Page 115 of Full Tilt
When I groan his name, he lifts his head just enough to meet my eyes. There’s heat there, yes, but something else too. Something solid, grounded, and real.
“I really missed you,” he says simply, voice rough and full of meaning.
I wrap my arms around him, hauling him back down so we’re chest to chest, heart to heart. “I missed you too,” I murmur, and the words taste like truth on my tongue.
We move slowly after that, letting the weight of our bodies and the intimacy of skin-on-skin speak louder than anything else. There’s no need to rush—just the need to feel, to be felt, to lose ourselves in each other after being apart.
Brent’s hips press into mine, deliberate, claiming. His mouth finds the side of my throat, warm lips dragging over the edge of my jaw before he bites—not hard, just enough to make me gasp. I slide my hands down his back, feeling the tension in his shoulders, the coiled restraint in the way he holds himself. It makes me ache in the best way.
He lifts his head, eyes burning into mine, and there’s something wordless in the look we share. His fingers trail down my chest, teasing with maddening precision, grazing over sensitive skin like he’s memorised every spot that makes me squirm. And maybe he has. God, maybe he always has.
When he finally pushes in—slow and sure—I suck in a breath that punches straight through my chest. Not just from the stretch or the burn, but from the overwhelming rightness of it. The press of him inside me, the weight of his body above mine—it’s not just sex. It’s something deeper. We’re not just skin to skin. We’re soul to soul. And everything in me opens up to let him in.
Brent leans down, forehead to mine, our noses brushing. We breathe the same air, locked together in a rhythm that’s slow, unhurried, yet somehow still urgent with everything we haven’t been able to say in the last two weeks.
We move together like a promise—tight, deliberate, relentless. Every thrust rewrites a memory. Every kiss is a vow.His lips find mine again and again, greedy and reverent, and I hold on to him like he’s the only thing anchoring me to the moment.
And maybe he is.
It’s not long. I wish it were longer. What I really wish is that I weren’t this wrecked from travel, my body this keyed up from being away. But my control slips fast and hard, and when I come, it’s with a bitten-off curse and my face buried in his shoulder. Brent follows a beat later, hips jerking, fingers bruising my waist as he spills into me with a groan that makes my toes curl.
Afterwards, the silence is thick with the kind of intimacy that can’t be faked. He rolls off me carefully, breath still heavy, his arm slung lazily over my stomach as he nuzzles against my neck.
I huff, tugging the edge of the blanket up. “That was… too fast.”
He kisses my jaw. “Too good.”
I grunt, letting my eyes slip shut. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Pretty sure I just did.”
I groan, swatting him without any real heat, but my lips won’t stop twitching.
Brent shifts, his fingers lacing with mine beneath the sheets. “You okay?”
“Exhausted. Sticky. Bruised. Mildly embarrassed by my overzealous dick.” I pause. “But yeah. I’m okay.”
He kisses my shoulder. “Welcome home, Captain.”
I turn my head just enough to press my lips to his hair. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Home.”
And just like that, I let myself rest. Not because I’m tired—though I am—but because for the first time in a long damn time, I feel safe enough to.
Because Brent is here.
And so am I.
Epilogue
Camden
Five Years Later – Exeter Stadium
The roarof the crowd is still echoing in my ears as I stand at the centre of the pitch, chest heaving, sweat drying on my skin, and gold confetti clinging to my jersey. The scoreboard behind me glows like a dream: Exeter Seagulls—League Champions. Final whistle. Final game. Final win.
I should be in the locker room by now, half-drunk on champagne and shoulder-deep in teammates’ hugs. But I’m not.
Because tonight isn’t just about rugby. Tonight’s about him.
