Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend #4)(62)

Miller grips my ass cheeks and holds tight. “Take your time or it’ll hurt more.”

I still and close my eyes, trying to concentrate on anything else but the ache in my ass.

“Talon, breathe.”

Yes. Miller giving orders is what I need right now. Handing him that control relaxes me—settles something inside me somehow.

He massages my lower back and ass while I concentrate on my breathing, and our eyes meet. It’s the encouragement I need. Miller is amazingly patient with me like he always is. It’s always been our dynamic. I’m the loose cannon he reins in, and I make him loosen up.

Although, right now, he’s anything but loose. His body is wound tight, his jaw set hard, and as I take more of his cock, it becomes apparent he’s trying to restrain himself.

I slowly rotate my hips and take him in shallow thrusts until I’m fully seated.

I can’t stop looking at Miller’s dark eyes, hooded in pleasure. The sting lessens when I know how much he’s enjoying this, and then as it fades away, the pain turns into need.

I lean down and kiss Miller’s addictive mouth while I take a few more minutes to adjust. With his cock deep inside me, I’ve never experienced this kind of want before. I want to move, I want to stay still, I want to beg … Basically, I want everything and nothing, and now I’m not even making sense.

My mouth nips and teases his while I test out small thrusts that have me seeing stars. Miller moans, the sound so raw.

When he thinks I can handle it, his hands grip my hips and give a little push. It takes him deeper than I’ve tried, and the sting comes back, but I don’t care, because his cock pegs my prostate, and I shudder.

“Shane.” My voice comes out pleading.

Miller takes that as encouragement and does it again, and then again, until I have the confidence to do it.

Sitting up straight, I place my hands on his chest for leverage and begin to fuck myself on his cock. Over and over, I want to feel that push of pleasure, that burst of need.

“Lean back,” Miller orders. “Put your hands on the mattress beside my legs.”

As I do that, Miller grips my thighs and thrusts upward.

Unintelligible things fall from my mouth, because I didn’t know this could get any better. Miller’s trying to kill me, I’m sure of it.

“Do it again,” I say.

Miller breaks out into a cocky smile and begins a slow pace but quickly picks up speed.

All I can do is throw back my head and enjoy the ride.

When his giant hand leaves my thigh and wraps around my leaking cock, I know this is almost over. With the feeling in my ass mixed with the tight grip Miller has on my dick, my body explodes as cum shoots all over Miller’s chest.

I ride out the pleasure and glance down at the beautiful sight just in time to see the last drops of cum fall onto his smooth skin.

I breathe heavy while Miller continues to move inside me until the friction in my ass almost becomes too much. I’m close to needing to ask to stop when he says, “I’m so close. So … fucking … clo—”

Miller grunts and releases inside me, and I suddenly wish there was no condom separating us.

I collapse on top of Miller, and he holds me close. We’re covered in sweat, my cum is cooling on our skin, his cock is softening in my ass, and I know we need to move. But I don’t wanna.

All I want is to recover and then do it again. And again.

Words like forever float around my brain, and I’ve never had that before.

“Shane?”

“Yeah,” Miller croaks.

“You’re so worth the risk. You’re worth everything.”





Chapter Twenty-Four





MILLER





It doesn’t take long for me to realize Talon’s using positive reinforcement as a training method and even less time for him to realize I’ve figured it out.

We stay wrapped in our little bubble of training and fucking—and the occasional visit to my family—until my leg is better, and I begin to find hope again.

Reconditioning to get back to NFL level is harder than I thought it would be, and there are some setbacks, which have me wanting to tear my hair out and give up, but Talon’s there to remind me of why we do this.

Football is in our blood. It’s our lives.

Waking up on a Sunday morning in mid-spring, I reach for my phone, which is buzzing. It’s the one morning a week Talon lets me sleep in, and some asshole is calling me at the ungodly hour of ...

Oh. It’s eight fifteen. And it’s also not my phone that’s buzzing.

With a nudge of my hip, I try to rouse Talon. “Your phone won’t shut up.”

“Wha?” Talon reaches blindly for his phone, hits a button, and puts it to his ear. “Yeah. Speak.”

A deep, rumbly laugh that doesn’t belong to Talon or me fills the room. “It’s a video call, dumbass. Nice ear.”

Talon lifts his phone and squints at it. “Trey? What the fuck? What time is it?”

“Geez, you football players are so lazy. Only work for half the year and sleep in the rest of it.”

Talon almost drops the phone as he yawns. “What’s up?”

“Is that ... Is that Shane Miller?” Trey asks.

Fuck. I try to slip out of bed, but Talon pulls me back.