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Zane drives his hips forward, burying himself so deep I see stars explode behind my eyelids. I reach between our bodies to stroke my own cock, desperate to chase the edge he is pushing me toward.

Zane catches my wrist and knocks my hand away.

“Let me.”

He reaches down and wraps his large hand around my aching shaft. He strokes me in perfect counterpoint to his thrusts. Every time he pulls out, his hand slides down. Every time he drives deep inside me, his grip tightens around my cock.

I can barely take it. The combination of Zane stretching me open, his rough hand working my cock, and his wrecked voice in my ear sends me hurtling toward the edge.

“Close,” I gasp out. I claw at his shoulders, leaving red half-moons in his skin. “Zane, I am…”

“Come for me.” His voice drops to a dark, demanding growl. He bites down on my shoulder. “Show me what I do to you.”

I shatter.

I come so hard my vision completely whites out. A loud, wordless shout tears from my throat as I spill hot fluid over Zane’s fist and my own stomach. I clench tight around Zane’s cock.

That’s all it takes to break him.

Zane buries himself deep. He freezes, his entire body going rigid above me. A ragged, guttural shout rips from his chest. He pulses hot and thick inside me, emptying himself into me with wave after wave of intense release.

He collapses.

His whole weight drops heavily against my chest. I wrap my arms around his wide back, holding him tight as we both fight to catch our breath. We lie there in a sweaty, sticky heap. Neither of us moves a single muscle for a very long time.

The silence stretches, broken only by our heavy breathing and the hum of the air conditioning unit in the corner of the room.

“Holy shit,” Zane finally manages to speak. His voice is muffled against my neck.

“Yeah.” I stare up at the ceiling, waiting for my heart rate to drop out of the dangerous zone. “Holy shit.”

Zane lifts his head. He pulls out carefully, wincing at the sensitivity, and rolls onto his back beside me on the ruined sheets. He throws one arm over his eyes. His chest rises and falls in deep, shuddering breaths.

I turn my head to look at him. His golden skin is flushed red. Sweat mats his dark hair against his forehead. He looks completely exhausted and thoroughly wrecked.

“That was my first time,” Zane says eventually. The words hang in the quiet air. “With a man. With anyone like that.”

I roll onto my side and prop my head up on my hand. I trace the dark ink of his tattoo across his biceps.

“How do you feel?” I ask him.

A long pause stretches between us. Zane lowers his arm. He turns his head on the pillow and meets my gaze. His throat works as he swallows hard. All the arrogance, all the calculated distance he projects to the world, is completely gone.

“Like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this,” he whispers, barely looking away from me. “And I did not even know it.”

My chest aches with a sudden, fierce protectiveness. I know exactly what it costs him to say those words. Fourteen years of being scared, and he still came to me.

I slide closer. I rest my hand flat against the center of his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart against my palm. I lean in and press a lingering kiss to his temple.

“Get used to it,” I murmur against his damp skin. “I am not going anywhere.”

Zane wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me flush against his side. He buries his face in my hair, holding me with a desperate, anchoring grip.

Outside this hotel room, the world waits with sharp teeth. The media, the sponsors, the legacy of a father who demanded perfection at the cost of his son’s soul. Secrets never stay hidden forever, especially not with the spotlight glaring down on our upcoming fight. Sooner or later, someone will find out.

But for now, in this room, tangled together in the wreckage of the sheets, we are exactly where we are supposed to be.

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