Endurance

by Amy Daws

  I move to walk past him and over to the water, but he captures my wrist in his hand, stopping me in my tracks. He jerks once and I fall into him, my hands coming to his arms and my breasts brushing against his chest.

  “You’re fucking gorgeous.” He states it with a deep growl and seizes my lips in a surprising and possessive kiss. His hands slide down my backside and he pulls me against his erection.

  I pull back with a sharp intake of air and whisper, “Ditch the trunks. We’re skinny dipping.”

  He lets me slip out of his grasp, and I quickly dive into the water, expecting it to cool down the raging inferno swirling in my belly. I’m shocked to find it’s warm, like a glorious bath. I pop my head up out of the water with a smile.

  “It’s a warm water pool!” I exclaim. “Oh my God, it’s wonderful. Get in here.”

  He shakes off the heated look in his eyes and moves to pull his trunks down, his package standing at a full salute. “What you do to me, woman.” Shaking his head, he drops down into the water right next to me.

  His hands immediately reach, pulling me to him. We tread water in the deep end, our legs tangling together as we swap giggles and kisses and brush up against all our overly sensitive wobbly bits. There’s something delicious about skinny dipping that makes me feel like a sex goddess. And skinny dipping in a warm pool is downright erotic, especially when Tanner looks at me the way he’s looking at me now. His blue eyes are stunning next to the water. It makes me nervous.

  “Tell me something, Belle Ryan,” he says, his breath uneven as he swims over to the shallow end by the steps. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  His question makes me frown. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

  He sits down on a step so the water is chest high on him. With a shrug, he leans back and props his elbows on the step behind him. “That’s easy. Don’t want one.”

  “Same,” I repeat, swimming over next to him. I rest my arms on the edge of the pool, my bare breasts touching the smooth tile.

  He scrubs his hand over his wet face. “Well, why don’t you want one?”

  I think about that for a moment. “I suppose I’m focusing all my energy on my job.”

  He raises his brows. “Well, you’ve managed to balance a fake relationship with me okay.”

  “That’s different,” I reply.

  “How?”

  “Because I don’t have to give you anything emotional. I just have to give you some time…and my body.” I grin.

  His eyes narrow thoughtfully at my response. “What if you did have to give me something emotional? What would change?”

  “Well, everything.” I wipe away some water streaking down from my hair and onto my face. “You say I’m crazy now. Wait until you see me when I actually care about someone. If I feel too much, I turn into a life-ruiner. Indie’s the only friend I’ve ever managed to keep, and I think that’s because we’re cut from the same cloth.”

  His brow furrows. “How do you mean?”

  “Her parents want nothing to do with her. Mine want nothing to do with me.”

  “Surely that’s not true. You’re a doctor. They must be proud of you. Hell, I’m proud of you.”

  His comment shoots through me like a lightning bolt trying to heat my frozen heart. “Thanks, but it’s different. Imagine if you didn’t play football. What do you think your dad would have done?”

  He frowns. “I honestly don’t know. I’d like to think he’d support me.”

  “Well, my parents aren’t like that. They have expectations. I chose to go to med school instead of law school and, to my parents, that was the equivalent of spitting on the family crest.”

  “Christ,” he scoffs, but I continue because I’m on a roll now.

  “You get along with your family because you’re all wild and outspoken and say how you feel and love each other no matter what. Well, mine isn’t like that. They love the box my birth checked. But the second I stepped out of that box of the dutiful child, I did more harm than good. And well, you’ve seen a glimpse of my crazy. Imagine getting that full force.”

  He frowns. “You don’t scare me, Belle.”

  “Then you are in the minority. I’m just being realistic.” I turn around and press my back to the wall. “My family lives the society life. They are political and social climbers. Constant parties, constant dinners, constant charities, schmoozing, boozing. And it’s always for a selfish goal. My brother is perfectly suited for that life. He does what he’s told. He says the right things. To them, I’m like…a live wire they are terrified of tripping. I’m better off not existing. Being invisible.”

  Silence stretches out between us and I worry that I shared too much. Got too personal. I just admitted I don’t get emotional with blokes and here I am, gushing like a bloody water fountain.

  Tanner reaches over and pulls me into his space, dropping his knees so I slide up his body and straddle his lap. My arms wrap around his neck as I try to hide the raw vulnerability that creeps up from a dark place inside of me that I don’t often visit. Ever since I met Indie and we started our Tequila Sunrise tradition, I don’t let my family hurt me anymore. I know life is so much bigger than the pretentious expectations they’d like me to uphold to help them get ahead. Saving lives, helping babies…That’s a way to really live life.

  Tanner pushes a wet strand of hair off my face. “If your parents don’t see the incredible work you do, they are knobheads.”

  I huff out a pathetic laugh and pin my eyes to his with determination, not wanting to come off weak. “I don’t need their approval anymore. I gave up on that a long time ago.”

  He looks down, pondering that comment. “Still sucks, though.”

  It does. In my heart of hearts, it actually really does hurt. I look outside, into the darkness all around us, staring up through the skylight for any sign of stars, anything to remind me that the world is bigger than my drama.

  My words are quiet when I give voice to them again. “It was a relief when they quit expecting me to attend their events. To stop participating in the charade. I could never fit the mould they expected of me. Honestly, what I’m doing for you is the first time in years they’ve asked anything of me. It’s partly why I didn’t fight it more.” I look straight into Tanner’s eyes. “But do you know the worst part of it all?”

  “What?” he asks, a seriousness to his face that lets me know he’s really listening.

  “Even though I never want to attend another one of their parties for as long as I live, I still want to be invited.”

  A tenderness washes over his face, and I hope to God he can’t tell that the drip falling down my cheek is a tear. I’m mortified by how much I’ve babbled and immediately wish I could reverse time and just shut the fuck up.

  I wait for Tanner to crack some rude joke, make some snarky comment, or do something silly to lighten the mood. Instead, he grabs my face in his hands and strokes his thumbs down my cheeks. He tenderly tucks my dark tendrils behind my ears and angles his head to skim his mouth over mine.

  His lips are soft and comforting at first. A light touch to show support and understanding. But his hands move slowly from my face to my back and neck as he wraps both of his arms around me into a hug so tight, my breath has to synchronise with his.

  Our bodies are completely flush, not a sliver of space to be found while our lips never stop moving. He continues hugging me and kissing me, his tongue warm and lyrical as he maintains a complete hold over me. It’s as if he’s trying to squeeze the ache out of me and pass it from me to him.

  We’re both panting when we break apart, overwhelmed by the emotional exchange of our embrace. Tanner’s eyes stay on mine as his hands dip under the water and he positions me over his erection. He quirks a brow in silent question. I grant permission, trusting that he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t think it was safe. He pulls me down over top of him. The water makes for a rough entry but once he’s in, I quiver with need. The intensity in his eyes and the raw, carnal ac
he he’s showing me is too much. I work myself against him, my breath heavy as he tucks further and further inside of me. I moan and throw my head back as my need becomes nearly unbearable.

  “No, Belle. Eyes on me.” He pulls my face down to him. “I see you.”

  I drop my chin and nod. Our gazes lock. We hold each other hostage as our bodies tense, our grip on each other biting as we become lost in some sort of alternate universe where our eyes turn into windows to our souls and reveal absolutely everything. I swear if his dick wasn’t inside me, the look in his eyes alone would be enough to send me over the edge.

  We continue grinding against each other, his hips thrusting upward as he holds me in place above him. Warm waves lap between us with each pulse. My cries of pleasure echo off the walls like the riot of reflecting lights. When my climax nears, desperation takes over and I have to look away while I come or I might never survive this. I scream out his name and he drops his face to my chest, rolling his forehead over my heart. I clutch him to me, ringing my hands through his hair, riding the aftershocks of my intense orgasm. One so strong I swear I could be splitting in two.

  “Belle.” Tanner’s voice is guttural, and I immediately feel the wet heat of him explode inside of me. I grab his face and look into his eyes. They are vacant with shock at first, then slam closed as he presses his forehead to mine. “Oh my God, Belle.” His voice is hoarse and disbelieving as he fights to catch his breath.

  We hold each other, naked and panting, both coming back down from whatever universe we disappeared into for that brief moment in time. When he pulls back from me, I think he’s going to apologise, but all he does is kiss me. He kisses me and I think I hear him whisper “thank you.”

  For what, I’m not really sure.

  THE HOUR GLASS SHAPE OF a woman was made for one thing and one thing only. Spooning.

  It’s nearly ten o’clock the next morning and I’ve been tucked in bed, holding onto Belle Ryan all night. I don’t think a woman’s body has ever felt this good pressed up against me. Maybe it’s because I’ve fucked her so many times now and it’s a completely new experience for me. Regardless, I’m enjoying it while it lasts.

  I feel Belle begin to stir in my arms and I reflexively tighten my grip on her, my morning erection pressed up against her supple arse.

  “If you’re going for accidental anal, I’m going to throat punch you.” Belle’s morning voice is deep and throaty.

  I shake with laughter. “I’m not going for accidental anal, I promise. Actually, I was just lying here realising I had no idea how fantastic spooning was. I’ve been converted. The way your arse rests perfectly on my dick and how the dip of your waist is like a nice resting spot for my arm…The warmth of you against the warmth of me. Fuck me, it’s utter heaven. People should talk about spooning more. It feeds the soul or some shit.”

  “How long have you been awake?”

  “An hour maybe?”

  “Did you mean to speak all of that out loud just now?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Okay, well, maybe just…don’t.” She chuckles in disbelief. “Who are you and what have you done with Tanner Harris?”

  Ignoring her snipe, I nuzzle into her neck. “He’s still here, woman. Want to play hide the sausage?” I flex my hips into her back.

  “Bloody hell, I’ve just woken up to you moaning on and on about how spooning feeds your soul. What more could you possibly ask of life?”

  “I need you to feed the beast.” I nibble her ear and add, “The beast is my cock.”

  Her laugh is the only sound uttered until I’m balls deep in her and her giggles turn to cries of sexual perfection.

  As I dress for the match, I can’t help but wonder what life was like for my mum and dad when they used to live here in Manchester with all of us. Dad was a star defender for Man U. Mum was home raising the five of us. They had a posh flat here where we all lived for most of the season, and then they had a big brick mansion in Chigwell just outside of London. Gareth once told me that our mum preferred life in London so she refused to make Manchester our year-round home. Truthfully, it’s one of the very few things I’ve ever got Gareth to reveal about our mother. Neither he nor Dad like to talk about her. Vi knows a bit because she found boxes of her old poems and pored through them, gifting us several of them right around the time she started up with Hayden. It helped give us a window into who she was, but I still have a million questions about her.

  I was three years old when she got sick. I don’t remember a lot of what happened. The only thing I know is that our dad immediately broke his contract with Man U, sold our Manchester flat, and took us all back to Chigwell. It was a big to-do with the press because it was such a huge loss for United.

  Gareth was eight years old when we moved. Booker was one and Vi was four. The time around our mum’s death was ugly. Our dad did not do well for many years, refusing help from pretty much everyone. He was content to stow us away in that mansion, only letting us out for school and nothing more.

  But somehow, Bethnal Green F.C. got through the door, and that’s when things began to turn around for our family. Needless to say, an appreciation for the sport of football is highly coveted in my world. It brought our family back together and made us who we are today. Lord knows what might have happened to us otherwise.

  Belle comes out of the loo wearing a tight, faded red Man U tee. It shows off her large tits, but she still looks comfortable enough to do some serious cheering.

  I give her jean clad arse a hardy smack. “You look good.”

  “You’re going neutral I see,” she states, eyeing my dark grey T-shirt and jeans.

  “It’s good business. I can’t show favouritism. A footballing family feud ends in bloodshed.”

  “Am I okay in this? I didn’t even think about the photos we might be in today.”

  I nod. “If you’re a United fan, you’re a United fan. No need to hide it for your fake boyfriend.”

  Her eyes tighten imperceptibly and I wonder if I misspoke. Or maybe she’s getting tired of the circus our lives have become.

  “Have I said thank you recently for doing all of this?”

  She rolls her eyes. “It’s not just for you, Tanner. I need it, too.”

  “Right,” I reply with a frown. “I keep forgetting that part. Shall we be off then?”

  Old Trafford is an imposing stadium with a rich, historical ambience to it. It’s no Tower Park, but Mancunians practically piss themselves once they get inside. Seventy-five thousand fans all mash together drunk, loud, and proud, setting the tone for the whole day.

  Belle and I find our seats in one of the sponsored upper level sections with several of the other WAGs—the wives and girlfriends of the players. It’s not where I would have preferred to sit, but it’s a sold out match and these are the seats Gareth had for us.

  “Tanner Harris?” A woman says my name like it’s a song. I turn to see a blonde, big-titted WAG sitting behind me with several like-faced ladies. “Hi! I’m Sasha, Benny’s wife. Ladies, this is another one of those Harris Brothers. The one I told you about.”

  “Oh my God, one’s hotter than the next. How is that possible?” a woman beside Sasha croons. “I’m Billy’s girlfriend. We live near Gareth’s house.”

  Another woman pipes in, “Gareth said you were coming with your little friend to the match. So nice you could make it.” The woman reaches out and touches my shoulder for no apparent reason other than to squeeze the girth of it.

  I hear Belle huff beside me and immediately wrap an arm around her, inserting her between me and the ladies. “This is my girlfriend, Dr. Belle Ryan. She saves babies.”

  The women all look down at Belle, inspecting her attire. She’s kitted out like a proper football fan. Her dark hair is in a high ponytail and she has a Devils tattoo on one cheek that she bought at a stand outside. The WAGs look like they were dressed by Gareth’s personal shopper, designer money dripping all over them.

  Belle chuckles next to
me and murmurs in my ear, “Real subtle, Harris.”

  “You can call me Belle.” She smiles politely, but the women barely look at her.

  “But Dr. Ryan is more respectful,” I add. “Enjoy the match.”

  I turn around and pull Belle down into her seat, encasing her in my protective arm.

  “Bitchy WAGs, can’t handle any fresh meat stepping in?” she asks.

  “They look at you like a wannabe WAG,” I reply. “It’s my fault. My reputation puts a target on your back.”

  She cuts her dark eyes at me. “And what will you be like when this is all over?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I mean when you and I are done. Will you go back to how you were before?”

  I frown, not having given it much thought. “I suppose a version of that, yes. Not as bad as before, of course. My contract won’t allow it.”

  Her brows lift. “I see.” She turns toward the field and stands as the team song begins playing.

  “You all right?” I ask in her ear.

  She nods and sings loudly with a bright, toothy smile on her face the whole time.

  Frowning, I turn my attention to the pitch and listen closely as both of my brothers’ names are announced. Goosebumps prickle my skin when I hear the crowd chanting the Harris name at a deafening volume. This is Gareth’s home turf and he’s served this team well as a defender for quite some time now. He deserves this.

  Cam and Gareth find each other on the pitch before the kickoff. Camden says something in Gareth’s ear, and Gareth laughs and socks him in the stomach. The two part ways with big smiles. Cam’s a striker; Gareth’s a defender. The odds are certainly in their favour for colliding again before the end of the match, but nothing can tear away the immense sense of pride I have watching them down there right now.

  A cameraman shows up in our section, no doubt having been tipped off by Santino that Belle and I are up here. When he makes it completely obvious he’s shooting us, I throw an arm around Belle’s shoulders and chant right along with her even though our section is a bit sedate.