Sage

Sage

The next day, I woke up to an empty bed. I lean up on my elbows and look around to find the bedroom totally vacant. I frown at that, tossing the blankets off me before I open the bedroom door and begin walking downstairs. The smell of something cooking instantly hits my nose, and when I crest the bottom of the stairs and step into the kitchen, I’m surprised by what I see.

A shirtless Trevor Michaels is at the stovetop, folding over what looks like a perfectly cooked omelet.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He turns to face me, his shoulders slumping as he slides the omelet onto a prepared plate already lined with fresh berries and two pieces of bacon.

“Dammit, I was trying to get this done before you got up.”

“Since when do you cook?” I ask as he pushes the plate in front of my usual seat at the kitchen island.

Trev rolls his eyes at me as he walks around the island and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into him as he speaks.

“I’ve lived on my own for over twelve years. I’ve picked up a thing or two.”

“Then why the hell am I the one always cooking?” I grumble.

He smirks at me as he leans down and nips at my earlobe.

“Because you’re so fucking good at it.”

I scoff and push him away, but he doesn’t budge, pressing his lips against the sensitive spot behind my ear as his hold on me tightens. He runs his lips up and down the column of my neck before stopping just above my lips.

Looking up, I see his bright blue eyes stall on me as he smiles gently.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

I want to shrug him away, tell him to knock it off, and to please drop the whole birthday thing. But at the same time, a warm feeling spreads across my chest as I feel my throat begin to tighten with emotion. Fuck him. I hate it when he does shit like this to me.

“Thank you,” I rasp. Pushing away the building emotion, I blink hard a few times before I speak again.

“And thank you for the breakfast, though if I’m honest, a perfect birthday would have been me waking up to be eaten, not eating an omelet. But I guess beggars can’t be choosers,” I sigh as I pull away from him and move toward the chair.

Fortunately, I don’t make it far before Trevor is on me, literally. He must have forgotten we aren’t on the field, and he’s not on defense because he tackles me in the middle of the kitchen, spinning us at the last minute so his back is the one that lands against the hard stone floor.

He doesn’t even give me time to give him shit, though, before he is yanking down my boy short panties and ripping off his T-shirt that I slept in.

“Come ride my face, babygirl.”

Some women are shy about sitting on a man’s face, but the way I see it, it gives him the best and easiest access, and if he dies, everyone will high-five at his funeral, so it’s fine. I don’t hesitate to climb over his body before settling myself right on top of him. His hands grip the flesh of my inner thighs as he squeezes tight and moans.

“Fuck, you taste so goddamn good, baby.”

I grind myself against him, letting out a moan as his tongue comes to my clit.

“Trev,” I gasp.

“Yes, birthday girl?” he mutters against my skin.

“More,” I say as I reach down and wind my fingers through his thick blond hair, forcing his mouth back on me.

I love that he lets me use him as much as he uses me. We know exactly what the other needs before they can even express what they want. I’ve had some great orgasms in my life, self-produced and from others, but nothing like the ones Trevor gives me. Every. Fucking. Time.

I feel his hands slide between my thighs as one finger slips inside my pussy, moving in the perfect rhythm to have me trembling right on the edge.

“Such a perfect girl,” Trevor praises. “Are you going to let me make you feel good everywhere tonight, baby?” he asks as his other hand massages the back of my thigh before one of his fingers applies slight pressure against my asshole.

“Not sure I can handle all you have to offer back there just yet,” I admit honestly with a laugh.

Trevor’s laugh rumbles against my clit, causing a shudder of pleasure to run through me as he does.

“Don’t worry, Raven. We will work up to it. I have a feeling it’ll be your new favorite thing before you know it,” he says as he presses a little bit more, practically penetrating me as he wraps his mouth around my clit and sucks.

My vision spots as my body practically jerks in response. I feel my pussy pulse around Trevor’s finger as I moan and shake against him until my orgasm comes to an end. Blowing out a labored breath, I crawl off him before laying down butt-ass naked against his cool floors.

“Happy fucking birthday to me.”

I tried to get a birthday fuck in before Trevor and I had to go to work, but he told me I had to eat the food he made because it took him too long to make it. To which I obviously pouted because what kind of bullshit birthday girl gets denied dick? He promised he’d make it up to me tonight, and he better.

When we get to the training facility, we go our separate ways when he goes to the locker room, and I step onto the field to set up my equipment for the day. I’m honestly getting sick of this shit. I didn’t mind it at first, but the marketing department has been up my ass for better quality Q&A content from some of the players who just don’t want to participate. I don’t know what they expect me to do about it, it’s not these guys’ job to be a media lightning rod, and it’s not mine to make them into one. I mean, maybe it is, but I don’t want the job if that’s the case because it’s not my specialty.

I want to bake, even though I know I’d make virtually no money doing so. I mean, I think we all know at least one if not five people who have opened bakeries, and how many truly last? In a world where money really didn’t matter, and I could just do whatever I wanted all day long, that’s what I would do. I’d bake and decorate until my hands were sore, and then I’d go home and make Trevor fuck me all better for the next day.

I pause in my steps, that first instinctual thought catching me off guard for a moment. Trevor and I are together, obviously, we have been in one way or another for months now, but I’ve never imagined us having a genuine long drawn out future until right now. Until it seemed so natural, so easy, so destined. I don’t want to invest too much into all of this in case it blows up in my face, but we get along too well. He’s too great in his own pain-in-the-ass way, and I feel myself falling harder and faster than I should.

“Sage!” my dad calls out, causing my stomach to twist with displeasure.

I abandon my equipment and walk over to see him texting on his phone in the doorway.

“What’s up, Coach?”

He glances up at me before he continues texting while he speaks.

“Your landlord says he hasn’t seen you around. Are you not staying there or what? You just wasting my money for the fun of it?”

I do my best to suppress my eye roll at his attitude as I speak.

“No, I haven’t been staying there, but honestly, I’m tired of you being in my business. Let the landlord know that I’ll take over the rent. Or terminate it, and I’ll get my own place, whatever.”

“Like you can afford that on the chump change you’re making here,” he scoffs.

“I’ll figure it out, Dad. I know you’ve got far more important things on your plate than me.”

“Oh quit being so fucking dramatic,” he says as he pockets his phone.

A few players sneak by us as they step onto the field, and a pair of concerned blue eyes capture my attention in the hallway for a moment before I’m back to looking at the hardened ones of my father.

“I’m just saying, if I’m gonna pay for the place, I expect you to use it.”

I don’t say anything, mainly because I don’t know what to say to him anymore. Trevor seems to think now is the best time to butt in, slipping by us as his eyes come to me.

“Happy birthday, Sage.”

He doesn’t say more, but his eyes do come to Dad’s in a harsh judging glare before he’s jogging over for warm-ups. The air around us thickens at his words, and I hear my dad take a deep breath before he speaks quietly.

“Didn’t know it was already your birthday.”

I shrug, doing my best to keep my tone even as my throat becomes hot.

“Why would you? You stopped keeping track a long time ago.”

Without another word, I turn on my heel and head back to my camera to get ready for practice. Dad doesn’t try to follow after me, and I’m thankful for it. Being in a room with him is taxing enough.