The Play (Briar U Book 3)

No one has a harder job than the man who comes after the cheater.

To be honest, I’m surprised Demi didn’t experience a breakdown like this sooner. Yes, she had her violent breakdown, her fit of rage when she hurled Nico’s stuff out the window and clocked him in the face. But I don’t think she ever fully dealt with the emotional implications of what Nico did.

I know all about the aftermath of infidelity. I remember how my mom acted following the revelation of another one of Dad’s affairs. She’d be jittery and suspicious for weeks and months afterward. Whenever he bent over his phone, her shoulders would stiffen. Who is he texting? she’d wonder. Whenever he had to go to the office, anxiety would flood her eyes. Who is he going to fuck on his desk today?

I used to have a lot of sympathy for her, but over the years it faded away. People are in control of their own lives and their own decisions. They’re not powerless victims to some cruel overlord who keeps them trapped in a misery loop. Mom made the decision to stay with him. I can’t sympathize anymore, not when there are so many other solutions available to her. She doesn’t have to be miserable, afraid, distrustful. She doesn’t have to be a pushover. She chooses to be.

But Demi, unlike my mother, doesn’t want to be stuck in this situation. She came directly to me to seek reassurance, and I’m going to give it to her.

“You love me,” she echoes.

My pulse speeds up as I study her expression. It’s impossible to decipher. I don’t know how she feels about what I’d just said. Hell, I don’t know how I feel about it.

I’ve only said those words to one other person, a high school girlfriend. And if I’m being honest, she said them first and I felt awkward not returning the sentiment. Teenage boys are stupid cowards sometimes. I wasn’t actually in love with her, the girl from high school.

But this girl, the gorgeous woman in my lap—I’m definitely in love with her. I love everything about her. Her intelligence, her sassiness, her craziness. She has the most dynamic personality. There are so many different facets to Demi Davis, and the more I learn about her, the more I love her.

So yes, I’m going to take on this challenging task and face the brunt of the damage that Nico caused. I’m going to be patient and help Demi regain her trust in my foolish sex, which has been given a bad rap thanks to men like Nico and my father. I’m going to stick by her and shower her with assurances that I love her, until she realizes she doesn’t ever need to worry about what I’m doing or who I’m doing it with—because she’s the only one who matters to me.

A strange, unexpected sense of empowerment rushes through me. And I realize something. The same way my mother is in control of her own happiness, I’m in control of my own impulses. I’m not enslaved by my genetics, and I’m not my father.

“Fuck,” I marvel.

“What?” She still looks a bit dazed by my admission that I love her.

I gape at her. “I would never cheat on you.”

She snorts softly. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“But I am. I’m thinking about the conversation we had a while ago, about my hockey career. About how I don’t want to be like my dad, how I’m worried about being on the road, lonely and horny and giving in to temptation. But I can’t even imagine being tempted by anyone else. Maybe that’s damn naïve of me, but ten chicks could walk in here right now, buck naked, and I’d still only have eyes for you. Even with your face all puffy like that.”

“Who are you calling puffy?” she objects.

“You. You’re a terrible crier, Semi. You don’t look good crying.”

She punches me in the shoulder. “You’re supposed to be acting romantic right now.”

“I just told you I loved you! Trust me, I’m fucking romantic.”

“True.” She licks her lower lip. Then bites it. “I don’t know if I’m ready to say it back,” she confesses, and I chuckle because she looks so cute nervously nibbling on her lip like that.

“I didn’t say it so you would say it back. I said it because I felt it. I’m in love with you. And I don’t want to kiss anybody but you.” I bring my lips to hers, and she wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me back.

We fall onto the mattress, kissing eagerly, and we’re breathless by the time we come up for air. Now I’m propped up on my elbows, though, which puts strain on my sore body, sending a jolt of pain to my ribcage.

“I can’t stay in this position,” I groan. “My side is throbbing. I’m sorry, baby.”

“Don’t ever be sorry. About anything.”

I grin. “About anything?”

“No, wait, I take that back. I’m sure you’re going to be sorry for tons of things that deserve your sorryness, but this is not one of them. Lie back. Let me make you feel better.”

“I’m supposed to be making you feel better.”

“Then why have you been texting me pictures of your boo-boos all night?”

“Just to annoy you when you were out with your friends.”

“Jackass. But, what, does that mean you’re going to stop me if I start kissing all the boo-boos?” She lifts the hem of my shirt and plants a teasing kiss on my hip.

It sends a hot tremor up my spine. “Only a chump turns down free kisses.”

“That’s what I thought.” Very methodically, she removes my shirt. She winces when she spots the bruises coloring my ribs. “Aw, those do look bad. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this.” She runs a tentative palm over my abs, torturously close to my waistband.

“You should always be doing this,” I disagree.

“Are you sure your body can handle it? Because I…really need this.” Sheepish, she casts her eyes downward.

“We both do,” I assure her.

Demi takes off her sweater and hops up to unbutton her jeans. She leaves me on the bed only to get a condom, and then she’s back, tugging on the waistband of my sweatpants. I’m commando underneath and she moans happily. She grips my dick and gives it a slow stroke.

I’m hard, primed, ready to go. As she rolls the condom on, I reach between her legs and find her equally ready. Her wet pussy glides beneath my palm, and when I cup her, a dizzying rush of pleasure spirals through me. I can’t get enough of this girl. She turns me on something fierce.

“Come here and fuck me already,” I mumble.

Laughing at my impatience, she gingerly climbs onto my lap. She grips the base of me and guides my cockhead to where we both want it most.

“Fuck,” I wheeze when she’s fully seated. “Your pussy feels so good.” Then she starts to move, and it feels even better.

She rides me, taking care not to jostle me. “Is this okay?” she murmurs.

As the pleasure rises, black dots flash in my vision. “More than okay.”

Her hips roll seductively. My breathing quickens. I cup her ass, then skate my palms up her delicate spine, reaching around to squeeze her tits. I love touching her. Love the breathy sounds she makes as her body strains against mine, seeking her own pleasure.

I thrust my fingers through her dark hair and urge her head down. “Kiss me,” I rasp.

And she does, whimpering when our tongues touch. We stay in that position forever, her mouth exploring mine, her body draped over me, slowly fucking me into oblivion. And when I come, white-hot pleasure engulfing my body, I know without a doubt that I truly am in love with this girl.