Chapter 4: The Knock at the Door
The knock came three times. Heavy. Impatient. The kind of knock that belonged to someone who'd never been told no in his life.
Ryan's hips stilled.
Bria's eyes flew open beneath him, wide and wild, her legs still hooked over his shoulders, her body still trembling from the orgasm that had just ripped through her. Sweat slicked her skin. Her chest heaved. And her gaze—her gaze was pure terror.
"Mitchell!" Dex's voice boomed through the door like a battering ram. "I know you're in there. Open up."
Ryan didn't move.
His cock was still buried deep inside her, still hard, still aching. Her cunt gripped him like a fist, fluttering with the aftershocks of her climax. He could feel his own release building at the base of his spine, a pressure that demanded release.
But he didn't pull out.
He didn't stop.
He stared down at Bria—at her parted lips, her flushed cheeks, the single tear tracking down her temple—and something dark and reckless unfurled in his chest.
"Be quiet," he whispered against her ear. "He'll leave."
Dex knocked again. Harder this time. The door rattled in its frame.
"Ryan! I saw your truck outside, asshole. Don't make me break this door down."
Bria's hands flew to Ryan's chest, pushing weakly. Her mouth opened to protest, to beg him to stop, to do something other than this insane, suicidal thing he was doing.
He clamped a hand over her mouth.
Her breath hitched against his palm. Her eyes went wider still—impossibly wide—and Ryan watched the terror in them shift into something else. Something confused and heated and furious all at once.
"Shh," he breathed. "Not a sound."
He pulled his hips back. Slow. Deliberate. Letting her feel every inch of him sliding out of her, the drag of his cock against her walls, the wetness that had gathered between them.
Then he pushed back in.
Bria's scream died against his hand.
"That's it," he murmured. "Take it. Take all of it."
Dex's voice cut through the door again. "I'm not fucking around, man. Coach wants to see you. Something about the scouts. You're gonna want to hear this."
Ryan didn't care.
He didn't care about Coach, or the scouts, or the goddamn door that was shaking on its hinges. All he cared about was the woman beneath him, the way her body opened for him, the way her nails dug into his shoulders like she wanted to hurt him.
Maybe she did.
Maybe he deserved it.
He fucked her slow and deep, each thrust deliberate, each stroke a punishment and a promise. His hand stayed clamped over her mouth, muffling every sound she tried to make. Her legs were still hooked over his shoulders, folded nearly in half, and the angle let him hit something deep inside her that made her eyes roll back.
"You feel that?" he whispered against her ear, voice ragged. "That's what you do to me. That's what you've always done to me."
She shook her head. Or tried to. His hand was too tight.
Another knock. This one rattled the pictures on the wall.
"Ryan! Seriously, dude. Open the fucking door."
Ryan's hips moved faster.
The couch creaked beneath them, a rhythmic protest that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet apartment. The TV still flickered with game highlights, the volume low enough to be background noise but not low enough to mask the wet sounds of their bodies meeting.
Bria's eyes were wet. Her cheeks were wet. But her hips—her hips were pushing back against him.
She wanted this.
Even now, even with Dex ten feet away, even with everything to lose—she wanted him.
The realization hit Ryan like a punch to the chest.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, Bria."
He drove into her harder. Deeper. The angle shifted, and suddenly he was hitting that spot with every thrust—the one that made her thighs shake, her breath stutter, her nails draw blood from his shoulders.
"You're close," he whispered. "I can feel it. You're going to come right now, with him right there. You're going to come all over my cock and you're not going to make a single sound."
She shook her head frantically. Her eyes were begging him. Pleading.
He didn't stop.
He kept fucking her, kept driving into her, kept his hand pressed so hard against her mouth that he could feel her teeth through his palm. His thumb found her clit—swollen and slick—and he pressed down, hard, circling it with rough strokes.
Bria's body convulsed.
Her eyes flew wide. Her back arched off the couch. And then she was coming—silently, violently, her cunt clenching around him like a vice, her entire body shaking with the force of it.
Ryan watched her face.
He watched the tears streaming down her cheeks. The way her mouth opened against his palm. The way her eyes rolled back and then snapped to his, locking on, holding on, like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth.
It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
His own release hit him like a freight train.
He buried his face in her neck, teeth sinking into her shoulder to muffle the strangled grunt that tore from his throat. His hips jerked. His cock pulsed. And he spilled inside her—hot and thick and endless—filling her up while Dex pounded on the door.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Ryan pulled out.
The wet sound of it was obscene in the quiet room. He watched his cum leak out of her, pooling on the leather couch, and something primal and possessive roared in his chest.
Mine.
He was already reaching for his jeans when Dex knocked again.
"Ryan. I swear to God—"
"I'm coming!" Ryan shouted. His voice cracked on the last word. He cleared his throat. "Give me a sec."
He yanked on his jeans. Didn't bother with underwear. Grabbed a t-shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head.
Bria was moving behind him.
He turned. She was sitting up, reaching for her sweater, her movements frantic and jerky. Her jeans were tangled around one ankle. Her hair was a disaster. There was a red mark on her shoulder where he'd bitten her, and her lips were swollen, and she looked thoroughly, undeniably fucked.
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
Neither of them spoke.
Ryan walked to the door.
He opened it a crack.
Dex stood in the hallway, arms crossed, irritation radiating off him like heat. He was still in his post-game clothes—team hoodie, joggers, expensive sneakers that had never seen a gym floor. His hair was wet from the shower.
"The hell took you so long?" Dex asked.
Ryan shrugged. "Was in the bathroom."
"Bullshit." Dex's eyes narrowed. He tried to peer past Ryan, into the dark apartment. "You alone?"
Ryan didn't blink. "Yeah."
Dex's nostrils flared.
The hallway was quiet for a moment. Too quiet. Ryan could hear his own heartbeat, could feel the sweat cooling on his skin, could smell the sex that still hung heavy in the air.
And then—vanilla.
Bria's perfume.
It wafted through the crack in the door, subtle but unmistakable. Dex's expression shifted. His eyes flickered. His jaw tightened.
"Vanilla," Dex said. Not a question.
Ryan's blood ran cold. "What?"
"You smell like vanilla." Dex's voice was flat. Dangerous. "You've never smelled like vanilla before."
"New cologne."
"Bullshit."
Ryan didn't respond.
Dex stared at him for a long moment. His eyes were hard, calculating—the eyes of a man who knew Ryan better than anyone else in the world. A man who could read the lies in Ryan's face like a book.
"You've been acting weird all week," Dex said slowly. "Skipping celebrations. Disappearing. Not answering texts. And now you're here, alone, at ten o'clock on a Saturday night, smelling like vanilla."
"So?"
"So I'm not stupid." Dex stepped closer. His voice dropped. "Who is she?"
"There's no she."
"I know you're lying. I've known you were lying since the film session. I just didn't know why." Dex's eyes flickered past Ryan again, searching the darkness. "Is she in there right now?"
"No."
"Let me in."
"No."
"Ryan—"
"She's not here." Ryan's voice was steady. Calm. The voice he used in the huddle when the game was on the line and everyone was looking to him. "I don't know what you think you saw, but you're wrong. I'm alone."
Dex studied him.
The silence stretched.
Then—a sound. Small. Almost imperceptible.
The creak of a floorboard.
Dex's head snapped toward the sound. His eyes went wide. And then they went hard.
"You son of a bitch," he breathed. "She's in there. She's fucking in there right now."
"No."
"Don't lie to me!" Dex shoved past Ryan, pushing the door open wide, stepping into the apartment with the confidence of someone who'd never been told no.
Ryan grabbed his arm. "Dex. Stop."
"Where is she?"
"She's not—"
Dex froze.
The couch was empty. The TV still flickered. The pizza box sat on the coffee table, half-eaten, two beers open beside it.
But the bathroom door was closed.
Dex looked at it. Then he looked at Ryan. His expression was unreadable.
"The bathroom," he said.
"She's not—"
"Don't." Dex held up a hand. "Don't lie to me again. I can smell her. I can see it on your face. Just... tell me the truth."
Ryan's jaw tightened.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the TV, still playing highlights, still showing Ryan's touchdown pass from three hours ago.
"She's not your girlfriend," Dex said. "She's not one of the usual girls. I know all the usual girls. So who the hell is she?"
Ryan didn't answer.
"Is it someone I know?"
Still no answer.
Dex's eyes narrowed. He took a step toward the bathroom.
Ryan grabbed his arm again. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't go in there."
"Why not?" Dex turned to face him. "What are you hiding?"
The question hung in the air.
And then, from behind the bathroom door, a voice—quiet, steady, unmistakable.
"You can let him in, Ryan. I'm not going to hide."
Bria.
Dex's face went through a series of expressions in the span of a heartbeat. Confusion. Recognition. Disbelief. And then—something ugly. Something cruel.
"No," he said. "No fucking way."
The bathroom door opened.
Bria stepped out.
She'd pulled herself together in the minutes they'd had—sweater on, jeans zipped, hair tucked behind her ears. She looked composed. Controlled. The only evidence of what had happened was the flush on her cheeks and the slight tremor in her hands.
She looked at Dex.
Dex looked at her.
And then Dex laughed.
It wasn't a good laugh. It was the kind of laugh that came from a dark place, the kind of laugh that was meant to hurt. It was the same laugh Ryan had heard a hundred times before, directed at Bria in hallways and classrooms and cafeteria lines.
"Are you serious?" Dex looked at Ryan. "Her? You're hiding her? You're skipping out on your own celebration for... for her?"
"Watch it," Ryan said.
"Watch it?" Dex laughed again. "Dude, have you looked at her? Have you actually—"
"Don't."
"—looked at what you're throwing away your reputation for? She's—"
"Finish that sentence." Ryan's voice was ice. "I dare you."
Dex stopped.
The silence was thick enough to choke on.
Bria stood in the doorway, arms crossed, chin lifted. She didn't look scared. She looked furious—the kind of fury that had been building for years, the kind of fury that had a name and a target and nowhere to go.
"You done?" she asked Dex.
"Not even close."
"Then say what you're going to say." Her voice was steady. "You've been saying it behind my back for four years. Say it to my face."
Dex's lips curled. "Fine. You want the truth? You're a fat bitch who doesn't belong with someone like Ryan. You're a joke. You've always been a joke. And whatever the hell is going on here—" he gestured between them, "—is going to ruin him. You know that, right? You're going to destroy his career. His future. Everything he's worked for."
Bria didn't flinch.
"I know," she said.
"Then why are you here?"
"Because he asked me to be."
Dex shook his head. "Unbelievable. You're really going to throw everything away for—"
"Yes," Ryan said.
Dex stopped.
Ryan stepped forward, positioning himself between Dex and Bria. His heart was pounding. His hands were shaking. But his voice was steady.
"Yes, I'm going to throw everything away for her. If that's what it takes. If that's the choice."
Dex stared at him. "You don't mean that."
"I do."
"You're not thinking straight. She's got you—"
"She doesn't have me anything." Ryan's voice rose. "I've been watching her for two years, Dex. Two years. And every time you made a joke, every time you called her names, every time you made her feel like less than nothing—I was standing right there. Saying nothing. Doing nothing. Because I was scared."
"Dude—"
"Shut up." Ryan's voice cracked. "Just shut up and listen. I've been a coward. I've been a liar. I've been everything I hate. And she—" he pointed at Bria without looking at her, "—she took it. Every day. She took everything you threw at her and she kept going. She kept being brilliant and fierce and—and beautiful. And I couldn't stop thinking about her. I couldn't stop wanting her. And I was so scared of what you'd think, what the team would think, that I just... I let it happen. I let you hurt her."
Dex was silent.
"I'm done," Ryan said. "I'm done being that person."
The words hung in the air.
Dex looked at him. Looked at Bria. Looked back at him.
His expression was unreadable.
"You're serious," Dex said finally.
"I'm serious."
"You're really going to choose her. Over me. Over the team. Over everything."
"I'm not choosing sides. I'm just done pretending."
Dex's jaw tightened. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. For a moment—just a moment—Ryan thought he might swing.
Then Dex shook his head.
"You're making a mistake," he said. "A huge mistake. And when this blows up in your face—when she leaves you, or you come to your senses, or whatever the hell happens—don't come crawling back to me."
He turned and walked to the door.
He paused with his hand on the knob.
"You know what the worst part is?" Dex said, not turning around. "I would've been fine with it. If you'd just told me. I would've given you shit, yeah, but I would've been fine. It's the lying that gets me. The sneaking around. The fact that you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth."
Ryan didn't answer.
Dex opened the door.
"Good luck, Mitchell," he said. "You're going to need it."
The door slammed behind him.
Silence.
Ryan stood there for a long moment, staring at the door, listening to Dex's footsteps fade down the hallway. His heart was still pounding. His hands were still shaking. But something else was there too—something lighter. Something that felt like freedom.
He turned around.
Bria was still standing in the doorway to the bathroom. Her arms were still crossed. Her chin was still lifted. But there were tears in her eyes.
"You meant that," she said. "What you said. About watching me. About wanting me."
"I meant every word."
She stared at him.
Then she crossed the room and kissed him.
It wasn't a soft kiss. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a kiss that said everything—relief and terror and hope and desperation and all the things neither of them had words for.
When she pulled back, she was crying.
"I don't know what happens next," she said. "I don't know if this works. I don't know if you'll change your mind, or if the team turns on you, or if—"
"I don't care."
"You should care."
"I don't." He cupped her face in his hands. "I've spent four years caring about what everyone else thinks. I'm done. I'm done, Bria. The only thing I care about now is you."
She looked at him.
The tears were still falling. But she was smiling.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?"
"Okay." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm scared. I'm terrified. But I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
Ryan kissed her again.
And this time, when he pulled back, he was smiling too.
The TV still flickered. The pizza was still cold on the coffee table. The apartment still smelled like sex and vanilla and something new—something that might have been hope.
They had no idea what tomorrow would bring.
But for tonight, they had each other.
And that was enough.
The door clicked shut behind Dex, and the silence that followed was heavy, charged, the kind of quiet that came after a bomb went off. Ryan stood frozen, staring at the wood grain, half-expecting Dex to come crashing back through with more venom, more cruelty, more of the same casual brutality he'd been serving up for years.
But the hallway stayed quiet.
Bria moved first. She crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the carpet, and stopped beside him. Her hand found his, fingers cold and trembling, and she squeezed once, hard, like she was checking that he was real.
"You okay?" she asked.
"No." Ryan turned to face her. His jaw ached from clenching it. His chest felt cracked open, raw and exposed. "But I will be."
She nodded. Didn't push. Didn't ask for more than he could give.
That was the thing about Bria—she never demanded. She just waited, patient and steady, while the world burned around her.
Ryan pulled her into his chest. Wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held on like she was the only solid thing left in a spinning universe. She fit against him in a way that felt inevitable. Her cheek pressed to his sternum. Her breath warm through the cotton of his shirt.
"I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair.
"For what?"
"For letting him talk to you like that. For not stopping it sooner. For—" His voice broke. He swallowed hard. "For all of it."
Bria pulled back just enough to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but dry now. The tears had stopped somewhere between Dex's accusations and the slam of the door.
"You stopped it tonight," she said. "That's what matters."
"Is it?"
"Yes." She touched his face, her palm warm against his stubbled jaw. "You stood up for me. In front of him. In front of the person you were most afraid of. That's not nothing, Ryan. That's everything."
He wanted to believe her.
He wanted to believe that one moment of courage could undo years of cowardice. That standing up to Dex tonight erased every time he'd stayed silent, every laugh he'd forced, every joke he'd let slide because confronting it meant confronting himself.
But the doubt was still there. Gnawing. Whispering.
What if Dex was right? What if this ruined everything?
"Hey." Bria's voice cut through the spiral. "Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere."
"Liar."
He almost smiled. "You know me too well."
"I've been watching you for two years, remember?" She stepped back, crossing her arms. "I know when you're spiraling. You get this look. Like you're watching a car crash and you can't look away."
Ryan exhaled. "I'm just... I don't know what happens now. Dex knows. By tomorrow, the whole team will know. By next week, the whole campus. And then—"
"And then what?"
"And then everything changes."
Bria was quiet for a moment. Then she walked to the couch, sat down, and patted the cushion beside her.
"Sit," she said.
He sat.
"Everything already changed," she said. "The second you kissed me. The second you chose me over him. The second you told him the truth. That was the change, Ryan. Not tomorrow. Not next week. It already happened."
Ryan stared at the floor. "I know."
"So stop mourning something that's already dead."
He looked at her.
She was right. She was always right. That was the thing about Bria—she saw through the noise, cut straight to the bone, didn't waste time on bullshit. It was one of the reasons he'd fallen for her. One of the million reasons.
"You're kind of terrifying," he said.
"I know." She smiled—a real smile, small but warm. "You want to order food? I'm starving."
"I thought you hated my pizza choices."
"I do. But I'm willing to make an exception tonight."
Ryan grabbed his phone. Ordered Thai from the place down the street. Paid extra for delivery because neither of them wanted to leave the apartment.
They ate on the floor. Cross-legged, facing each other, containers spread between them like a picnic. Bria told him about her fellowship application. Ryan told her about the scout who'd been at the game, the one from the NFL team that had been circling him since junior year.
They didn't talk about Dex. Didn't talk about tomorrow. Didn't talk about what happened next.
They just existed. Together. In the quiet.
And when Bria finally fell asleep on his shoulder, her breathing slow and even, Ryan stayed awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the morning would bring.
---
Practice the next day was a war zone.
Ryan felt it the second he walked into the facility. The energy was wrong—charged, hostile, the kind of tension that preceded violence. Players who usually nodded at him in the hallway looked away. Conversations died when he got close.
Dex was already on the field.
He stood at the fifty-yard line, helmet off, arms crossed, watching Ryan approach with the flat, unreadable expression of a man who'd already decided how the day was going to go.
"Morning," Ryan said.
Dex didn't respond.
The whistle blew. Drills started. And from the first snap, Ryan knew something was off.
Dex was playing like a man possessed. Not in the good way—not the focused, ferocious way that had made him an all-conference linebacker. This was something else. Something meaner.
He missed assignments on purpose. Blew coverage. Let gaps open in the line that should have been sealed tight. Every time Ryan dropped back to pass, Dex was there—not to help, but to make things harder.
The first sack came early. Ryan barely had time to plant his feet before the defense collapsed around him, and he hit the turf hard, the air punching out of his lungs.
He got up. Brushed off his jersey. Lined up again.
The second sack was worse. Dex slipped through the line untouched—untouched, because the running back who should have blocked him just... didn't. Ryan saw it happen in slow motion, saw the hesitation, the choice.
He hit the ground. Hard. His shoulder screamed.
"Again," Coach barked.
Ryan stood. His legs were shaking. His ribs ached. But he didn't say anything. Didn't call it out. Just lined up, took the snap, and dropped back.
This time, the throw was there. Open receiver, ten yards downfield, easy completion. Ryan fired it.
The ball slipped out of his hand at the last second—not his fault, not really, but the spiral was off, the trajectory wrong. The pass fell incomplete.
Dex laughed.
Not a big laugh. Not a showy one. Just a quiet, private sound that only Ryan could hear.
The next play was a run. Should have been simple. But Dex blew through the line again, and this time he didn't just sack Ryan—he hit him late. Drove him into the ground after the whistle, helmet to the ribs, the kind of hit that was technically legal but felt like a message.
Ryan stayed down for a second longer than he should have.
"Get up," Dex said. His voice was flat. "You're not hurt."
Ryan got up.
The drill continued. Missed throw after missed throw. Scrapped plays that should have worked. Dex running roughshod over an offense that couldn't get out of its own way.
By the time practice ended, Ryan was bruised, exhausted, and furious.
He caught Dex at the sideline before he could disappear into the locker room. Grabbed his arm. Spun him around.
"What the fuck was that?"
Dex's expression didn't change. "What was what?"
"Don't play dumb." Ryan's voice was low, controlled, but there was a tremor underneath. "You sandbagged the whole practice. Missed assignments. Blew coverage. Let me get killed out there."
"So?"
"So what's your problem?"
Dex tilted his head. Looked at Ryan like he was a bug under a microscope.
"My problem," he said slowly, "is that you're distracted. And distracted quarterbacks don't win games. They don't lead teams. They don't go to the NFL."
"I'm not distracted."
"You are." Dex stepped closer. His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "You've been distracted for weeks. Ever since you started sneaking around with—"
"Watch it."
"—whoever the hell she is. You think I'm blind? You think I don't see the way you've been acting? Skipping film sessions. Leaving early. Walking around like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."
"I've been fine."
"You've been dogshit." Dex laughed—that same cruel, mocking laugh from the apartment. "And it's only going to get worse. Because whatever you're doing, whoever you're doing it with—it's gonna cost you. And I'm not gonna let it cost the team."
Ryan's hands clenched into fists. "You don't get to decide that."
"I'm not deciding anything. I'm just telling you what's going to happen." Dex stepped back. Slipped his helmet off his head. "You want to throw away everything we've built for some piece of—"
"Finish that sentence." Ryan got in his face. Chest to chest. Eye to eye. "I dare you."
Dex didn't flinch.
He just smiled. That slow, easy, infuriating smile that had been driving Ryan crazy for four years.
"You know what I think?" Dex said. "I think you're scared. I think you know exactly what you're doing—and I think you know it's going to blow up in your face. So back up. Before I expose your little distraction to everyone who's been wondering why the star quarterback suddenly forgot how to play."
Ryan's blood ran cold.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me." Dex held his gaze for a long moment. Then he laughed again—not cruel this time, just tired. Resigned. "Go home, Mitchell. You look like shit."
He walked away.
Ryan stood there, breathing hard, watching Dex disappear into the building. The other players were watching. Whispering. He could feel their eyes on him, their questions, their judgments.
He didn't care.
He grabbed his bag. Walked to his truck. Drove home on autopilot, his mind a storm of rage and fear and something that felt dangerously close to defeat.
He pulled into his parking spot.
Bria's car was already there.
---
Ryan found her on the couch, reading something on her phone, her legs tucked beneath her. She looked up when he walked in, her expression shifting from calm to concerned in a heartbeat.
"You look terrible," she said.
"Thanks."
She set her phone down. Stood. Crossed the room to him.
"What happened?"
"Dex." Ryan dropped his bag by the door. Kicked off his shoes. "He sandbagged practice. Made me look like an idiot. Then he threatened to expose us."
Bria's face went pale. "He what?"
"He didn't say it outright. But he made it clear. If I don't back off, he's going to tell everyone."
"Back off from what?"
"From you."
The words hung in the air.
Bria crossed her arms. Her jaw tightened. That familiar steel crept into her eyes—the same steel he'd seen a hundred times, the armor she'd built to survive years of cruelty.
"So what are you going to do?" she asked.
Ryan looked at her.
Really looked at her.
At the way she stood—shoulders back, chin up, ready for the worst. At the way her hands were trembling, just slightly, the only sign that she was scared. At the way she didn't beg. Didn't plead. Didn't ask him to choose her.
She just waited.
And in that moment, Ryan realized he'd already made his choice. Weeks ago. Maybe months. The second he'd first noticed her, really noticed her—not as a target, not as a punchline, but as the most fascinating, infuriating, brilliant person he'd ever met.
He was done being afraid.
He didn't answer her question.
He grabbed her instead.
His mouth crashed into hers—hungry, desperate, all tongue and teeth and four years of wanting. Bria gasped against his lips, her hands flying to his chest, but she didn't push him away. She pulled him closer, nails raking down his shirt, legs already trembling.
"I don't care," Ryan growled against her mouth. "I don't care what he says. I don't care who knows. I don't care if the whole goddamn world finds out."
Bria pulled back just enough to look at him. Her lips were swollen. Her eyes were wild.
"You don't mean that."
"I do." He grabbed her waist, lifted her, carried her toward the bedroom. "I've never meant anything more."
He didn't make it to the bedroom. Couldn't wait that long.
He dropped her onto the couch instead—the same couch from last night, the same leather that had her scent embedded in it, the same cushions where he'd buried himself inside her while Dex pounded on the door. The sight of it made him harder. The memory made him feral.
Bria landed on her back, hair splayed across the cushion, staring up at him with wide eyes.
"Ryan—"
"Shut up." He yanked his shirt over his head. Tossed it somewhere. Unbuttoned his jeans, shoved them down his thighs along with his boxers. "Just—shut up."
She didn't.
She reached for him instead.
Her fingers wrapped around his cock—already hard, already leaking, already aching—and stroked once, base to tip, her thumb pressing against the slit. Ryan's knees nearly buckled.
"Fuck," he hissed.
"You like that?"
"I told you to shut up."
She stroked him again. Slower this time. Watching his face, watching the way his jaw clenched, watching the control slip away inch by inch.
"I don't think I will," she murmured.
Ryan grabbed her wrists. Pinned them above her head with one hand. Used the other to rip her shirt open, buttons scattering across the floor, and when he saw the lace bra underneath—black, the same one from last night—something snapped inside him.
"You were wearing this last night," he said.
"So?"
"So I want to fuck you in it."
Bria's breath hitched.
Ryan didn't wait. He shoved her skirt up her hips, grabbed her underwear, and yanked them down her legs. They caught on one ankle. He didn't care. He spread her knees wide, positioned himself between them, and pushed inside her in one rough thrust.
Bria screamed.
He clamped a hand over her mouth.
"You remember this?" He pulled out, shoved back in. "You remember doing this to me last night? While Dex was right there?"
She nodded frantically against his palm.
"That's what I thought." He fucked her harder. Faster. The couch creaked beneath them, the leather squeaking with every thrust. "You wanted me to lose control. You wanted me to break. That's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"
She shook her head. Her eyes were wet. Her body was shaking.
"Liar." He leaned down, pressed his forehead to hers. "You've been trying to destroy me since the day we met. And you know what? It worked. I'm destroyed. I'm fucking ruined. I don't care about anything anymore except this—" he thrust deeper, "—except you."
Bria's eyes rolled back.
Her cunt clenched around him. She was close—he could feel it, the flutter, the tightening, the way her breath stuttered against his palm. He pulled his hand away from her mouth and replaced it with his lips, kissing her hard, swallowing the sounds she made as she came.
She broke apart beneath him.
Her orgasm was violent—back arching, nails raking down his chest, heels digging into his ass. Ryan fucked her through it, chasing his own release, and when it hit him, it hit him like a freight train.
He buried his face in her neck. Bit down on her shoulder. Poured everything he had into her—every ounce of rage and fear and desperate, consuming need—and spilled inside her with a groan that vibrated through both of them.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Ryan collapsed on top of her, breathing hard, his cock still buried inside her, his heart pounding against her chest.
Bria ran her fingers through his hair.
"You meant it," she whispered. "What you said. About not caring."
"I meant it."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she laughed—soft, surprised, almost disbelieving.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing." She kissed the top of his head. "I just... I think I love you."
Ryan lifted his head. Looked at her.
Her face was flushed. Her hair was a disaster. There was a hickey forming on her collarbone and his cum leaking out of her and she'd never looked more beautiful.
"I know," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "That's it? That's your response?"
"I love you too." He kissed her. Soft this time. Gentle. "I've loved you for two years. I was just too scared to say it."
Bria smiled.
"Well," she said, "I'm glad you finally caught up."
Ryan laughed. The sound was strange in his throat—unfamiliar, almost foreign. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like that. Laughed like the world wasn't ending.
He pulled out of her slowly, both of them wincing at the loss. Then he lay down beside her, pulling her against his chest, their legs tangling together on the couch that was too small for both of them.
"So," Bria said. "What happens now?"
Ryan stared at the ceiling.
"I don't know," he said. "But I'm not going anywhere."
She snuggled closer. Her breath was warm against his neck. Her hand rested on his chest, right over his heart.
"Good," she murmured. "Because neither am I."
They lay there in the quiet, wrapped in each other, the world outside still spinning. Tomorrow would bring questions. Consequences. Dex would make good on his threat—or he wouldn't. The team would find out—or they wouldn't. Everything would change—or maybe nothing would.
Ryan didn't know.
But he did know this: he was done hiding.
He was done pretending.
And whatever came next, he'd face it with Bria by his side.
That was the only thing that mattered.