Page 101 of Game On
I focus on every sensation, every brush of his skin against mine. The way his chest rises and falls beneath my hands, the delicious friction building between us.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathes out, his voice heavy with desire and something deeper—something that wraps around my heart and pulls tight. “You have no idea how good you make me feel.”
I lean forward, our foreheads touching as I ride him harder, deeper. Our breaths mingle, ragged and desperate. His hands slide up my body, tracing paths of heat alongmy bare skin. Each touch feels like a promise, and I want to believe in every single one.
“Hudson,” I gasp, the sound barely escaping my lips. His hands find my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through me. I arch my back, pressing into his touch, craving more.
“So incredible,” he murmurs against my neck, his voice a blend of awe and lust.
He meets my movements with his own, our bodies slick with sweat. The pressure coils tight inside of me like a spring ready to snap. Those strong hands grip my hips harder, guiding me, urging me on.
“Yes,” I cry out, unable to hold back any longer. “I’m so close.”
“Me too,” he groans. “Let go with me.”
His words are a command, a plea. My world narrows to the point where our bodies connect, where every thrust, every touch, sends me spiraling towards the edge. I can feel him deep inside me, filling me up in ways that make it impossible to think of anything else but this moment.
“Now, Ella,” he whispers urgently, and it’s all I need. The tension breaks, and I’m falling apart around him, my climax crashing over me. My cries mingle with his groans of release, the sensation of him pulsing inside me drawing out my pleasure until I’m utterly spent.
We lie there together, breathing heavily, our bodies tangled. The room is filled with the scent of sweat and sex, and the harsh glow of the flashing city lights through the hotel window.
I rest my head on Hudson’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as I trace lazy circles on his skin. “See?” he whispers against my hair. “Together, we can do anything.”
I snort a laugh. “You know sex has never been the problem between us.”
“Hmm, that’s funny,” he says. “I see no problems here at all.”
“Right, well …” I tuck in closer, fingers still dancing on his arm. “Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”
“Okay, darlin’, if you insist.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ella
We’ve been back from New Orleans for over a week. The disappointment from the Sugar Bowl has subsided, replaced by the thrill of something new.
Hudson and I both know that real feelings are at play between us now, the football season is officially over, and we’ve been spending every moment we can together. Soaking up the spare time between training. Enjoying the newfound freedom without the fraternization rule blocking us.
Hudson can show me affection when he wants, where he wants, for as long as he wants. And I can do the same. It’s exhilarating.
I’ve spent so much time keeping my walls up, trying to follow our rules so I wouldn’t get hurt again. But now? Things have shifted. I’m letting him in, and instead of feeling scary, it feels … good. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I have to control everything. I trust him.
We’re at the gym early today, setting up to film our qualifier video for partner stunts. Coach Morgan is watching, clipboard in hand, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “Alright,you two, full-out three times,” she calls, her voice echoing in the cavernous space. “Then we’ll watch them back and pick the best one.”
Hudson and I exchange a glance, a shared sense of determination. We’ve poured everything into this routine over the past ten days. There’s a relentless strain in my muscles, but it’s a good kind of ache—the kind that’s physical proof of our hard work.
We start the routine, our movements precise, flowing seamlessly from one stunt to the next. My body moves on autopilot, every motion ingrained from hours of practice. Hudson’s hands are steady, his strength a solid foundation beneath me, and we nail the routine.
When we’re finished, even I’m impressed.
Coach Morgan nods, a rare smile tugging at her lips. “Good. Again.”
We go through it two more times, each run feeling stronger than the last. By the end, I’m drenched in sweat, my hair sticking to my forehead, but I can’t help the smile that stretches across my face. Hudson grins back, satisfied.
“Let’s watch them back,” Coach Morgan says, leading us to the playback screen in her office. We huddle around, critiquing our performance, but it’s clear we’ve done well. The best run is obvious, and we all agree on the final cut for submission.
“Great job, both of you,” Coach Morgan says, her approval like a scorching heat that seeps into my bones. “You’re ready to submit.”
