Bleacher Report (2) (The Rookie Hawkeyes Series)

Warmth. That’s the first thing I register.

Then, the steady thump beneath my ear—a heartbeat.

My lashes flutter open, and confusion strikes. Where am I?

More pressingly, where are my clothes?

The comforter is cool against my bare skin. The towel… Oh no. I went to bed wrapped in it after a hot bath. I must have lost it during the night.

I blink slowly, my gaze traveling upward, pausing at the sight of a smooth, bare chest. Golden skin marked with a familiar tattoo—a memory from a photo he sent last week.

Hunter.

Oh God.

I’m on top of him. Not beside him. Not curled up on the edge of my own mattress like a civilized human. I’m straddling him.

One thigh slung over his. My body pressed half on top of him at his side. My breasts smashed against his rib cage. My hand spread across his tattooed pectoral like I’m staking some kind of claim.

The pillow wall is a managed mess. No longer straight and sturdy how I constructed it before I fell asleep.

And I’m naked. Every inch of me.

What the actual hell?

My brain spins. How did I get here? The last thing I remember is climbing into bed wrapped in my towel after a hot bath and too many late-night thoughts about a certain hockey player’s abs and him naked in the Hawkeyes’ locker room.

Did I move in my sleep? Did I crawl over the wall and drape myself over him like a human weighted blanket?

I steal a glance down.

He’s still in his boxer briefs. His body is loose and warm beneath mine, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. One arm is tucked behind his head, the other draped at his side, nowhere near touching me. He didn’t pull me over here. He didn’t initiate any of this.

I did.

Mortification washes over me.

Worse—my thighs tighten at the memory of the dream I was having. The one where I was backed up against a locker room wall, no clothes between us, his mouth trailing down my body, his hands pinning mine high above my head.

And now… Now I’m pressed against his thigh. My core is still humming from the ghost of that dream.

Jesus. Did I…grind on him in my sleep?

Did he wake up at any point and feel me? Hear me?

My heart pounds harder. I’m going to die. That’s it. Actual death by embarrassment. There will be no funeral. Just a closed casket and hushed whispers, like: She rode him unconscious and never recovered.

I try to shift off of him, slowly, carefully. But the second I move, he stirs beneath me, his muscles tightening. His breath catches.

And that’s when I realize—I’m not the only one affected.

I freeze.

His chest shifts under mine. A low groan escapes him, like he’s been yanked out of the best dream of his life—or, more likely, jolted into the worst reality.

I lift my head just enough to meet his bleary gaze.

He looks at me and grins.

‘Good morning,’ he says, voice gravel-thick and teasing. ‘You’re on top of me. Did you miss me?’

Oh God.

‘Um…good morning,’ I mumble, my voice raspy, my body still firmly pressed to his. If I push away right now, he’ll see everything. ‘Did I…’

‘Break over the pillow wall again to cuddle?’ He cocks a brow. ‘Yes.’

I bite my lip, bracing myself. ‘I’m sorry—’

‘Don’t.’ His grin turns wicked. ‘For God’s sake, don’t apologize. I’m a man, Peyton, and you’re fucking gorgeous. You have an open invitation to come lay naked on top of me anytime you want. I’m also your fake boyfriend, which means I’m contractually obligated to let you use me like a body pillow.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Hunter, this isn’t a joke. We set boundaries—remember those?’

“From the looks of it, I’m not the one who forgot. Which has me confused,” he says, his tone playful. “Because you’ve been rubbing your tits and your wet pussy all over me for the past four hours since I got home.”

My mouth goes dry.

‘Four hours? Since you got home?’ My stomach drops—and then tightens with heat. ‘You were awake the entire time?’

‘I tried to sleep,’ he says, ‘but you didn’t make it easy.’

Oh God.

“How long were you in bed before I climbed over the pillows?”

‘It was less than fifteen minutes before you busted through the pillow wall like the Kool-Aid Man.”

I cover my face with one hand, the other still trapped between us. “Did I…say anything in my sleep?”

‘No words,’ he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, ‘but the sounds… Damn, Collins. Hottest thing I’ve ever heard.’

I peek out from between my fingers. ‘What kind of sounds?’

‘Like my thigh was giving you the best orgasm of your life.’

I bury my face against his chest, and he chuckles.

‘I can’t believe I did that. Why didn’t you wake me up and stop me? I practically forced myself on you,’ I say, finally glancing up to meet his eyes.

‘I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do, but you seemed content lying on top of me. I didn’t want to stop you. And trust me, you couldn’t force yourself on me even if you wanted to. I’m twice your size. But from my end, it was all consensual, if that makes you feel any better,’ he teases.

I glance up and notice that one hand is still tucked behind his head and the other at his arm. ‘You’re not touching me.’

‘I’m not,” he confirms. “I wouldn’t—not without permission. You should know that I’d never cross the line you already set between us. Not unless you tell me I can.’

I do. That’s the worst part. I trust him, and yet can he say the same about me?

If the roles were reversed this situation would look a lot different.

His eyes flicker darker. He sucks in his bottom lip like he’s trying to behave. “What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t remember,” I lie.

He chuckles, low and knowing. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Liar or not, I’m not telling you.”

“It was about me.” He says it like he already knows, and when I don’t answer, his gaze darkens. “Was it me in the dream?”

I look away. He lifts my chin with two fingers.

‘Where were we?’

I swallow. ‘Locker room. I blame that picture you sent.’

He licks his lips, his eyes darting to mine. ‘And what were we doing?’

‘You had me naked, pressed against the locker room wall. My hands pinned over my head.’

His breath catches, and he mumbles out something akin to “fuck.”

‘Warning, Peyton,’ he says softly, and before I can protest, his mouth is on mine.

The kiss is soft at first—sweet, tentative. Then it deepens. His hand tangles in my hair. My fingers clutch his shoulders. His hips press up, and suddenly I’m not thinking anymore.

I’m feeling. I’m aching, desperately pulling him closer.

Then he moves.

An arm wraps behind me. One smooth shift and he’s on top of me, nudging my legs apart with the heavy weight of his thigh. His cock presses between us, thick and hard beneath the thin cotton of his briefs. My breath hitches.

“I can make it better than the dream,” he says, lips brushing against my throat. “How bad are you aching for release, Peyton?”

“We have rules,” I say, but my objection is too weak for either of us to take seriously.

His mouth pulls back, and his green eyes find mine. Dilated and hungry for this as much as I am.

“You never said I can’t make you come with my fingers. Tell me yes and I’ll take care of you,” he says. “It’s painful how bad you need this, isn’t it?”

I nod, and then his mouth crashes back against mine, his right hand gently caressing down the side of my body.

His phone buzzes, but we both know that if he stops now and this moment is broken, this won’t happen again.

He ignores his phone, dips his hand between my legs, and I cry out when his thumb brushes over my clit.

And then—his phone rings again.

We both freeze.

“Maybe you should see who that is?” I say.

He growls in annoyance at the interruption, forehead dropping to mine. “And stop where this is going? Even if it were Everett Kauffman himself offering to triple my contract salary to take his call right now, it wouldn’t be worth giving this up.”

I laugh, breathless. The thought that Hunter wants to touch me this bad has me enjoying every moment of this.

“You should check. Just in case.”

He sighs, pulling away just enough to reach the phone on the nightstand. His jaw clenches.

“It’s my agent. His text says 911.”

I blink. I know he’s worried about what kind of deal Bethany might be conjuring up with Everett Kauffman. “Take it.”

He hesitates. “You’ll still be here when I get back?”

No, of course not. We both know this is a bad idea, but I couldn’t tell him that or he won’t take the call.

I want him. I want his lips all over me and his fingers inside me, and I know that’s the last thing this complicated situation needs. Worst of all, my inability to stay on my side of the bed put us in this position.

“I don’t know,” I lie, though the destructive part of me wants a Hunter Reed-produced orgasm.

His eyes search mine, but I can tell he doesn’t completely believe me. “Just give me five minutes. Stay.”

I don’t say anything, but I can see that he’s feeling anxious to not miss his second call.

He climbs off me slowly, his body pulling away like we’re still magnetized together. Like it’s taking every bit of his effort to pull apart from me.

The moment he steps out of bed, he gazes down at my bare body, the comforter pushed off from when he got up. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

I suck in my lower lip, trying not to squirm at him taking me in.

Then he slides his thumb across the screen to accept the call. And starts for the bedroom door. “Hey, Dale…yeah, I was in the middle of something. What’s up, can you make it fast?”

I watch carefully, eyeing how far it is from the bed to my nightstand with my vibrator in it. I need release so bad it almost hurts. Next, I eyeball the distance of the bathroom.

If I can get to my vibrator and then to the bathroom, I might be able to get this done before he even knows I’m gone. It wouldn’t take long. I’m already on the edge from the wet dream and rubbing against Hunter for hours, and then him flipping me onto my back and rubbing himself between my thighs, his fingers playing with my clit. I’m on a hairpin trigger at this point.

Quickly, I jump to the other side of the bed and open the drawer.

“She’s offering all of those players for me? No, I know it’s not a done deal but… Have you talked to Kauffman yet?” I hear him ask his agent.

I’m running out of time, and I have to run past him to get to the bathroom door.

I spin around, my pink vibrator in my hand and head straight for the bathroom, almost home free while he stays distracted.

“Not yet? Okay, but you’ll tell me if the Hawkeyes seem like they are entertaining the deal? Right, okay, thanks for calling,” he tells him.

He ends the call just as I’m about to pass him and then he spins around, hearing me coming.

“Where do you think you’re going with that?” he asks.

Just before I get past him, he scoops an arm around my ribs and hauls me up his body, pulling me to the end of the bed, seating me on his lap, facing the full-length mirror against the wall.

He uses his thighs to nudge mine apart, spreading me open in front of the mirror.

The reflection shows everything—my flushed skin, my parted lips, the way I’m sitting on top of him, completely bare, my thighs spread wide over the thick outline of his boxer-covered cock. My nipples are tight, my breathing shallow, and my pussy lips gleam under the low light like I’ve already surrendered.

And I have.

God, I have.

Hunter’s arms wrap around me from behind, holding me steady, his chest solid against my back. I can feel every controlled breath he takes, every twitch of restraint beneath me.

“You see that?” he murmurs, voice thick. “That’s what I see every time I close my eyes. You—wet, open, wrapped around me, begging for more, but I never thought you’d let me get this close.”

His words burn with honesty. There’s nowhere to hide. Not from the way I shift on his lap. Not from the slick shine between my thighs. Not from him—not from myself.

His gaze rakes over every inch of me, dark and possessive. “Look at you, Peyton. Dripping for me because you know I’m right here—my attention focused on only you—wanting you. Ready to fuck you with my fingers while you watch me do it.”

He leans in, his voice a growl at my ear. “Your body should be worshipped…by me.”

My breath catches.

My fingers curl tighter around the vibrator.

“Were you planning to run from me and use this instead?” he asks, prying it gently from my grip.

I swallow hard. “You were busy, and I didn’t want to—”

He cuts me off, voice low and razor sharp.

“And you were going to rob me of hearing you come with my fingers buried inside you? When I starred in your dirty little dreams? That doesn’t seem fair.”

My skin heats. I can’t look away from the mirror, from the way he’s behind me now—partially clothed, fully in control—while I’m trembling and bare.

“This will make everything between us messy,” I whisper. I don’t even know what I mean anymore. The vibrator? The situation? Me?

His smirk is slow and dangerous as his fingers trail down my inner thigh. “Oh, baby, your wet pussy is already making everything between us messy, and I want it that way.”

He meets my eyes in the mirror. “But the real question is—do you want to do this alone? Or with me?” His fingers hover. Barely there. Teasing.

My breath stutters. My thoughts are static.

I should say no.

I should walk away.

But I don’t. Because my body already made the choice.

I turn my head slightly, voice a whisper of confession. “With you.”

A smile stretches across his face. “Then the next question. Do you want me to use this?” he asks with the vibrator in his hand. “Or do you want my fingers? The choice is yours. I don’t care either way…as long as I’m the one making you come in my lap.”

“Your fingers.”

Hunter grins, happy with my answer. “Good choice,” he says, and then tosses the vibrator back on the bed. “Now lay back, relax…and watch.”

I do as he instructs, leaning back fully into him, my head falling back against his shoulder.

One hand glides up my stomach, cupping my breast, while the other traces the curve of my hip. His fingers slip between my thighs—slow, teasing, in complete control. My breath catches when a knuckle grazes my clit, the touch so light it steals the air from my lungs.

“Keep your eyes open, Collins,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice molten and low. “Watch what I do to you.”

I do. God help me, I do.

The mirror reflects everything—my flushed skin, my pebbling nipples, my parted lips, the way my body arches into his hands like it’s not even mine anymore. Like it’s his.

His palm spreads across my lower stomach, grounding me, while his fingers start to move with more purpose. Each stroke is patient but filthy, circling and sliding, never giving quite enough but driving me wild all the same.

“Hunter…” My voice is barely a whisper, thick with need.

He presses a kiss to the side of my neck, his lips dragging heat down to my collarbone.

“You feel how close you already are?” he asks, his thumb flicking gently across the bundle of nerves that’s now throbbing. “This is what you wanted, right? You were going to slip away to finish on your own?”

My head drops back onto his shoulder, a whimper escaping me. “Yes.”

“Say it. Say why you tried to run.”

“Because I want you.” The words fall from me in a breathless rush. “I wanted this.”

“Damn right, you do,” he growls, his hand quickening.

The mirror blurs through my lashes, moisture beading at the corners of my eyes. My hips start to move, rolling against his hand, chasing the edge he’s pulling me toward with infuriating control.

“That’s it,” he whispers, voice low and reverent like he’s watching something sacred. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Open and wild for me.”

I grind harder, my body rocking against the hard length of him. He groans, his mouth brushing my ear before pressing a kiss just below it.

“Look at how you melt for me,” he murmurs, his voice a warm scrape against my skin. “You’re soaking my fingers, Peyton. Dripping all over my lap.”

A strangled moan escapes me. My hand reaches up, curling around the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin like I need him to keep me grounded, tethered to this moment.

“Don’t stop—Hunter, please—don’t stop…”

“Never,” he promises, his voice dark silk. “I want to watch you fall apart for me, and you’re going to watch it too.”

And I do.

With one final stroke, he presses deep, curling his fingers inside me just as his thumb presses hard and fast against my clit. The orgasm rips through me, white-hot and staggering, my body jerking in his lap as my head tips forward, a cry strangled in my throat, his name slipping off my lips.

He cradles me there, breathing just as ragged as mine, as if watching me fall apart stole every ounce of his control.

He holds me, his mouth on my shoulder, whispering things I can’t even process.

When I finally collapse back against him, trembling and gasping, I catch sight of myself in the mirror—flushed, wrecked, utterly undone—and his gaze locked on me like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“That was…” I start, trying to catch my breath.

Hunter leans in, his nose nuzzling behind my ear. “That was…better than a dream, wasn’t it?”

I can’t even answer. My brain is mush, my limbs liquid.

But deep down, I know the truth.

This is more than just chemistry. More than just need.

And I hope this didn’t just ruin everything.

Because once you let someone this close—this intimately close—how do you pretend it didn’t happen?

‘I can’t believe we did that.’

His arms tighten slightly. ‘I can’t believe it took us this long.’

I laugh, breathless. It’s the only sound I can make without crumbling all over again.

But then, just like that, the room shifts.

Reality creeps back in.

He shifts me, until he has me in a cradle hold and carries me to my side of the bed, setting me down, and then pulls the covers over me.

‘This doesn’t change anything, right?’ I ask, voice quiet.

He nods, brushing a damp strand of hair off my cheek, then bends down to kiss the top of my head. ‘Not a thing,” he mutters against my hair.

But we both know that’s a lie.

I stare at his still-hard cock, straining against his boxers, drenched from me. ‘What about you?’

I’ve never been one to leave a man hanging that I was intimate with. I can only imagine that he’s hard enough that it’s painful.

‘Don’t worry about me. That’s not what we agreed to. I’m going to use the guest bathroom and take a quick shower before I hit the stadium. I’ll take care of it,’ he says, grabbing his phone off the bed and then turning to walk out of the bedroom. ‘I’ll see you later, right?”’Yeah,’ I nod. ‘I’ll see you later.’noveldrama

He walks out, shutting the door behind him.

I sit there, almost in disbelief at what just happened. And then I find myself holding my breath when I hear the hallway bathroom door close and then the shower turn on.

Can’t blame a girl for wishing to be a fly on that wall.