Page 113 of The Score We Never Settled

But I don’t want him to because he will do great things. He’ll have accomplished something he’s thrown so much time and effort into.

And I want to be the wife who’s by his side.

However, my life isn’t currently built like that.

“Win the playoffs,” I divulge, so he returns his attention to his career because he doesn’t need to focus on me. “And I’ll think about it.”

He narrows his eyes and sinks his whole cock into me and immediately stops moving. “I wanna hear you tell me you’re mine, Layla Jean. And, until then, we’ll stand here. I can come just like this, trust me.”

Gosh, that was kinda hot.

It’s equally empowering and humbling to be on the other side of his green eyes and, I swear, he can practically draw what he wants out of me if he stares long enough.

“I’m yours if—” I barely get the three words out before he’s ramming into me again—hard, fast, and completely out of control.

He never comes out too much before he’s stuffing me with every inch of his cock, my legs wide for him to go deep and fill me fully.

My muscles in my stomach contract as I dig my fingers into his shoulders, pending my quick release because I love it when he takes me like this.

Possessive.

Uncontrolled.

Wild.

And obsessed.

I feel nothing but loved by this man and, even though sometimes it’s scary, I can’t help but lean into it.

And break apart with him.

“Briggs,” I moan through each hard and dominating thrust. “I’m going to come.”

“I know you are, Short Stop,” he croons, spreading my ass cheeks apart to make some more room to get deeper. “Nice and hard like I like it, right?”

I bob my head because, at this given moment, he could ask me to go to Memphis with him again, and I’d fully send that answer and agree.

But he knows how much Buttercup & Brioche means to me and how hard I’ve worked building it, so he doesn’t.

Instead, he just fucks me like he owns it, me, and everything in between.

I’m brimming with sensations in my stomach and along my skin with every brush against his naked frame that, when he shoves his cock into me in this rapid succession three times before pulling out then he does it again, I break apart in his hold.

A mixture of a squeal and a scream fills the empty space of the house until I hear Briggs growl and pulsate inside me, indicating his orgasm mixed with mine.

It’s messy, erotic, andours.

Nothing can compare to moments like this with Briggs. I always feel more connected with him when I don’t understand how it could be possible.

He kisses me, fervently and slowly, causing me to clench around him again in the aftermath of my orgasm, and he twitches inside me.

“I love fucking you, Layla Jean,” he mutters against my lips. “And I love you. With everything in me, I’ll love you until the world falls apart and nothing else remains, and even then, I’ll find a way to still love you past all that.”

“Who knew you were such a sap?” I tease lightly, but I do take his words to heart because there’s no other way.

He means them, and he’s stuck with me and my stubbornness for years.

This man isn’t going anywhere.