"Oh f.u.c.k, Mac." I thrust into her mouth, writhe against her hand. Which makes me feel it more. She's taking me. Me, the one always in control. She making love to me with her mouth and f.u.c.king me with her finger. It's so intense, I don't think, only pant and move with her as if my life depends on it.

My hand slides from her hair, slams to the bed to grasp the covers as I arch up into her mouth, my entire body drawing tight. Pleasure punches through me. I come so hard, the room turns hazy.

And she just takes it, drinking me down, sucking my c.o.c.k with sharp tugs that have me babbling demands. "G.o.d, honey, promise you'll marry me one day. I have to have this for the rest of our lives. Forever. Always. f.u.c.k."

She releases me with a long pull, her finger sliding away. My skin p.r.i.c.kles. I feel vaguely empty, my body sore in places I don't want to think about. And as she slowly kisses her way up my stomach, I'm still babbling. "Give it to me on Christmas. Birthdays." Her tongue flicks in my belly b.u.t.ton. I grunt, my hips twitching. "My days off. Major holidays. Midnight surprises..." Mac licks my nipple, and I shiver, my voice going raspy. "Twice on Tuesdays."

Her dark eyes gleam brightly as she peers up at me. "Just Tuesdays?"

"Twice on Tuesdays. Maybe once every day?" I crane my head, give her a hopeful look, and she utters a husky laugh that is so f.u.c.king s.e.xy my thighs clench and my words come out strangled. "Just, you know, let's keep this particular fun on the down-low..."

A flush of heat washes over my cheeks. Jesus, I can't believe she did that. And how f.u.c.king good it felt. I've underestimated my girl.

Mac's lips twitch but her expression is solemn as she rises over me and bends to kiss me softly. "Your secret's safe with me, big guy."

She tastes like me, her mouth all swollen and red and plush. I want more. My hand slides over her neck, holding her there so I can kiss her deeper, a languid glide of tongue and lips. Little pulses of heat ripple through my d.i.c.k like aftershocks. Holy h.e.l.l. "Definitely twice on Tuesdays, Mac."

Ivy

Gray flops on the bed with me, making the ma.s.sive mattress bounce. He's wearing a pair of sweats that ride low on his lean hips and nothing else. "Checking out the swag?"

Swag being the large duffle bag I'm picking through filled with goodies that various sponsors have gifted Gray and his teammates. "Dad used to bring home travel soaps and T-shirts." I pull out an elegant plastic box that holds a certain smart watch people have been dying to get their hands on. "Nothing like this haul."

Gray waggles his brows. "Pretty sweet, huh? I think there's a voucher for a year's worth of steaks."

"I'm surprised you didn't cry."

"I might have shed a tear or two." Gray pushes up the hem of the T-shirt I'm wearing and rests his head on my bare thigh. With a little hum of pleasure, he strokes my leg, his expression content, his body loose-limbed and lazy. Give the man a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b and a little unexpected a.s.s play, and he's practically purring. There's probably a lesson in that, only I'm equally susceptible. Gray merely has to look at me a certain way, and I'm ready to offer him anything.

"Ivy?"

"Yeah? Ooh, look, wireless headphones. I've been wanting a pair of these."

"They're yours." His hand moves along my calf, the touch soft, steady. "When I told Drew about you being pregnant, I realized that I wasn't afraid. That the idea of having a baby with you was kind of great."

My heart seizes.

Clearly, he feels me stiffen because his grip tightens on my shin. "I'm not trying to push you," he says. "But you asked me once what I wanted." The bed creaks as he rises up on his elbow. Gray's blue eyes are earnest yet almost shy. "I want it all with you."

Warmth flutters through my chest as I look down at him. Gently, I brush back a lock of his hair. "I thought you might."

His gaze moves over my face as though he's trying to read my mind. "But do you?"

Running my fingers through his hair, I stare off. "When I think of this baby as you and me, I want to protect it with all that I am."

Gray gives my leg a gentle squeeze, but I keep talking.

"But when I think of trying to be a mother right now..." I trail off with a strangled breath. "I mean, a baby-a child-needs constant care. I can't do that on my own. I don't want to do that."

Gray's brows snap together. "Who said anything about being on your own? We're in this together. One hundred percent."

"Gray, you're going to be starting the NFL. July through January, they'll basically own your a.s.s."

"Okay, yeah, that will suck." Gray sighs and rests his forehead on my thigh again. "But we can work it out. And never think for a second that I won't be all in when I am there." His big body flops back onto the bed, and he blinks up at the ceiling. "s.h.i.t, I don't know. Maybe we should wait."

I lie back too, my head next to his. "Only I'm pregnant now. When I think of ending it, I just can't." With a muttered curse, I press my forearm over my eyes. "Why is it so hard, Gray?"

Gray rolls to his side and lifts my arm off my face. "I wish I had the right answer," he says slowly. "All I can say is that the hardest decisions in life are often over the things that mean the most. So what means the most to you, Ivy?"

"You. Being together."

His expression turns tender. "And what do you fear the most?"

"Making the wrong choice."

"Then make the choice that scares you the most."

Cupping his strong cheek, I peer up at him. "You never let anything stop you, do you?"

"Not for long, Ivy Mac." His large frame moves over me until I'm surrounded by him. "It's my nature to work past obstacles." His lips skim up my neck, nipping and tasting as they go. "And look what I have to show for it. Top of my sport and, in my bed, the woman I love more than anything."

"Our bed," I correct, pulling him down to me. His hard body presses against mine, and everything kind of short-circuits. He feels so good, all satin-smooth skin and hot, hard muscle. I need him again. Now. Thick and slow within me. In a haze, I think about luck and how mine had always seemed slightly off. I think about how happy I am in this moment with Gray, knowing that he's mine. That we could actually be a little family. And I feel afraid. Maybe a little fear is a good thing.

Thirty-One.

Ivy

Game day. Gray comes out of the bedroom, and it's all I can do not to swallow my tongue. All the guys wear suits to the stadium, but I wasn't expecting Gray to look so hot in one. Dressed in a charcoal pinstripe, three-piece suit with a crisp white shirt and an ice blue tie, he's long and lean and gorgeous. Like my own extra-tall James Bond.

I bite my lip and resist the urge to strip him. Unfortunately there isn't time because he's expected downstairs in about five minutes.

He gives me a searching look and an uncomfortable laugh. "Why are you staring at me like that? s.h.i.t." He shifts his feet. "I look like an a.s.shole, don't I?"

Shaking my head, I walk over to him. Or rather, I stalk him, because I still want a bite. His smile is lopsided when I stop before him.

"d.a.m.n," I say on a sigh. "You are fine in this suit." I smooth my hand down one silky lapel and press into the solid wall of muscle hiding beneath it.

Gray grunts as if I'm talking crazy, but he blushes as his hands settle on my hips. "Want to play dress-up later?"

"Yeah." Gently, I run my knuckle down his stomach, stopping at his belt buckle, loving the way he sucks in a breath and nudges forward with his hips as if to urge me lower. I glide my knuckle back and forth along his waistband. "We can play interrogate the spy."

Gray lowers his head and nips my earlobe. "You gonna be a spy, Mac?"

"No. You are. I'll tie you to a chair and do dirty things to make you talk."

A full-body shudder wracks Gray, and his fingers tighten on my hips. But he takes a breath and steps back. "d.a.m.n it, Mac," he says with a husky laugh, "I can't be boarding the team bus with a ma.s.sive hard-on."

"I kind of like the image, but okay." Putting some needed distance between us, I lean against the arm of the couch. "I hear your dad is going to be at the game."

His nose wrinkles on a scowl. "Way to go with the bone kill. Yeah, I suppose he is." Gray fidgets with the white cuffs peeking out from his coat sleeves. "And how the h.e.l.l did you know that, anyway?"

"Pfft. I've got connections you can only dream of." My teasing fades. "Are you going to talk to him?"

Not looking at me, Gray shrugs. "Maybe. I guess after the game."

"Just get it over with, Gray. Like ripping off a bandage."

He makes a rude noise, then eyes me. "And then we celebrate with a little bondage and light s.e.xual torture?"

I laugh, pretending that heat isn't swelling between my legs. "Not my choice of words, but yeah, that's what we'll do."

His smile is evil. In two steps he has me. Soft lips kiss my forehead, eyes, nose, chin, mouth. "Every inch, Mac."

I press a kiss to his lips. "Every inch, Gray. Now go kick some a.s.s."

Thirty-Two.

Gray

"So are you engaged now?" Dex asks me as peers into his locker mirror and begins to smear on eye black.

Smiling, I continue wrapping my wrists. "More like engaged to be engaged."

Which I'm totally cool with. Ivy's wearing my ring, and that brings out the caveman in me. Better yet, she wants me as much as I want her. It's all I need.

"And the dreams of h.o.r.n.y chicks all over the sporting world are dashed," Johnson pipes in from the other side of me.

"Guess they'll just have to settle for you, big guy." I give his belly a light slap and it jiggles, earning me an irate look from Johnson as he covers his gut with one hand.

"Married?" Marshall parrots from behind us. "Man, I can't believe it. You're the last dude I'd expect to fall for that trap, Grayson." He shakes his big head. "Next thing you know, one of you will confess to being gay."

I don't even have to be looking Rolondo's way to know he's gone stiff. I worry for him, wondering just how much s.h.i.t he'll get if he ever comes out, and how hard it is for him to keep his life secret. But for now, I keep my eyes on Marshall. "Careful, man, your a.s.shole is showing."

"What?" Marshall whips around, craning his neck to look at his a.s.s.

And the guys laugh.

"He was being figurative," Diaz deadpans. "As in you're being an a.s.shole."

Marshall scowls, his beefy face turning red. "You know what you can kiss, D?"

But Diaz just grins and continues tying up his cleats.

We finish dressing, and Coach walks in with the staff. "Take a knee, gentlemen."

It's time for the pre-game talk. Now, some coaches shout and yell to rev up their team. Not our coach. He's always calm, almost meditative. He likes philosophy, visualizing a victory, thinking in terms of mental toughness. And not one of us has ever complained. Because his methods work. He speaks, and we listen to every word.

We all drop to one knee, forming a circle around him. Coach stands in the middle, his body loose and relaxed, his voice steady and low. "So, here we are. The playoffs. It's what we've worked for. What we knew we could achieve." He looks around.

"I know each and every one of you. I know your strengths. I know your weaknesses. And if those boys have done their homework, they'll know them too. Strengths and weaknesses. Everyone's afraid of weakness. Don't be. Use it to your advantage. They think you've got an ego to exploit? Let them think it. Twitchy on the snap if taunted? Make them believe it. Turn that weakness into your strength. Confuse them. Do the unexpected." Coach points to his temple. "This game is as much up here as it is on that field."

We're silent, watching as he strolls before us. "Lot of knuckleheads in this game. Guys who think they'll play the hero and do it all alone. But on that field..." He points toward the doors. "We play as a team, and we win as a team. Teamwork. We're the team they all want to beat. They want our blood." His gaze wanders over us. "Because we're the best d.a.m.n team in the nation."

"Red Dogs!" we all shout as one.

"'Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.' Sun Tzu." Coach's voice rises. "Men, we've already won. Now go out there and get the job done."

"Yes, Coach!" It's a roar.

Coach's eyes flick to mine, and he gives a small nod. Every team has their traditions, little rituals that they do before games. Ours is no different. The university tradition is to get into a ma.s.s huddle and b.u.mp our helmets together before running out on the field. Here, in the locker room, we have another one for just after Coach's speech.