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"I love you."
I gasp, as if I can choke the words back into my body, but I can't take them back and I can't stop my hips, rutting into Bryant like some kind of animal. It feels like I come forever; my cock just keeps pulsing inside him, spurting like a fountain, filling him up with my cum. I’d stay inside him forever if I could, but Bryant moves, pushing me away and out of him.
For a moment I think he's truly pushing me away, offended or disgusted with my confession, and I wilt on the bed. But the next moment I realize, I'm on my knees and Brant is behind me, pouring cool lube down my crack and over himself. He presses himself inside me, and I pant. I just got off, but my cock still hasn't gone all the way down, and it's getting harder all over again with the pressure of him pushing himself inside me.
Being inside Bryant was fucking amazing, but this is where I belong. Taking him. I'm his outlet and he's my escape. I can't think of anything else but him when his cock is stretching me open and filling me so entirely, that I don't know where I end and he begins. And when he starts to thrust inside me, hitting that unbelievable, overwhelming spot inside me, I come undone in so many ways.
My body and my mind both feel like they're unraveling. I lose control of everything and become his entirely.
Except… I've been his since the moment he tracked me down in some shithole warehouse in South Alabama. Since the first time I saw him on that bench press. Since well before I signed a contract giving him ownership of my body.
I am his, and he is mine.
These are just the only moments that I can admit it to myself. It hurts knowing I won't feel this again, with any other person, ever.
Once I've done what needs to be done, to protect us both—but especially him—will he ever want me again? Is a long-distance relationship between two people that can't admit they're in a relationship even possible?
"Say it again," Bryant grunts, and it takes my brain too long to catch up. Say what again? He thrusts his hips into me harder, making stars dance behind my eyelids.
His arm wraps around my chest, pulling me up against his body.
"Say it again," he grumbles into my ear.
Every hair on my body stands on end.
"I love you," I gasp.
Thrusting into me at a punishing pace, Bryant reaches around and strokes my cock, hard and fast.
"Fuck! I love you! Fuuuuck—" I cry out, the heaviness inside me breaking like a dam, and cum sprays everywhere. The pillows, the wall, even the mattress, since the sheets have been pulled off the corner of it in our tussle.
My body shakes with the force of everything crashing down around me, and Bryant lowers me down onto my stomach, still inside me. He rolls his hips, his thrusts firm but slower. I feel his cock pulse inside me, the warmth of his cum filling me.
"I fucking love you, Jack," he says as he collapses on top of me.
The words are both a balm and a punch to my gut. Because this is it. Tonight is all we have.
CHAPTER 30
BRYANT
Walking out of the church basement, I check my phone for messages. None. I keep walking down the path, waving but not stopping to chat with anyone. I'm starting to recognize faces, even just in the past week. The meetings have given me something to focus on other than the lack of communication with Jack, but I don't feel like dawdling or talking to anyone else.
I didn't realize how used to his presence I'd gotten. It’s not just the sex. It’s sitting in my office over lunch, going over game footage; having someone to challenge me through workouts. Watching ESPN in bed.
His absence is a gaping hole, and even just after a week, I feel like I'm going crazy. The only time I see him is on the field, and other than the occasional long eye contact across the field, he barely acknowledges me.
Jack has, unsurprisingly, been nominated for the Heisman Trophy this year. We haven't been able to celebrate further than a quick clap on his shoulder when I made the announcement after practice last night. I'm not sure if I'll get a chance to talk to him on the flight to New York City for the awards banquet and announcement of the winner. I know, without a doubt, that he's going to win. I want to tell him how proud I am of him, without making it weird. I said too much the night he found me drunk. I gave away too much.
He said he loved me too, but he seems to be having an easier time moving past it.
He's been spending a lot of time with her—Aniyah. I don't know what happened between them or how he's keeping her quiet, but nothing has happened yet other than the two of them have apparently become Groveton’s hottest new power couple. It has me on edge. Every moment, I'm waiting for someone to walk through my door and escort me from campus. I have nightmares about it, about press conferences and hitting rock bottom. The worst part is worrying how it will affect Jack.
I still have my statement typed up and signed. I carry it with me everywhere I go, in case today is the day.
Six feet away. That's how far he's sitting from me right now. One row up and across the aisle. She is closer, sitting on the aisle seat like some kind of sentry, knowing that I'd have to reach over her to get to him. Knowing how badly I just want to reach out and feel his body heat.
I'm fucking pathetic. I'm a grown ass, almost fifty-year-old man, simpering over someone less than half my age. He turns twenty-one next month. I wonder how he'll celebrate.
