Tattoos Looks Like an Absolute God Hovering Over Me Getting Ready to Pound Me Senseless. Or something along those lines. "I think about that all the time," I said.

He was above me now, gazing down into my eyes.

"I think about what you look like when you're asleep. Or when you're eating food that I've made for you. I think about how much I love cooking for you. Cooking you things my mum taught me or thinking up new recipes or twisting old ones. I think about how, when we're sitting at your breakfast bar eating our tea, I've never been happier."

"Oh, Bowie," he said, his eyes flicking over the entirety of my face, as though he was trying to memorise it.

"I think about when we went swimming in the lake and I saw your tattoos for the first time, but, like, I also saw you for the first time then. Not the super serious doctor guy with the perfectly-put-together everything. Or the guy who wore a Henley in a million degree weather. But this guy, right here. The one who pretends he hasn't noticed all my hidden snacks. The one who still holds my hand if we need a trolley at the grocery store. The one who smiles from the side of the rink whenever I catch his eye during training. The one who comes to training every day to supervise because it's ‘his job' and he definitely doesn't have anything more important to be doing in his office. That's the guy I see and love." I cupped my hands over either side of his face. "I think about that guy all the time."

"I love you," Jamie said simply, but it was all I needed. He brought his lips down onto mine and claimed my mouth like he might starve to death if he didn't. "I love you so much." He took his kisses lower over my chest. "I don't have all the words to tell you how much I love you. Or at least, I don't right now." Lower still over my stomach. "But I can find the words later, if you want them."

He slid his fingers under the elastic waistband of my boxers and peeled them down. I sucked in a breath as the cool air wound around me, and Jamie's beautiful face hovered inches above my cock.

"I might not have the words right now, but I could show you." He closed the gap and laid the gentlest kiss against the base of my cock. Ran the flat of his tongue up its length. Took the head into his mouth.

I cried out, pushed against the headboard, bucked my hips into his face.

But just as quickly as it had started, Jamie released me, and trailed his kisses back up my chest. I tried not to whimper at the loss. I could still feel his mouth on me. The places where his lips and tongue had been were now tattooed onto my skin.

"Jesus, you look so good like this," he said. "In our bed, on your back, waiting for me." He hovered over me again, leaning on his big arms, a half smile playing on his lips, his biceps twitched under the muscle extension.

"Let's get these pants off you," I said, tugging Jamie's sweatpants and boxers down in one, making sure my fingers smoothed over the curve of his ass and the backs of his thighs as they went.

He pulled them down the rest of the way and kicked them off the bed, exposing the scar on his knee. Before last week, Jamie often wore pants or long shorts, hiding the evidence of his pro-hockey past from me. Even when we fucked, he didn't fully undress. There were times when he forgot to cover up, or else was too preoccupied to consider it. Like at the lake the first time, or when he fucked me in the shower.

But since last week, he hadn't tried to hide it as often. He even wore only underpants in the apartment one time, and let me explore the scar tissue with touch.

"Does it still hurt?" I'd asked him, fingers travelling idly over the smooth, silvery skin.

"My knee or the surgery scars?"

"Both."

He'd thought about it. "The knee sometimes. When I exercise a lot or sit for a long time. The scar, not really. It tingles sometimes. I don't know, I can't really explain it. It doesn't hurt, though. The biggest pain was in my head, or my heart, whatever. Maybe it's both. But I've found the best medicine for that." He'd kissed me then. His way of saying, You, you're the best medicine.

"Naw, you're so cheesy," I said. "Am I your love PT?"

"How am I the cheesy one when you come up with lines like that?"

"Am I your love PT, though?"

He'd pulled me into a one-armed hug. "You're my everything," he said and kissed my forehead.

"Cheeeeeeese."

"It feels fine today," Jamie said, catching me looking at his knee, and pulling me from the memory.

I grinned at him. "Good, because I need you in tiptop condition for the intensive drilling you're about to give me."

"Such a way with words," he said. He leant over me to retrieve something from the nightstand.

"Thanks. I learned that at Shakespeare school. Which is mandatory in the UK. It sits right between Spice Girls school and Sherlock Holmes But Only The Ones With Benedict Cumberbatch school."

Jamie held his thumb over my lips, and tilted his head down so his mouth was next to my ear. His breath tickled. "At some point, you're going to be quiet so I can fuck you."

I licked his thumb, then knocked his hand away. "Jokes on you. I'm never quiet."

"In that case …" He laid a kiss just below my ear, and I felt him breathing in the scent of me, then he pushed up onto his knees between my thighs. "I'm gonna have to make you forget how to talk."

Jamie filled his palm with lube and spread it to his fingertips. "Let's get you ready for me."

"Sir, yes, sir," I said, but the words caught in my throat as Jamie drew soft circles on my opening with slick fingers.

He positioned himself so that his thighs butted mine upwards, giving himself better access, and loomed over me so he could watch my expression as he eased a finger inside me.

My jaw went slack. My eyes locked onto his.

"Good god, Bowie, you're so fucking tight. You'd think, after the amount of time I've spent inside you the past three weeks, you'd at least be a little stretched out." He curled his finger, massaging my prostate. Added another finger.

I whined onto the top of my forearm and lifted my ass off the bed to drive him deeper. When I opened my eyes, Jamie was squeezing the head of his cock.

"I could get off just from feeling how tight you are. Knowing that you'll be gripping me like that in a second. It's fucking unreal."

Jamie continued to stretch me, fucking me with his fingers, slowly at first, picking up pace, as he lazily pumped his cock. I didn't touch my own, which was leaking all over my stomach, for fear of exploding like a Catherine Wheel the moment I made contact.

"I can't … do this any longer … need to be inside you," he said through staccato breaths. And then he was above me, resting on his elbows on either side of me, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance. "Bring your knees up, baby. Not too high. I won't last if you do."

I did as he asked, and slowly he pushed inside me.

"Fuuuuucccck,"he whispered, his forehead pressing into my temple.

I arched my hips, inviting him in deeper until he was fully seated. He pushed away to bring his unfocused eyes to mine, and he began thrusting.

Slow and soft, with my arms pinned above my head.

A little faster with open-mouthed kisses and whispered, "fucks".

Faster still with breaths exchanged directly into each other's mouths.

My fingers dug into his ass cheeks, urging him closer, harder, and I bucked into the delicious friction against his stomach.

"Kitty, I'm going to come," I would yell, and Jamie would pause, holding me steady and tight until the sweet, blissful sting of my pending orgasm subsided. And then he would begin again.

"Fuck, Bow, baby. Can't go much longer," he gritted out after the third or fourth time he'd edged me. He had pushed my knees up so high they pressed against my shoulders. "Bowie. Bowie. Bowie," he cried out, beautiful agony etched all over his face.

His pace had reached piston levels. I slipped a hand between our bodies and wrapped my fingers around my cock.

"Jamie!" I managed a few frantic pumps before my orgasm shot across my stomach, and I screamed out my release.

Jamie collapsed on top of me, his back curved, and when he came inside me, he was at the hilt. He cried out into my neck, beautiful throaty moans that vibrated throughout my entire body. And then he went slack, his muscles finally relaxed.

He pushed up onto one elbow and cradled my face with his other hand. His hair stood up on end, his cheeks were flushed, his pupils blown out, his lips plump and pink from all the kissing and biting. Damn, he was gorgeous. Guaranteed, I didn't look that good. My skin felt raw from his stubble scratches. I was sweaty, hair glued to my forehead. Jizz all over me.

I wanted to say something to him. You're beautiful, or Fuck me, that was magical, or Thank you for fucking me so hard I've forgotten how to speak, but I'd forgotten how to speak. So I laughed instead. Jamie did too. Like, neither of us could quite believe it had been that good.

Eventually he rolled off me, and we laid side by side, silent and dripping, while the aftershocks subsided and our breaths returned to normal.

"Kitty, I've left my phone on the sofa. Pretty please can you get it for me?"

He propped himself up on an elbow and stared at me.

"I would get it myself, but I can't move, and my bum is leaking," I said.

This garnered a snort from him. "Why do you need your phone?"

"I need to ring my mum and tell her what just happened."

He raised an eyebrow.

I pursed my lips together to stop the laughter. "I need to tell her we're officially boyfriends now."

"God, I love you," he said, throwing himself back on top of me, and not making any attempt to fetch my phone, or even pass me a towel to clean up all the cum.