Page 75 of Dirty Hit
Before we left for the game, I put a spare key under the planter by the back door. I didn’t tell him to use it outright, just looked him in the eye during one of our sessions and said, “You’re welcome anytime.” I don’t know if he understood what I meant.
The bus hits a pothole and jolts me out of my thoughts. I hate this part: the coming down, and the stillness after the high. But maybe tonight it won’t feel like that.
Maybe he’s there.
By the time we roll back onto campus, it’s just after two in the morning. The guys stumble off the bus like zombies, talking about afterparties and groupies, but I slip to my Charger without a word.
The driveway is dark and quiet when I pull up. I kill the engine and sit there a minute, palms gripping the wheel too tightly.
Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t fucking care.
I grab my bag from the trunk and head inside, the cold night air biting through my hoodie. My shoulder aches from that last tackle, and my legs are sore. Everything about me wants to crash face-first into the mattress and sleep for twelve hours straight.
I close the door behind me and lock it, then I drop my shit by the door and walk around the corner to the living room—but thebreath leaves my lungs as soon as the lamp light hits the figure on the floor.
He’s here.
Brendon is kneeling in the center of the living room, hands on his thighs, head bowed and waiting. My pulse spikes so fast I feel lightheaded. The ache behind my eyes disappears, and the noise in my head stops.
He’s fucking here.
I cross the room, every part of me vibrating with something close to hunger. The sight of him like this—submissive, patient, perfect—it hits me harder than anything that happened on the field.
I stop in front of him, and let the silence stretch. “Little Sin,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t look up, but I see the shiver ripple through him. Fuck, he’s in one of my shirts. It swallows him whole, and still the neckline’s tugged low enough to reveal the bruises I left on his collarbone before I left.
When I speak again, I use the cadence that makes him melt. “You used the key, baby?”
“I did,” he says, still not looking at me.
“Hmm, good boy.” I tilt his chin up, and those maddening green eyes meet mine. They’re wide, uncertain, and so fucking open it almost breaks me. “You planning on staying the night?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
That last word shreds the one thread of control I had left. I crouch down, cupping his jaw, and he leans into the touch without hesitation.
“You been here long?”
He nods once. “A few hours. I hid my car around back because I wanted to surprise you.”
I drag my thumb across his bottom lip, feel the tremble in his breath. “Oh, Little Sin, you succeeded.”
His cheeks flush, and I watch the color bloom there like a reward. I’m fucking exhausted—my body is screaming at me to lie down—but all I want is to keep this moment going.
“You hungry?” I ask, my voice softening.
“No.”
“Showered?”
He bites his bottom lip, trying to hide a smile. “Yeah, I used your shampoo. Hope that’s okay.”
“It’s better than okay.” I smile, thumb tracing the curve of his jaw. “I like it when you smell like me.”
I kiss his forehead and stand, walking backward and lowering myself to the couch. I spread my legs and wait. It takes him three seconds to move, crawling forward on shaky hands, eyes still cast down.
When he finally climbs into my lap, I exhale as if I’ve been holding my breath all week. He’s warm.
