He straightens his shoulders and for a brief moment I’m afforded a glimpse of Brody entirely bare. His body is large and powerful, every muscle worked hard to distinction, strong and defined.

My awestruck stare breaks when he snatches up the packet off the bed, tearing it open with his teeth. He spits out the torn corner and grabs for the condom, his movements frantic. My pulse climbs with the need to have him filling me. While Brody rolls it down, I lean back on my elbows, letting my legs fall open shamelessly.

He looks up from his task and groans, nostrils flaring. Feverish now, he bites down on his lip, a frustrated grunt escaping when his fingers fumble.

When Brody gets it on he comes for me. His calloused palms slide underneath, scraping my skin as he grabs the round cheeks of my ass. I’m lifted and shoved back. It’s a display of strength he doesn’t think twice about, but it leaves me scrambling. I’m being dominated without a second thought, and I love it.

With one hand Brody lifts my left leg, pressing it toward me. The other he grabs the base of his cock and guides it between my legs. I tilt my hips and he pushes in, inch by yielding inch.

My lips part and my head falls back with a deep, loud moan. When Brody fills me, hard and throbbing, he takes advantage and swoops down, covering my mouth with his own. His hot, wet tongue plunges inside, and it feels so much dirtier when I taste myself on his lips.

I kiss him back, desperate for friction. Brody answers by drawing back his hips. He plunges forward with a breathless grunt.

“Yes,” I pant, hooking my left leg around his firm ass cheeks. “More.”

Brody gives me more. Over and over. Slow and forceful. I wrap my other leg around him and grind my hips, drawing ragged groans from his throat. Both his palms slam down on either side of my head, bracketing me. He looks down, his eyes boring into me with each thrust.

“Christ,” he grounds out, his words harsh and disjointed. “It’s never going to be enough, is it?”

It conveys my own fear when pleasure begins building again. We haven’t scratched the itch. We’ve set it on fire. And when he reaches a hand between us, pressing his thumb hard on my clit, I lose my breath and come hard. It shudders through me, sharp and excruciatingly bright.

His hips are frenzied now, drilling hard inside me with no control. Muscles gleam, tight and slick with sweat.

“Jordan,” he rasps, grinding once, twice, and he stills above me, a hoarse cry ripping from his throat. His body weakens and slumps against me.

I’m boneless beneath him, trapped by his heavy weight, hair sticking to my neck and sweat dampening my skin.

He rolls me above him and cool air sweeps over my back and down my bare legs, bringing relief.

“This,” he says, his breath ragged.

I stare down into darkened eyes, my head in a fog. “This?”

Brody slides his hands down my back until I’m wrapped up tight, his arms a steel band that locks me close. “Home,” he whispers and closes his eyes. “This is what home feels like.”

Jordan

“This is what home feels like.”

Brody can’t unsay those perfectly uttered words, and I can’t stop hearing them. The heat in his gaze and the emotion in his voice tore right through my heart. He held me like I was a treasure he feared would slip right through his fingers, leaving him helpless to stop it.

How did I reply? With nothing, because I’m a coward. I want to run from my feelings, but I’m afraid to the edge of the earth isn’t far enough.

You let this happen, I growl at myself. Not that anyone will hear me if I speak aloud. It’s early, and right about now is when Leah barges into my room and rolls me from bed with a booted foot. It doesn’t happen this morning because I’m awake before she is. An unusual phenomenon, but midterms are over. Results are in. Today.

I skate to the edge of my bed and sit up, my pulse racing with nerves. Brody studied hard and today is the day I prove him wrong. Football is not all he’s good for, and believing in himself isn’t a wasted endeavor.

Getting to my feet, I dress in the running gear I set out the night before and add a warm, fleecy hoodie. It’s getting cold out now, especially in the mornings. It’s surreal. Summer will hit Australia in a couple of weeks. Christmas holidays spent at the beach, the hot sun beating down, sand sticking to sweaty, sunscreen-covered skin. If I close my eyes I can almost feel it. The familiar pang of homesickness hits. What’s unfamiliar is how underwhelming it is.

Not wishing to dwell on it, I leave my bedroom and make a beeline for Leah’s. Hayden stayed over last night. Although I can’t hear any noise, it doesn’t mean it’s safe to barge on in. I bang my fist on her door. “Up and at ’em, sunshine.”

“I’m up, I’m up!” Leah yells back immediately.

The door flies open. She’s clad in a tiny pair of Lycra shorts and sports bra, her face hidden as she tugs a fitted tank top over her head. With mussed hair, she twitches it into place and grabs her sports shoes, tucking them under her arm.

Hayden’s still in bed. Naked. The sheet barely covers below his waist, affording a peek of all the glory that lies beneath. I avert my eyes. Leah’s boyfriend is big everywhere. I have a sudden, newfound respect for her ability to walk a single step in the morning, let alone run.

Without opening his eyes, Hayden rolls over lazily and the sheet dips dangerously low. “See ya at lunch, princess,” he says, yawning loudly. “Miss your tits already.”

Leah sighs. “Later, big boy.”

She leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. Glancing up, she halts, eyeing my fully dressed form and wide-awake state with brow raising disbelief. “Why so perky, turkey?”

“I don’t want to be late for class today.”

She snorts, heading toward the sofa. “As opposed to every other day?”

“Is this how we’re starting our morning?” I ask as she sits and tugs on her shoes. “With lame, shitty wisecracks?”

Leah looks up, pausing from her task. “It’s how we start every day.”

She’s right, but my anxiety levels are rising, leaving no room for clever remarks. “Well not today,” I snap.

“Okaaaay then,” she drawls.

We head out for our run. I set the pace. Feeling ready to bust out of my own skin, I set it hard and fast. By the end of it, Leah’s gasping and my long-healed ankle injury is shooting sparks up my calf.

After a brief cool down, we stagger inside our apartment with wheezing breaths. Leah scoops up her water bottle off the kitchen counter and guzzles down half the icy contents. Drawing it from her lips, she fixes me with a scowl, still panting from our morning effort. “What the hell, Elliott?”

Tears clog my throat and nausea wells up from the pit of my stomach. Her comment is the catalyst because I don’t even know what the hell. My emotions have lost touch with reality. I miss my brother with a keening ache. I want home, but the idea of leaving Brody steals my breath. I want to stay but I also want what I’ve worked for since forever: a place in the US National Women’s Soccer League.

“Seattle Reign,” is all I manage to choke out.

“What about …” Leah trails off. Her eyes widen to saucers and the bottle in her hand falls lax. “Oh my god.”

“Valeena Kelly isn’t returning.” The star forward for the Reign had time out in the off-season for keyhole surgery on a torn ligament in her knee. It didn’t go as planned. She won’t be fit enough to return. I can only imagine her devastation, but her position is a valued one and they need it filled. “I spoke to Coach Kerr after training yesterday for the second time. They want an unknown. Someone young and fresh on the team. Someone with ambition and fire.”