Page 40 of Blitz
“Trick—”
“Now, Tom.”
“Fuck, okay! Wait!” He sprinted into the bedroom, came out with the lube, and then, his hands were on my hips in an instant, fingers digging into my skin with the right amount of pressure. I felt the heat of him behind me and closed my eyes. This was what I needed—something primal, something real to drive away the fear.
“You sure?” he asked, his voice rough with desire but still careful, as he bit my neck, then sucked a bruise lower down.
“Yes,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “Please.”
When he pushed into me, I gasped, gripping the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles went white. The surface was cold against my chest against the fire building inside me. Tom moved with purpose, each thrust driving the panic from my mind until there was only sensation, only us.
“Harder,” I demanded, and he complied, one hand sliding up my back to tangle in my hair.
I lost myself to the rhythm, the slap of skin on skin drowning out the echo of my father’s threats. Tom pulled my head back by my hair, just enough to make me arch, to change the angle so he hit the spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
“Trick,” he groaned, his free hand reaching around to stroke me in time with his thrusts. “God, you’re beautiful like this.”
I couldn’t form words, only incoherent sounds of pleasure as the tension built. This was what I needed—to be taken apart, rebuilt, anchored in my body instead of spiraling in my head. Tom knew exactly how to give me that.
When I came, it was like being shattered and made whole at once. Tom followed moments later, his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades, breath hot against my sweat-slick skin.
We stayed like that for a bit, breathing together, until Tom gently pulled away. I winced slightly as he withdrew, the cold counter pressing my chest and an ache in my hips where they’d been pressed into the edge.
“You okay?” Tom asked, his voice soft as he grabbed a washcloth from the kitchen drawer. He ran it under warm water before cleaning me with tender strokes.
“Yeah,” I said, straightening slowly. My legs felt like jelly, but my mind was clearer. The panic had receded to a manageable hum. “Thanks. I needed that.”
Tom kissed my shoulder. “I know. Come on, let’s get you dressed before practice.”
I turned to face him, suddenly aware of my vulnerability—not the nakedness, but something deeper. “Tom, if he comes after you?—”
“He won’t scare me away,” Tom said firmly, cupping my face in his hands. “I’ve dealt with men like him before. Different contexts, same power games.”
I leaned into his touch, wanting to believe him. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“Maybe not specifically. But I know enough.” His thumbs stroked my cheekbones. “Look at me, Trick. I’m here because I want to be. Not because it’s easy or safe.”
I eased away, gathering my scattered clothes. The post-sex clarity was fading, reality creeping back in. “My father has ruined people for sport. Journalists, business partners, and athletes who spoke out of turn.” I yanked my shirt over my head. “People who thought they were untouchable.”
Tom leaned against the counter, watching me dress. “And you think I’m what? Naive?”
“I think you don’t understand what you’re getting into. This isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about Rebecca; it’s about you.” I zipped up my jeans with more force than necessary. “It’s about anyone who stands too close to me when he decides to take aim.”
Tom crossed his arms over his chest, still gloriously naked and somehow managing to look composed despite it. “You think I walked into this blind? I’ve read every article about your father. I know what people have said, all the conspiracy theories that I’m now thinking are true.”
I paused, one sock in hand. “You researched him?”
“Of course I did. When you mentioned who your father was, I spent three nights going down that rabbit hole.” He pushed off from the counter and approached me, his expression softening. “We’ll get through this together.”
“‘Together’?” I hated the hope in my voice.
“If you want that.”
I melted into his arms again, so damn happy to have him here now. “Yes.”
At our finalpre-season game against Philly, this time at home, I hovered on the edge of the locker room chaos, nerves winding tight in my gut. I didn’t talk much to the team—not because I didn’t want to, but because I hadn’t figured out how to belong yet. But I needed help. Needed someone. I gritted my teeth, thought of Rebecca’s defiant face, and forced myself to speak.
“Does anyone know any good security companies?” I said it louder than I meant to, voice cutting through the chatter like a blade. The room fell abruptly silent, every set of eyes swinging toward me.
