Eyes bulging, I scramble for the phone, stabbing the red end button. Covering my mouth, the severity of my situation hits like a damn wrecking ball.
He heard me.
He heard me moan his name as I fucking masturbated to him.
No, no, no, no, no.
This can’t be happening. Not after the hotel. Not after SeaBird. Not after I rejected him. I seriously might die from embarrassment if what I think just happened actually happened.
I’m so screwed.
21
HENRY
“You gonna fuck me, Henry?” Mia’s voice is soft and sultry. A whisper. A plea. I tilt my head to the side, convinced I’m hallucinating, as I hold my phone to my ear.
“You gonna make me come?” she continues, sounding like a fucking porn star.
“Mia?” I growl. But the voice is too far away. Like the phone’s been set aside. Like she isn’t talking to me. She’s simply letting me witness her inner dialogue. Treating me like a fly on the wall, and fuck, what I wouldn’t give to see her right now like this.
“Come on, Henry,” she pants. It’s mingled with a quiet rustling of fabric. “Fuck me. Fuck me harder. Ah.”
My dick jumps as I register her gasp. I hold my breath, soaking up her tiny whimpers. She’s coming.
Fuck, she’s coming.
And she’s moaning my name. The combination makes me harder than a steel pole as I sit on the couch with my laptop on my knees and a tumbler of whiskey resting on the coffee table in front of me.
I stay quiet, listening to her heavy breathing. She slowly comes down from her euphoria as more rustling sounds and the call ends. My mind short-circuits as I try to piece together what happened and why the hell I was privy to witnessing it.
Did she mean to call?
I’m not sure.
After she turned me down a couple hours ago, the last thing I expected was to see her name flashing across my phone screen. I almost didn’t answer. Too frustrated by what happened in the breakroom to think straight but too curious to send the call to my voicemail. Part of me wishes I had, so I could listen to Mia’s soft whimpers of pleasure over and over. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, even if it doesn’t make any sense.
I set my computer on the coffee table and squeeze my dick through my slacks. It doesn’t ease the ache. It only drowns out my voice of reason. Knowing I’m a sick sonofabitch, I pull up the photos Gordy sent me a while ago, hating how I wasn’t strong enough to delete them in the first place.
She’s perfect. Every inch. Every curve. Like she was made for me. Shit, I can still remember what she tasted like. Her thighs on either side of my head. Her fingers tangled in my hair. Her scent. Her smooth skin.
Shoving my boxers down, I pull my dick out as her voice echoes through my mind.
“You gonna fuck me, Henry?”
I squeeze the base and run my palm along the shaft.
“You gonna make me come?”
“Yeah, baby,” I groan. I pump my hand faster, studying the tiny dimples right above her ass in the photograph. She’s wearing a lacy thong. The slip of red material disappears between her ass cheeks. I stare at the curves, my mind going crazy with everything I want to do to her. I can almost picture her bent over, her long blonde hair wrapped around my hand as I thrust into her from behind.
“Fuck me,” she whimpers. “Fuck me harder––”
I come in my hand, the ropes of white painting my stomach and staining my shirt as I drop my head back to stare at the ceiling.
Fuck me.
What the hell was that?
22
MIA
My skull is throbbing as I roll over on my bed, shove my eye mask onto the top of my head, and check my buzzing phone. Ashlyn’s calling. With a groan, I slide my thumb along the screen and croak, “Hello?”
“Dude. It’s one in the afternoon. Don’t you have a game in a few hours?”
Another groan slips out of me, but I don’t answer her. She’s right. The Lions are playing in their new arena, and I need to be there.
“Any chance you might want to drive together so I can go home with Colt after the game?” she asks.
Sometimes I like to head over early in hopes of filming as much content as possible, but since I’m still behind on editing from the away games, I decide missing one warm-up session isn’t the end of the world.
“Sure,” I answer her.
“Perfect. Sorry I missed your call last night, by the way. What’s up?”
My bottom lip juts out at the reminder of everything that’s happened within the last twelve hours. I push myself up and rest my back against my bare bedroom wall.
“Mia?” Ash prods, sensing my discomfort. “You okay? What happened?”
“I did something stupid.”
Knowing I rarely fess up to my mistakes, she hesitates, and I swear I can hear the disappointment in her voice as she replies, “What did you do?”
My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose while I debate where to begin. “It’s a long story.”
“So spill,” she pushes. “Actually, don’t. I have a feeling I need to hear this in person. You take a shower, and I’ll grab you a coffee from The Bean Scene. Send me your address.”
I grimace. “Ash…”
“Dude. You gotta show me your new place at some point. What? Are you living under a bridge or something?”
She’s right. It’s not like I can avoid showing her my insanely nice apartment for the rest of my life, and she’s my best friend––heaven help her. Might as well get it over with.
“Fiiiine.” I rattle off the address.
“Perfect. I’ll be over in twenty.”
“Okay.”
“Want me to invite Blake and Kate?” she asks. “Actually, never mind. Blake’s shopping for furniture with Theo, and Kate has a doctor’s appointment. I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”
“Yup. See you.”
I hang up the phone, only to have it ring in my palm a second later.
Seriously. Two calls in one day? I’m never this popular.
I don’t recognize the number but answer it anyway.
“Hello?”
“Hello, this is Erika, Dr. Buchanan’s assistant.”
“Oh.” I frown, curious if I’m about to be fired over the phone after last night’s events. I shift my phone to my other ear, preparing myself for the inevitable. “Hey?”
“Hey,” she repeats. “I’m sorry to bug you, but I wanted to reach out and apologize again for the hotel incident––”
With a sigh of relief, I cut her off. “Seriously, you have nothing to apologize for. Stuff happens.”
“I know, but it was super nice of you to take one for the team and all.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, remembering coming against Henry’s mouth as my own sordid version of taking one for the team, but I stay quiet.
She has no idea.
“Anyway,” she continues. “I also wanted to call to let you know you’ll be reporting straight to Dr. Buchanan from now on. He seems to be taking a liking to everything you’re doing. Since you’re already sending him all of your videos and such, we figured it was easiest this way.”