nala.

You tagged along for the event, having helped with its coordination by keeping track of his emails and serving as an unofficial assistant. For most of the day you sat behind a portable partition where fans couldn’t see, scrolling through more of his emails, taking care of some household administrative tasks, and occasionally popping out to get Colston, his agent, and some of the convention center staff working the event, waters and snacks when their supply was running low.

Occasionally, Colston’s voice would float through the partition, his warm, deep drawl unmistakable. Sometimes, you could hear him laughing. Sometimes he was responding to a fan’s questions. Every time, he was perfectly polite, even when you knew he was exhausted. By the time you were finally walking out to the parking lot, hand in hand, with Colston making small talk with his agent, the sun had set and you could feel the ache of your feet radiating up your calves.

Colston’s truck was parked at the far end of the lot, and as you crossed the pavement, his thumb traced absent circles against the back of your hand. “You good, mama?” he murmured, voice pitched low enough that his agent wouldn’t overhear. You squeezed his fingers in response, pressing your shoulder into his arm and wrapping one of your hands around his bicep in silent answer.

“Well, I will follow-up with Principal Howell tomorrow to make sure everything is all set for your clinic next month,” Colston’s agent said, shifting your weight as the three of you reached the truck. The gravel crunched beneath your sneakers, your eyes flicking between your phone and you. “And you, my love, it was so good to see you again,” you reached forward, squeezing your forearm before glancing back at Colston. “You know to call me if anything.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for your help, as always. Get to your hotel safe,” Colston said, nodding as his agent waved one last time before heading to your rental car.

Colston kept a steadying hand on your hip as you climbed into the truck, then shut the door behind you once you were seated. The leather seats settled under his weight as he slid in after rounding the hood, glancing over to ensure you were buckled in before shifting gears. He sighed as he leaned back against the headrest, rolling his shoulders against the seat to relieve the tension that had built up throughout the day.

“Oh, baby,” you murmured, reaching over to stroke the back of his neck, your fingers pressing lightly against the taut muscles there. “You’re all knotted up.” He hummed in agreement, tilting his head slightly to give you better access.

The truck’s engine rumbled when he pressed the clutch and the push-to-start to turn over the transmission. Slowly, he took his foot off the clutch and pulled out of the parking lot, merging into the sluggish evening Chicago traffic. “Thinkin’ about orderin’ something,” he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face before gripping the wheel again. “Too tired to cook. Unless you wanna wait for delivery.”

You hummed in thought, stretching your legs out in front of you and playing with Colston’s fingers where they rested on your knee between the shifting of gears. He glanced over at you when the truck rolled to a stop at a red light, letting his fingers twine with yours before lifting your hand to his lips and pressing soft kisses to your knuckles then lowering your hands back to your thigh.

“Wendy’s?” he suggested, nodding toward the red sign what seemed to be about a mile ahead on the right hand side of the road.

You wrinkled your nose slightly, but squeezed his fingers in agreement. Colston frowned at your expression, switching lanes with one hand while the other stayed locked around yours. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, mama,” he murmured, his palm drifting up and down the length of your thigh. “We can find somethin’ else. There’s a ton out here.”

You shook your head, shifting in your seat to face him more fully. “No, baby, it’s fine,” you assured him, your voice softening. “I’m just tired. Wendy’s is fine.”

Colston’s hand left your thigh for a brief moment, shifting gears, then returning to thread his fingers through yours before he lifted your joined hands to press another kiss to your knuckles. “I know you’re tired, mama. You worked hard today too. Thank you for helpin’ out, you know I appreciate you.”

“Mmm, I love being there to see you do your thing,” you murmured, your hands sliding over the bicep closer to you as you kissed along the tattoos along his right arm. You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, breathing in the scent of his skin. “But next time, remind me to wear sneakers. My feet are killing me in these sandals.”

Colston chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the cab as he flicked on the turn signal and eased the truck into the Wendy’s lot. The line was much longer than expected, snaking around the building with brake lights glowing red in the dusk.

“Damn…” he muttered under his breath. “I should’ve figured it’d be like this. Looks like everybody else had the same idea.” He glanced over at you with raised eyebrows as the truck rolled forward inch by inch, joining the end of the drive-thru line, his fingers tightening slightly on the wheel. “No way we’re gettin’ through this anytime soon,” he observed with a resigned shake of his head.

You groaned, stretching your long legs out before you. You rolled your right ankle into a circle, tensing until the joint finally cracked, pushing an exhale out from your chest.

“They hurt bad?” Colston asked, his voice low and rough with concern. You nodded, your lips pressing together in a thin line as you slipped you sandals off.

“C’mere, lemme help,” he murmured, reaching over to pull your thigh toward him with one broad hand. You obliged, lifting your feet into his lap with a grateful sigh. “Hand me that lotion you keep in your purse,” he instructed, nodding toward the bag at your feet.

You dug through it blindly, fingers closing around the small bottle of vanilla and coconut-scented moisturizer you always kept in your bag for moments like this. You handed it off to your boyfriend then turned your body to face him, your back pushed against the door. Colston squeezed a generous amount into his palm, rubbing his hands together to warm it before wrapping his fingers around your left foot.

The first press of his thumbs into your arch pulled a soft breath from your lips, your head tipping back against the window. The sound was an involuntarily audible signal of your relief, your toes curling slightly against his calloused palms. Colston’s hands were large enough to cradle your entire foot. His fingers worked in slow, firm circles that kneaded away the tension knotting your muscles.

“Good?” he prompted when he saw your body melt under his touch. You hummed in agreement, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks.

Outside, the line barely inched forward, the red glow of taillights casting intermittent shadows across the cab. You let your eyes drift shut, your focus narrowing to the warmth of Colston’s hands and the scent of vanilla and coconut mingling with the musk of his cologne. You lapsed into comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional hum of contentment from you as he worked his thumbs along the ridge of your instep.

After working out the stiffness in your left foot, Colston moved to your right, kneading the lotion into your skin with slow, practiced motions. You exhaled through your nose, your body sinking deeper into the seat as tension bled out of you under his touch. “So good, baby. Thank you,” you murmured, your voice syrupy with contentment.

Colston smiled slightly, looking up at you as he switched over to your other foot. “Just tryna take care of my baby,” he rumbled lowly. “You’ve been runnin’ around all day handlin’ shit for me. This is the least I could do.” His thumbs pressed particularly deep into the ball of your foot, drawing another soft sigh from your lips.

“You know what you wanna eat yet?” Colston asked, his fingers still working slow circles into your arch.

“Something with nuggets probably,” you shrugged. He leaned over the console, puckering his lips for a kiss which you met with a soft laugh against his mouth. “I know you know my order,” you stated as you pulled away, letting your fingers cup his chin lightly.

Colston nodded as he rattled off your exact meal.

You let your fingers keep a firm grip on his chin, your thumb brushing the faint stubble there as you watched him recite your order. His eyes flicked to yours mid-sentence, catching the way your lips curled into a slow smile. “You’re so fucking good to me,” you purred, dragging each word out like honey.

Colston’s hands stilled on your foot for a fraction of a second before resuming their work, though his fingers pressed just a little harder now. His gaze darkened as it flicked from your lips back to your eyes, pupils swallowing the warm brown of his irises. “I know what I need to do to keep you happy, mama,” he said, testing the waters. His voice was completely neutral, but you caught the implication beneath it.

Colston pulled the truck forward, suddenly aware that you were one car removed from being able to order at the speakerbox. “I was never gonna take you for granted,” he said, his deep voice carrying an edge that had you biting your bottom lip. “You know I’ll do anything for my baby.”

You voice dropped further, the same cadence you used when you were winding him up. “I know, baby,” you murmured. “You take such good care of me.”

[ . . . ]

You spent the forty-minute ride home feeding him fries, his burger, and sips of your iced drink; diligently wiping at the corners of his mouth with the white paper napkin poised between your fingers. Your eyes tracked the way his jaw remained clenched, his grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white. He didn’t say much but his hand returned to your knee between the shifting of gears and he thanked you for the bites and sips he offered him with a deep, twanged, “Thank you,” and an accompanying squeeze of your thigh.

The two of you entered through the front door, Colston carrying your belongings and the bags of food ready to be discarded while you followed behind him with just your lemonade in hand. You watched him dispose of your trash, your eyes tracing the heavy ripple of muscle in his back, and how his shoulders seemed to expand with every breath.

He reached out for your hand, his fingers loosely grasping yours. You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of you as you bounced behind him, following him all the way to the living room, setting your lemonade down on the nearest surface.

The moment the lemonade hit the mahogany side table, the space between you vanished. Colston didn’t lead you toward the bedroom; he didn’t even give you a chance to blink before his arm wrapped around your waist and hoisted you off your feet. You let out a startled, delighted shriek, your legs wrapping around his torso as he carried you to the plush leather couch.

He settled first, bringing you down to straddle his hips where he sat propped against the arm of the sofa. The moment your weight landed, Colston’s large hands found the hem of your cream dress, bunching the fabric upward with a singular, impatient motion until the air hit your thighs. He leaned forward first, grasping your waist between his palms, and kissed you greedily.

You let out a muffled moan, your fingers tangling in the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. You felt the hard, insistent press of him against you, a reminder that he hadn’t forgotten his promise. His hands roamed over your backside, fingertips dipping into the waistband of your underwear from time to time as you kissed each other dizzy on the couch. A soft groan escaped him when you finally ground down against him, your hips finding the rhythm you knew he craved.

“Mmm, fuck,” he said appreciatively, pulling back from your lips to deliver a smack to your ass followed by the full-handed grasp of your behind. His eyes were dark, focused entirely on the way your chest heaved against his. “Shit. Got right to work, huh, baby?”

You hummed emphatically in agreement, your hands falling to either side of his neck to pull him back into a deep, nasty kiss. It was tongue-to-tongue and desperate, with wandering hands and the slow exchange of saliva. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging slightly, and giggling as you watched his eyes roll back.

Hovering over his lips and deepening your grind, you finally managed a honeyed, “Anything to earn what you promised.”

He smiled, his hands controlling the drag of your center against his. “Yeah?” he quipped.

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, your head falling back with a breathy moan, your black underwear beginning to soak through with your own arousal.

“What did I promise, mama?” he asked, growing smug when you tensed atop him, stopping yourself from getting too carried away. “C’mon now, use your words. Remind me.”

You leaned in, your nose brushing against his, your lips just ghosting over his, your voice a playful, breathy whisper. “You said you were gonna fuck me on the floor.”

You gasped against his mouth as his right hand reached around to the back of your neck, to tilt your head back by fisting your hair at the scalp. His left hand shifted lower on your ass, reaching around to press the pad of his middle finger to the entrance of your pussy, feeling the damp fabric of your underwear.

“Uh huh,” he nodded with approval, pressing harder against your entrance. “Remindin’ me of my word. I like that.”

His right hand grasped the edge of your underwear, shifting it aside to grant him easy access to your pussy. You gasped lightly as he breached your entrance, then hummed pleasantly as you sank onto his fingers. The full body tremor that coursed through you was evident from the way your thighs quivered against his hips, and Colston let out a low, appreciative noise. Your forehead pressed to his shoulder with a whimper as your hips rolled against his hand.

“Too long,” he rumbled, keeping his other hand on your waist to steady you. “Been waitin’ too long for this. She’s so damn wet.”

You moaned softly, pulling back from his shoulders to roll your hips again. You could feel just how long his fingers were, stretching you out and perfectly nestling in the sweet spot that made you unbearably wet. Your hands roamed over his chest, neck, and hair, needing to feel his solid mass beneath you as you rode his fingers. Your breathless gasps and sighs and moans filled his ears, and if you were able to bring yourself to focus on anything other than the pleasure, you would have noticed the way Colston’s jaw was clamped tight, his eyes fixed on your with a predatory intensity.

“You wanna talk to me, mama?” he asked, dipping his hesd and kissing along your neck and collarbones, his free hand now squeezing the soft plumpness of your hip. “Or you just wanna feel it?”

You couldn’t even form a word, your response coming in a high-pitched, needy whimper as you arched your back, grinding your center into the friction of his hand. “F-feel it,” you managed to gasp out, your voice breaking. “Just… baby, please.”

Colston didn’t need further invitation. He let his fingers slowly, carefully begin pumping in and out of you. He watched your face, savoring the way your features tightened in a mask of pure, unashamed pleasure. Every time you tried to find your breath, he’d shift the angle of his hand, hitting a spot that sent a fresh jolt of electricity through your toned frame. He mouthed along the tops of your breasts, allowing himself to suck a small bruise into the slope of your chest, his deep voice vibrating against your skin. “I got you, angel. Just lean into it, baby. No struggle.”

Your head lolled back with a prolonged, guttural moan. You were lost in the friction, the heat of him radiating through the leather and into your skin. The world was shrinking to the size of this room and the overwhelming presence of the man holding you through what was surely your first orgasm of the night. You felt the pressure building as if a tightening coil in your lower belly. You gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into the muscle, your breath coming in short, jagged hitches and whines.

Vaguely, you felt the hand on your hip shift to grip the soft curve of your ass. Abruptly, his hand came down, dragging a sharp, breathless, “Fuck, do it again,” from your lungs.

Colston laughed at that, his warm palm soothing your skin in a slow, heavy circle. He complied twice more with a proud hum, kissing your jawline as your body shuddered through the contact. “She’s singin’ to me, now,” he said through his kisses, quickening the pace of his fingers until you were nothing more than a series of broken whimpers and desperate clings. “You got it. Just let it go, mama.”

Your hands fell away from his body, one hand falling down to your clit, swollen and desperate for attention, as the other pulled on one of his forearms. Taking the hint, he lifted his free hand to hold the side of your face, dipping his thumb into your mouth to hush your whimpers while his fingers continued to work your magic inside you. You let out a high, keening sound, then gasped with a stuttered, “I’m cumming, I’m—fuck, Colston.”

“I know, baby. I know…” he cooed, pulling you against his chest, but letting his fingers continue to drive you over the edge. Your entire body locked, your eyes rolling as you shuddered through your orgasm. Your walls pulsed tight around his fingers.

You felt completely undone, your muscles like jelly, but the feeling of being enveloped by his broad frame provided a grounding comfort. Colston’s hand transitioned from the heat of your center to a slow stroke down your spine, his lips peppering affection into your hairline with your cheek pressed to his chest. He let out a long, shaky exhale, the scent of your arousal and the vanilla lotion filling his senses.

You drew out of your slumped posture, your arms lifting to fall over his shoulders as your back straightened. You felt the heavy thrum of his heart against your ribs. You pressed a lingering, slow kiss to the hollow of his throat, making your way up the thick muscle, practically purring against him.

“That wasn’t enough?” Colston murmured, his own hands continuing to stroke up and down your body.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, trying to hide the smile he didn’t have to see to know was there. “Don’t play with me right now.”

He chuckled, simultaneously giving you a soft love tap and a firm squeeze. “You let me play in that pretty little pussy, though.”

“You could play some more…” you purred, resuming your work on his neck. “Fuck me on the floor…” you guided his head back, exposing his Adam’s apple, and nipped at the skin there. “Have me on my back, pretty little pussy just for you…” your nose nudged his, your voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Remember what you promised?”

His eyes lifted to meet yours, his breathing shallow through his nose. “You talk so reckless in my ear.”

You nodded, “Mmhmm,” your breath ghosting over his lips, a silent challenge that snapped the last thread of his restraint.

Colston didn’t let you slide off him gently. He shifted his weight, gripping your waist with an intensity that left no room for hesitation, and stood up with you still locked around his hips. You let out a startled, breathless giggle, your arms tightening around his neck as he carried you a few steps away from the couch. Without a word, he lowered you to the hardwood floor. He didn't bother with the bedroom, like he swore, he wanted you right here, exposed and vulnerable on the cold floor of your living room.

He settled between your thighs, pulling back to sit on his heels, his gaze traveling over you with a proprietary hunger. Your dress was still bunched around your waist. He reached for its hem, dragging it up and over your head in one fluid motion, tossing the garment, and your bra, aside without a second thought. He wanted every inch of your brown skin exposed to the dim light of the living room, your silhouette on display for his eyes alone.

With an awe-filled tone, Colston sighed, “Shit. You look good like this.”

You didn’t have time to respond before Colston’s hands were on you, his palms rough and warm as they slid from your shoulders down to your hips, pinning you against the hardwood. The contrast of the cool floor against your back and the searing heat of his body above you made your breath hitch. He didn’t rush, he took a moment to just look at you, his chocolate brown eyes roaming over every curve with a possessive intensity.

He cursed under his breath as his eyes trailed down to your parted legs, catching sight of your pussy having soaked through your underwear, the damp fabric clinging to you. Without a word, he reached down and hooked two fingers into the lace, dragging them down your legs with a sudden, forceful yank. He tossed the fabric aside, leaving you on display. Your pussy practically glittered from the mess you made earlier.

He placed his palm flat against your lower stomach, his thumb perfectly placed to pull back the hood of your clit, making your back arch off the hardwood. Colston let out a low rumble, muttering something to himself under his breath.

You cupped your breasts in your hands, sighing softly as they squeezed together. You eased your fingertips over your nipples, your gaze locked onto Colston’s face.

“I might have to keep you right here all night,” Colston murmured, his voice dropping an octave into that raw, gravelly territory. “Got the prettiest pussy just for me, huh?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer. He stood up just long enough to rid himself of his own clothes, his movements efficient and focused. When he returned to you, the sheer scale of him seemed to block out the living room lights. He descended upon you with a heavy, purposeful weight, his muscular frame pinning you into the hardwood. He grabbed at your thighs, hoisting them high and hauling your hips toward him until there was no space left between you.

Neither of you could resist the magnetic pull of the hot, messy kiss that followed. Colston’s hands didn’t stay still either. They migrated from your thighs to your waist, his fingers digging into the soft curve of your hips, guiding your left knee back toward your shoulder to open you up completely. You let out a fragmented moan, your head tossing back against the floor as you felt the blunt, insistent head of him press against your entrance.

“Damn, girl,” he groaned once he was nestled in between your walls, immediately beginning a relentless, heavy pace that hammered you into the hardwood. The lack of a mattress beneath you only made the experience more visceral. Every thrust came with an echoing thud that reverberated through your bones. Colston was uncompromising, his muscular frame straining with effort, his sweat beginning to drip onto your brown skin, mixing with the friction of your bodies.

Colston didn’t give you a second to adjust to the depth of him. He gripped your waist with a strength that bordered on bruising, his large palms anchoring your hips so he could drive himself deeper with every single stroke. You moaned through every thrust, your hands frantically searching for purchase on his muscular arms, your nails digging into the tattoo sleeve on his right arm. The rhythm was punishing and perfect, a heavy, rhythmic thumping that filled the quiet living room.

He shifted his grip, pulling your legs higher and pulling them over his broad shoulders. The position left your center exposed and absorbing the full force of his weight. Colston’s eyes were fixed on the point of impact, watching the way your brown skin glistened with the thin sheen of sweat and your thighs quivered under the onslaught. He let out a low, guttural sound, his voice a raw vibration as he leaned down to press his weight into you.

Your hands reached into his hair, tugging the dark strands and moaning into his ears. His face tucked into the crook of your neck, ensuring his body was positioned correctly for a deep grind that made your eyes roll back. His pelvis ground against your clit with every relentless slam. Colston was out of breath, his chest heaving against your breasts, his muscles rippling under the exertion of holding your legs aloft.

You babbled beneath him, eyes half-lidded and swimming in a sea of utter overstimulation. Colston didn’t let up, he was driving into you with a singular, focused intensity, his breath coming in ragged huffs.

“Don’t tap out now,” Colston rasped. “You wanted this. You asked for it.”

You couldn’t even find the breath to agree, your voice lost to a series of high-pitched, needy whimpers that only seemed to fuel his fire. “I can’t…” you gasped, walls already beginning to flutter around his dick.

Colston didn’t let you drift away. He shifted his weight, his chest pressing firmly against yours, creating a vacuum of heat. The friction was absolute, a scorching heat that blurred the edges of your consciousness. He didn't give you a moment to breathe, his pace becoming a relentless, punishing cadence that rattled you against the hardwood. Every slam of his hips was a claim, a physical manifestation of the promise he’d made in the truck. Your legs were locked over his shoulders, your ankles crossing behind his neck, pulling him closer until there wasn’t a single centimeter of air between you two.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered against your mouth. He shifted his grip to the back of your head to hold you steady as he delivered a series of deep, soul-shaking thrusts.

You held on to his biceps for dear life, your breath coming in jagged, shallow bursts. Your senses narrowed down to the scent of his cologne and the rhythmic, heavy thud of his body meeting yours. You felt the agonizingly sweet tension in your muscles. Your hips began to roll instinctively, seeking that perfect, devastating angle that would push you over the edge.

“Yeah… right there, baby. Fuck, right there,” you whimpered.

“I got you, baby. Just let me know… tell me what you need.”

“Cole… keep doing that,” you whispered. “Don’t stop, please, just don’t stop.”

Colston didn’t need to be told twice. He could feel your internal walls clamping down on him, milking him with a desperation that nearly broke his rhythm. He let out a low growl, his eyes darkening as he watched your eyes unfocus and your lips part in a silent, breathless plea. “You can take it. I promise you can take it,” Colston encouraged you lightly.

“Ooh, you’re so pretty taking this dick, baby. Just look at you,” Colston groaned, his voice thick with pride as you finally keened with a high pitched cry, signaling you were falling over the edge. “There you go. There you go, mama. Gimme that shit.”

He kept fucking you through the orgasm, ensuring you were breathing until he, too, reached his breaking point. Colston’s muscles locked and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body shuddering with a series of deep pulses.

Your breathing was equally labored. Colston guided your bodies in a tired change of position, bringing his back to the floor and pulling you on top of him. You collapsed against his broad chest, your skin glistening and tacky with sweat, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm. Colston’s large hands traced the curves of your hips before sliding up to cradle your head. He pulled you closer, his chin resting on the crown of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair, finding a mix of your floral perfume and the raw, muskier scent of your intimacy. He let out a long, shuddering sigh of contentment, his muscles finally beginning to unclench.

You lifted your head, your left hand cupping his cheek as you delivered soft kisses to his jawline. Your eyes were still hazy, the afterglow leaving your feeling heavy and warm, as if you were floating just an inch above the hardwood. You let out a tiny, contented giggle, the sound echoing in the living room.

He accepted the warm, buzzy kiss with a lazy smile, his chest still heaving beneath your head. You were content to let the silence of the house settle around you, allowing for his heartbeat to sync with yours. Colston’s grip on your hips remained firm, though the energy had shifted from possessive to protective, his fingertips drawing slow, soothing circles into your skin.

“You make me so proud,” you whispered. You rested your chin on his chest, your mind still drifting in a fog of endorphins. “Seeing you interact with everyone there today… the way people look at you. I’m so lucky you’re mine.”

Colston’s hum vibrated through his ribs and into your own. He tightened his hold on you, his large palms splaying across your lower back. “I’m so blessed to get to love you the right way, baby,” he murmured. “Thankful to you everyday for allowing me to earn you.”

He shifted slightly, lifting you just enough to press a tender kiss to your forehead. You sighed, your body finally beginning to cool as the air from the hallway vent brushed over your damp skin.

“I need a bath,” you huffed, sitting up to straddle his hips. “And we have to disinfect this floor before we go to bed. I don’t need people standing in my coochie sweat tomorrow.”

Colston let out a deep, rumbling laugh that shook your entire frame. “Oh, hold on, now. I love that choochie sweat,” he teased, sitting up and kissing you between his words. He felt you laugh against his mouth, your right hand reaching up to cup his cheek to give you the space to speak.

“I know you do, baby, but this hardwood does not,” you retorted, though you didn’t move from his lap just yet. You lingered in the sanctuary of his arms for a moment longer, wrapping your own arms around his neck. You squeezed him tight, your cheek pressed against his with a forceful itch for proximity behind it. “And you paid a lot for this house. I wanna keep it nice for as long as possible.”

“We paid,” he corrected you, just like he always did. You rolled your eyes outside of the field of his view but smiled regardless, keeping your face pressed against his. “And you know we bought it cash, mama. A little bit of sweat on the floor never hurt anybody.”

“I love you, but you’re nasty,” you giggled, finally peeling yourself away from his heat. “Can we shower now?” Colston grumbled but gave you one last squeeze before he sighed, reluctantly letting you slide off his lap.

The sudden rush of cool air against your skin made you shiver, the adrenaline finally beginning to ebb and leave a satisfying exhaustion in its wake. You stood up on shaky legs, your long limbs feeling like lead. Colston remained on the floor for a moment, staring up at you with an expression of pure adoration. His dark brown eyes were soft now, blinking slowly as he watched you collect your strewn clothes on the floor.

“—and you know, having the boys come out, it’s really awesome. It’s so cool… to have that connection to the community, and the city that gave me all of this.” Luke woke up chatty, more than he was usually. His nervous, buzzy energy kept him chattering, talking about the day ahead of them, what it meant to him, and who they would be celebrating with.

You lightly tapped the knot of his tie, your fingers pinching the fabric one last time to ensure it sat perfectly flush against his collar. Your hands smoothed over your chest, then drifted upward to cup his jaw, you eyes finding his green ones, hoping to ground his energy. “From what Greg told me, they have the heat index spiking during the ceremony. You’re gonna be a walking sauna in this suit, baby.”

Luke let out a soft, rumbling laugh that vibrated against your palms, his large hands instinctively finding the small of your back to draw you closer. “Oh, I’m pumped for the entire football world to find out I’m a sweater,” he joked. “You know those fans you told me Beyonce has on stage?”

“You need her fans?” you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Maybe just a few,” he shrugged, leaning down to kiss you. He hummed pleasantly when you deepened the kiss and tightened his hold on your waist to keep you close when the two of you parted. “But I think I’ll manage. It’s only supposed to be mid-70s today.”

You fell into a unconscious sway. Your left hand settling on his shoulder while the right held his face delicately. “You look amazing, baby,” you said, kissing his jaw lightly. You stepped back just enough to admire the view of the sharp lines of the tailored suit clinging to his broad shoulders. “I’m so proud of you.”

[ . . . ]

After putting the finishing touches on your appearances for the long day ahead of them, including some slight grumbling from you who was displeased with the amount of gel Luke had used on his curls, the two of you joined the rest of the Kuechly family for breakfast. The dining room of the hotel was buzzing with the families of the men being enshrined in the Hall of Fame that afternoon. For Luke it was his his parents, his brothers, his sister-in-law, his nephews, and his grandmothers all of whom had already claimed a large circular table and had gotten breakfast started with glasses of water and pitchers of orange and apple juice.

“There he is. Mr. Man of the Hour,” John, Luke’s older brother boomed from his place seated between Grandma Shirley and his wife Rebecca.

Luke offered a large grin, his large hand lifting to wave at his family as he navigated the space toward them, his other hand occupied in its tangling with yours. He lead you around the table as you both greeted the group.

“Look at you,” Eileen, Luke’s mother, beamed, her eyes already shimmering as she looked at her son. She reached out to pat his cheek, her voice softening. “Big day ahead. How are you feeling?”

“I’m good, Mom. A little nervous,” Luke admitted, his voice dropping into that deep, resonant rumble just as he pulled back from kissing his mother’s cheek.

You thanked him softly when he pulled your chair out for you. As you settled in, your server came around to top up the waters at the table, directing your attention to the neat cream and black a la carte menus placed pristinely in front of you all. The group settled into broad conversation, teasing John’s oldest son, Jacob, about his haircut, reminiscing about the intensity on Luke’s face when they snuck Pep into his home, and debating if the hotel’s omelet station was any good. At some point between the first round of coffee and the arrival of the fruit platters, the jokes quieted and your tones hummed with reflection.

“It’s just… it’s awesome, isn’t it?” Tom, Luke’s father said, his voice much softer now that he was full on Belgian waffles topped with fruit and powdered sugar, his coffee, taken black, sitting half-consumed in front of him. “The whole thing. To see it all culminate here, in this place that seemed so unreachable even if it was just three hours away from home.”

You all looked at Luke, who sat with his broad shoulders relaxed, taking a long, deep breath that seemed to expand his entire chest. For a moment, the chatter of the hotel dining room faded into a blur of white linen and distant clinking silverware, leaving only the pride shared among the family at the realization of all Luke had accomplished in his career.

“It really is,” Luke murmured, his green eyes scanning the faces of his parents and brothers, landing finally on you. You squeezed his hand beneath the table. “I just didn’t expect the time to go by so fast. I’m just thankful that I have all of you guys to share it with.”

Henry, who sat to Luke’s left, placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “And we’re thankful for you. Even if you were a pain in the ass to beat at backyard football when we were kids. Can’t think of a more deserving guy.” The table erupted into laughter, the gravity of the moment breaking into easy warmth.

“Now, one thing we need to establish,” John added, leaning in with a brightness in his eyes, “is the tally. I’m officially starting a count for how many times Y/N and Mom cry today. I’m betting on a tie.”

Eileen let out a mock gasp, batting her son’s arm, while you laughed, setting her glass of orange juice down. “Oh, you’re gonna eat that,” you challenged playfully. “We won’t be the only ones crying and I can guarantee that.”

The moment of levity was gently interrupted when Luke’s attendant for the week, a poised man in a crisp white Hall of Fame polo tucked into crisply pressed khaki pants, approached the table with a discreet clear of his throat. He caught Luke’s eye with a professional nod, signaling that the window for the pre-ceremony gathering was closing.

“Mr. Kuechly,” the attendant murmured. “The other enshrinees are assembling. It’s time to head toward the parade. We can take you and your father over now.”

“Alright, alright, let’s get the man to the parade before he changes his mind about how much praise he’s about to get and hides in the room,” John teased, though his eyes were full of emotion already. Luke offered a final round of hugs, his large frame enveloping his brothers and nephews in brief, rib-crushing squeezes, before stepping back toward his father. Tom beamed and the two of them walked toward the exit, their strides synchronized, leaving the table in a haze of anticipation.

[ . . . ]

As much as you and Eileen would have loved to beat the allegations thrown at the both of you over breakfast by John, the grandeur of the ceremony proved too much. The air carried both mid-summer humidity and high-voltage emotion. From the moment Luke stepped up to the podium with the brightest smile on his face to unveil his bust with an emotional Tom, his voice didn’t shake once, holding resonant as it echoed over the crowd. He reminisced about the grit of the game, the brotherhood of the Panthers organization, and the steady support of the people who stood by his side through every high and low. By the time he began making his way down the list thanking coaches, teammates, his agent, and then his family, your eyes began to sting.

Once you heard that soft call of your name, a gentle breath omitting the formality of including your last name as a way of signaling that this part was just for you, the sting transformed into a flood. you felt a hot tear trail down your cheek, followed quickly by a soft sob that you made no move to stifle. “Thank you for being by my side throughout this entire process. From helping to keep me on my toes with your surprises, to being the one person who could always help me stay grounded in enjoying every moment as the culmination of decades of hard work, instead of hiding into myself. You mean the world to me and I’m so lucky to have you as my partner in life.”

The crowd erupted in a collective, warm “aww,” but you were far beyond hearing them. You were locked onto Luke’s green eyes, seeing the tenderness he usually reserved for the quiet hours of your early mornings on display for the entire world to see. Beside you, Henry nudged your arm with his elbow, his own face a blotchy mess of unshed tears. You let out a watery laugh, lifting your hand to wipe at your eyes before nudging him back, drawing his attention to where John practically boo-hooed beside you.

Unlike the members of his family, Luke managed to hold himself together during the speech, though the way he looked at you had been an emotional knockout for you. After the ceremony, the chaos of the crowd began to settle into a celebratory hum. The family converged on Luke in a flurry of hugs and triumphant pats on the back, creating a small, private island of intimacy amidst the sea of other families and flashing cameras.

“A little birdie told me you cried,” Luke said, draping an arm over John’s shoulder once you all changed out of your all-white outfits for the ceremony and into smart casual attire for the rest of the day. “And before you ask, I can’t reveal my source.”

“Oh, he was a mess. A complete disaster,” you teased, watching your boyfriend jostle his brother with both hands on his shoulders as if they were kids again. “And for the record, I only cried because Henry was making such a scene. I was just empathizing with his fragility.”

Luke let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest as he leaned down to press a short kiss to your temple. “Right. Empathy. Is that what we’re calling what I was told?” He shifted his weight, pulling your flush against his side.

“Yes, obviously,” you laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder, the scent of his cologne still filling your senses even after multiple hours out in the sunlight. “It was a very empathetic sob.”

Luke grinned, his green eyes twinkling as he watched you adjust the collar of his polo. “Thank you for being by my side for all this. I really mean it.” He didn’t say it loudly, but the way he shared your personal bubble, his large hand sliding from your waist to the center of your back, said it plenty loud enough.

“Stop that,” you muttered through the clearing of your throat.

He laughed fully, loudly, sealing a kiss to your temple once more asking, “What? Stop what?”

“Stop being so sweet. I know your tactics, Kuechly. This is supposed to be about you, stop thanking me,” your eyes darted to his mother who stood a few feet away, checked out of her conversation with John, Rebecca, and their younger son, Alex. Instead, she watched the two of you fondly, a small smile on her lips.

“Too late. you have to accept my gratitude,” Luke murmured, stealing a kiss from your lips, laughing again when he watched you roll your eyes. He turned back to the gathering crowd, his expression shifting into one of genuine warmth as he spotted the group of young faces waiting for him.

The transition from the formal ceremony to the celebratory mingle was seamless, a whirlwind of firm handshakes and high-pitched shouts. The middle schoolers Luke coached in Charlotte were the most exuberant, practically tackling him in a chaotic huddle. “Miss Y/N!” they cheered in unison, a few of them breaking off to swarm you. You beamed, nodding along to rushed accounts of water gun fights in the hotel pool, NFL legend spottings, and how much they missed getting the Gatorades you brought to practice once a week.

Before you knew it, 3 o’clock turned into 5 o’clock which eventually slipped into 9 o’clock. The conference hall they rented out to celebrate Luke’s enshrinement with dinner, music, and a sea of memories had been loud with laughter and the clinking of glassware. By the time the final rounds of “thank yous” were made and the last of the high school teammates had been hugged goodbye, the adrenaline that had carried Luke through the day began to dip, replaced by a slightly sluggish exhaustion.

“Alright, you two,” Eileen said, giving you a little shooing motion with her hand. “You’ve played your part for long enough today. Go. Go celebrate just the two of you. We’ll see you in the morning for breakfast.” She refused any protest, shaking her head, hugging you both as she insisted you, “Go! Shoo!”

[ . . . ]

Luke carried your shoes in one hand, his other arm draped over your shoulders as the two of you navigated the quiet, plush carpeting of the hotel hallway. You kept yourself tucked into his side with an arm around his midsection, laughing at Luke’s recounting of how many times he’d almost tripped over a toddler during the cocktail hour.

When the door to your suite clicked shut behind you, the sudden silence of the room brought that buzz of white noise to your ears, a relief after a full day of non-stop conversation. A bottle of champagne sat chilled in a silver bucket on the mahogany coffee bar, accompanied by a handwritten note from the concierge. you spotted it first, trailing over as Luke reached for the buckle of his belt, somehow still bubbling with things to say after twelve hours of being the center of attention.

You reached for the card, breaking the black stick seal with the rounded point of your nail. “Aww, they left you a card, bear,” you hummed, glancing at the neat calligraphy congratulating him on his induction. He glanced over at you as you began reading the message. “To eight seasons of excellence and a legacy worth celebrating,” you read aloud, your voice warm. “Congratulations, Luke.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, his chest pressing against your back to allow him the proximity needed to read the card with his own two eyes. “That’s a lot of fancy words for ‘you were pretty cool to watch on Sundays,’” he joked, working at the clasp of his watch.

You let out a soft laugh, “Are you tired of hearing how great and amazing you are?” You stepped out of his reach to grab the bottle of champagne, the condensation slick against your palms. With a practiced tug and twist, you popped the cork, the celebratory pop! meeting your ears.

“Is ‘yes’ an acceptable answer?” he asked, holding out the first glass to you, watching you pour the golden bubbles against the glass to prevent them from spilling over uncontrollably.

“No, we haven’t debriefed yet, and I have some things to tell you,” you shook your head, handing him the first glass and accepting the second.

After you finished pouring your drinks, the two of you drifted toward the bed, the room bathed in the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamps. Luke exhaled a long, heavy breath that seemed to deflate his entire frame. He sank onto the mattress, kicking off his dress shoes with a muffled thud and undoing the button of his polo shirt. He leaned back against the headboard, his legs sprawling out, eyes closed as he took the first sip from his glass. You joined him, sliding beside him with a soft, contented sigh, your heels long gone. You turned to face him, sitting up on the side of your left thigh, your legs tucked into your bottom.

“This is pretty good. What’s the brand?” Luke thought out loud, making no actual effort to peer over at the bottle next to the bed. He looked relaxed, the tension of the day finally bleeding out of his shoulders, though he still looked every bit the athlete enshrined in bronze, even in a unbuttoned, untucked polo.

You didn’t answer his question. Instead, you reached out, your fingers grazing the skin of his forearm before sliding your hand into his. You laced your fingers together, your smaller, brown hand contrasting beautifully against his large, calloused palm. You squeezed gently, waiting for his eyes to drift to yours. “Let me have two minutes to be sappy,” you spoke softly.

Luke let out a huff of a laugh, squeezing your hand back. “Two minutes? That’s a long time, sweetheart. You can have one and a half.”

“One minute and forty-five seconds,” you countered, a playful glint in your eyes.

Luke sighed, though the expression was draped in a smile that reached his green eyes. “You drive a hard bargain. Fine. One minute and forty-five seconds. I’m counting. Starting now.”

You didn't let the alleged timer distract you. You shifted closer to him, releasing his hand to cup his jaw. “Okay, first of all,” you began, “this whole day… it was surreal. Seeing you up there, hearing those words, seeing the look on your dad’s face. It was such an honor to watch you do something like this at such a young age. But the thing that I kept coming back to every time I heard a stat or a story about your career was that it’s just a fraction of what you’ve actually meant to people.”

Luke started to open his mouth to deflect, but you shook your head, your gaze softening even further. “Let me finish my minute-forty-five. Even back when I was cheering, the thing all the girls said about you—year after year—was just how genuinely kind you were. That you were a gentleman in a sport that rewards men who say and do terrible things off that field. I never heard a girl say a negative word about you, or your character, and you know we had no issue talking shit in that locker room. We all loved seeing you do well when you played. I’m so proud that I get to say my boyfriend’s in the freaking Hall of Fame, but I’m even prouder that I get to say my boyfriend is the man you’ve always been.”

Luke’s expression shifted, the playful avoidance leaving his eyes to be replaced by a quiet vulnerability. His large hand slide over you from your waist to the nape of your neck, pulling your forehead against his. He breathed you in, the scent of your perfume mingling with the faint, crisp aroma of the champagne. For a few seconds, the two of you just existed in that space before he closed that distance, kissing you slowly.

Your stomach fluttered with the heat of the kiss, melting into him, and forgetting about the half-filled glass in your hand. He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “I love you so much,” his pupils fighting to overtake the green of his eyes.

“I love you,” you replied, pecking his lips once more before turning to set your glasses on the nightstand with a careful clink.

Your next move was uncontested, guided by Luke’s strong hands on your waist pulling you from the space beside him into his lap. You settled against him, your legs draping over his thighs, the friction of your skin against his trousers bringing an uptick in the beating of your heart. You felt the sudden, sharp intake of his breath against your neck as you draped your arms around his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the short, curly hair at the nape of his neck.

Luke’s touch was both instinctive and reverent, his palms sliding from your waist to the curve of your hips, pulling you flush against his chest. He choose not to rush, taking a moment to simply hold you, his nose nudging yours while your breathing synchronized. The quiet of the hotel room seemed to amplify the sound of your hearts, a rhythmic drumming that drowned out the lingering echoes of the day’s business.

“You are so beautiful. I’m so lucky,” he whispered against your lips. He shifted slightly, leaning his full weight back against the headboard to create a stable anchor for you both.

You dove back into him, stealing the breath from his lungs with the most heated kiss of the night. Luke’s hands moved with a slow, possessive certainty, sliding beneath the hem of your dress to find the warmth of your skin. He traced the line of your spine up to the nape of your neck, his touch light but self-assured. Every brush of his fingertips felt like a silent thank you, a wordless acknowledgment of the peace you found only when the rest of the world was shut out.

You let out a soft, shaky exhale, your fingers tightening in his curls as you pressed your chest against his broad frame. You ground down on him, biting his bottom lip just enough to provoke a low, guttural groan from deep in his chest. Luke’s hands tightened on your hips, helping to deepen the contact, allowing you to melt into the moment. As your hands lifted his polo over his head and discarded it to the side, the polished poise of the day’s events slid away, leaving only the raw, electric pull between you.

Luke’s lips left yours to trail a path of fire down the column of your throat, his deep voice humming against your skin. “Celebrating with you has been on my mind all day,” he admitted breathily. “Every time I looked at you in that crowd, all I could think about was getting you alone.” He shifted his weight, lifting you slightly to help you slide the rest of your dress up, throwing it to the same side where his polo lay in a pile.

He reached down to pull your underwear to the side, granting himself access to the heat between your thighs. He kissed along the line of your shoulder, his breath hot and jagged against your brown skin. “Oh…” you sighed sweetly in his ear, arms tightening around his neck when you felt the pad of his finger circle your entrance.

“Feeling good?” he asked, careful not to push too far until he saw the way your eyes fluttered shut in a slow, hazy blink.

“Perfect,” you breathed, your voice merely whisper. You moved first, lifting yourself just enough to guide him into you.

You had only taken the tip when Luke let out a ragged exhale, his head thumping back against the headboard, hands gripping your hips even tighter than before. “Goddammit…” he hissed between his teeth, his eyes snapping shut as he focused on the sudden, overwhelming sensation of your warmth enveloping him. You rested your palms on his broad chest, feeling the frantic thrum of his heart beneath your touch. You paused for a heartbeat, looking down at him with a soft, triumphant smile. Seeing him like this always gave you an ego boost, even if it meant you had to take it slow.

His hands wandered your curves with a slow, appreciative curiosity, sliding from your hips to the curve of your waist, then up to cup your cheeks, his thumbs stroking the apples of your face. He watched you intently, praising you when he could find the words, and when he couldn’t, the power behind his grip and the sounds floating up from his chest told you enough. You moved with a fluid grace, your legs gripping his sides as you found a pace that made your head roll back and your eyes drift shut. He held you like something precious, eyes glazing over with some variable combination of love and lust.

“Love when you take it from me like this,” Luke breathed, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You let out a soft, melodic moan, your fingers curling into the muscles of his shoulders. You loved the contrast of him raveling undone by you. “You worked hard enough, giving speeches and shaking hands all day,” you whispered.

“And that makes me deserving?” he laughed huskily and dipped his head to attempt to suck bruises into your neck and collarbone, his breath jagged against your skin.

You tilted your head to give him more room, humming, “You could get it for just existing, baby.”

His laugh melted into a moan as you shifted your weight, picking up the pace of your hips. “Beautiful… my beautiful girl,” he groaned. He worked at your neck and jaw as you took you both to the line and crossed it in a chorus of soft, rhythmic thuds against the headboard. You let out a long, shaky breath, your forehead resting against his as you both chased the same precipice. Luke let out a low, guttural sound, his hands sliding up to your shoulder blades to pull you even closer, wanting no space between you. When the release finally hit, it was like the slow-motion crash of two test dummies, leaving you both breathless and trembling in the silence.

He surfaced from his orgasm first, wincing to himself at the feeling of tightness returning to his loosened muscles once his body temperature reverted to its baseline. You let out a long, shaky exhale, tapping at his wrist for help in sliding off him, and then falling onto the mattress beside him.

“Thank you for coming along on this ride,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss the joint of your shoulder.

You let out a soft, sleepy giggle. “Was that supposed to be a dirty joke?” you asked, lifting his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles.

Luke hummed to himself, rising from the bed to stretch his aching muscles. He looked down at you, still splayed out in a state of blissful exhaustion. He smiled, the expression soft and unguarded, before leaning back down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Maybe a little bit,” he admitted with a faint pink tint to his face, his voice sounding even deeper than usual. “You coming to the shower?”

You let out a theatrical groan, rolling onto your back and looking up at the hotel ceiling with a lazy, contented smile. “A gentleman would carry his exhausted girlfriend to the shower.”

Luke chuckled, the sound vibrating in the quiet room. He didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned over, sliding one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you into his chest in one smooth movement. You instinctively looped your arms around his neck and tucked your face into the crook.

“Thankfully, I am a gentleman.”