Controlled Chaos: Sweat, Strategy, and Impact

I woke up two hours before my alarm went off. Light spilled through the blinds, pale and soft, but there was no chance of going back to sleep. I rolled out of bed carefully—my broken nose still throbbed significantly, and my muscles ached from yesterday’s long practice and the trip to New Zealand’s version of the ER. I dressed in the same clothes I’d worn after showering at Scott’s the night before. I brushed my teeth then slid my contacts into my eyes, blinking to adjust.

I grabbed Scott’s spare key from the kitchen cabinet from above the coffee maker and considered my morning run. I planned to run two miles but exhaling through my nose hurt too much as I ran. I slowed to a walk. Ninety minutes later, I returned to the house, drenched in sweat. I drank around thirty-two ounces of water, letting the cool liquid soothe my throat. A hot shower followed, loosening tight muscles, and I dressed in clothes similar to yesterday but without the padding; leggings, sports bra, socks, sneakers and a loose long sleeved shirt.

Breakfast was deliberate but big: Greek yogurt, scrambled eggs, oatmeal, bacon, and a tall glass of milk. While cleaning up, I brewed enough coffee to fill a 40-ounce tumbler, adding sugar and thin mint Chobani creamer. A second tumbler I filled with ice only, to keep ready. I grabbed my phone to text the Jasons.

Me: Hey, can either of you come pick me up? Scott’s still asleep, and I’m waiting on my NZ license. Forgot which one of you lives closer.
Jason Ryan: We’re both close.
Jason Holland: We’ll figure it out.

I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote my note to Scott: Heading to the arena. Meet me there when you decide to wake up, Sleeping Handsome.

With a few minutes left, I packed my tote bag. Both phones and chargers went in, along with my wallet, both passports, and a small packing cube for luggage containing shower shoes, a tiny travel case of toiletries (shampoo, conditioner, comb, toothbrush, toothpaste), and a change of clothes. I wasn't sure if I would need a shower or not but wanted to be prepared. Tote bag slung, tumblers in hand, and Scott’s spare key tucked in my wallet, I stepped outside.

Seconds later, the large neon orange SUV arrived. I laughed so hard. Jason Ryan was behind the wheel and Jason Holland in the front passenger seat. Holland jumped out and moved to the back.

“Front’s yours,” he said.

“Thanks.” I climbed in, placing the tumblers into the cup holders and my bag at my feet. Both Jasons laughed immediately.

Ryan smirked. “Your feet don’t even touch the floor.”
Holland leaned forward. “Seriously, do you need a booster seat?”

“At least I can still walk a two-mile run,” I said sarcastically. “Crap. I forgot my pain meds.”

Holland pulled out his keys. “Where’d you leave them?”

“In the kitchen cabinet with the water glasses.”

“I’ll grab tissues too, just in case your nose starts bleeding.”

"Thanks!" I half-joked, “I’m counting the pain meds when you get back.”

The smile vanished. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not the point,” I said quickly. “I don’t mind sharing over-the-counter meds. Prescription? I don’t mess with it. Even with coaches.”

He nodded. “Understood.”

Three minutes later, Holland returned with the meds and three boxes of tissues. I shoved the tissues into my tote bag and counted the pills—all there.

“Really?” Holland asked.

“Really. Just making it clear.”

Ryan chuckled. “Message received loud and clear.”

On the ten-minute drive to the arena, I told them, “I’m not just working with the players today. All coaches are included too but in the afternoon.”

Both stiffened.

“What do you mean?” Ryan asked.

“I hired teams of psychiatrists, psychologists, and therapists specializing in anger management. They had thirty-six hours to meet with each other and read the same reports I did—on all players and my detailed reports on each coach. They’ve got a game plan to help all of you out.”

“You’re serious?” Holland asked flatly.

“Completely.”

Ryan laughed nervously. “Shocking. Hurtful too.”

“I understand,” I said calmly. “Coaches are role models. Players will mimic your behavior—fighting with refs and with each other. They’ll take advantage if you act poorly and assume that what you’re doing is fine and they can do it as well.”

Both went quiet.

“You both have kids, right?” I asked.

“Two,” Ryan said.

“Two here as well,” Holland added. “Our four kids are all under seven years old.”

“How do you teach them to behave? Just words?”

“No, we use actions as well so they can see what we mean,” Ryan said.

“Exactly. Players are just older versions of your kids. They need examples of words and actions both on and off the field.”

Holland sighed. “When you put it that way…”

Ryan nodded. “Makes sense.”

At the arena, Ryan parked. Holland jumped out, opened my door, and offered a hand.

“Careful.” He grabbed the tumblers after I got out; Ryan took my bag. I retrieved them all from them

“Independent,” Ryan said with a grin. I smiled back.

By security desk to enter the arena, Susan, lead HR, handed me an ID badge. “This will get you in and out without signing in each time. I scanned the photo from your NZ passport for the picture.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“If you ever need peace and quiet, come to my office. I’ll reserve a boardroom and get food sent in.”

“Thanks, Susan,” I said sincerely.

She left. The Jasons introduced me to the security team.

“I don’t always look like this,” I said.

They laughed. “We believe you.”

We headed to the field.

I finally took a sip of coffee as I stretched with the players, modifying movements to avoid stressing my nose. The stretch felt good, loosening muscles that hadn’t fully recovered from yesterday.

“Huddle up,” I called.

No groans. Players circled around me, careful of my face and I.

“I know yesterday's elbow to my nose was an accident,” I said. “Accidents happen, and you move on. You learn from mistakes, knowing it was unintentional, and try not to repeat it. However, I will not tolerate intentional elbows to faces or any other part of a player in practices or matches. If it happens in practice, you will not play for half the next game. If it happens a second time, don’t bother getting dressed—you’ll be sitting in the stands rooting for your teammates. In a match, I will pull you for half the game, and if it happens a second time, you’ll be fined and then sent home at your own expense.”

Murmurs of understanding rippled through the players.

“You never know who’s watching—fans, local news, paparazzi. Your reputation matters,” I added.

After a pause, I dropped the heavier news. “After practice of drills and plays, you’ll shower and enjoy catered lunch – which I’m providing and paying for - you’ll meet with psychiatrists, psychologists, and therapists specializing in anger management.”

Grumbling began.

“We’re not crazy,” one muttered.

“I hear you,” I said. “I can’t officially diagnose anyone—I’m not licensed to practice in New Zealand—but I hired specialists to help you identify triggers and work through all emotions, not just anger.”

“Even the coaches?” one asked.

“Yes, all coaches will work with their individual team too,” I added. “They need to work on their own shit as well."

A long pause. “Makes sense,” one said quietly.

Another added, “If they’re doing it too… fair’s fair.”

“Exactly. This isn’t punishment—it’s about making you stronger on and off the field.”

We moved into practice drills. Players demonstrated positions and techniques, explaining plays as they went. I participated with modified drills—no full contact—so I could fully understand each play.

“Like this,” one player said, demonstrating a scrum. “Push together, communicate, stay low.”

I mimicked carefully. “Coordination, not force.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Keep your head up and watch the ball.”

“Got it,” I said. “How about lineouts?”

They laughed and demonstrated in pairs. “See how timing matters,” one explained. “If you jump too early or too late, the other team steals it.”

I called a water and snack break two hours in. Interns brought cut fruit that the nutrition team worked on while we were practicing.

“You know,” I said, handing out fruit, “many of you are away from your families. Think of me as your surrogate aunt who loves you.”

They laughed.

I dropped strawberries into my tumbler—ice and water now from the melted ice. They stared.

The team doctors and nutritionists approached. “Adding fruit gives flavor and some nutrients without manufactured powders,” one explained. "Those powders have too many chemicals and we want you to be at your peak. While Deppgrl is hear, she'll have us meet with you guys a few times a week to help you guys out."

“What fruits do you like?” they asked me.

“Strawberries, blackberries, raspberries,” I said.

A few players teased, “Kiwi?” referencing my sexual relationship Scott. I laughed. The doctors and nutritionists looked uncomfortable.

“You can also add fruit to hot or cold teas,” I said. “Guava can replace sweeteners, but just a little; too much will ruin the drink.”

I finally sat and finished my coffee. Players sprinted to the bathroom, returned, re-stretched, and practiced for several more hours with me doing modified drills, calling out plays and walking me through scenarios.

Later, the Jasons called the end of this part of practice. Players showered and headed to the clubhouse for soup, sandwiches, soul food, and salad for lunch.

I turned to the coaches. “Dig in.”

After everyone had three plates each, I grabbed food and sat in a corner. I ate a bit, then took my pain meds from my tote bag. I knew taking both would make me foggy and tired, but the pain needed to be managed.

Players kept going back for more. “There’s plenty of food,” I texted Susan. “Call all departments—HR, IT, everyone—down so they can eat too.”

As players cleared tables from their plates and utensils, I handed half the group cleaning supplies. “Work as a team. Respect the space and others around you.”

No complaints. Minutes later, tables and the benches were spotless. I returned the supplies to custodial staff.

I asked the Jasons to split players into mixed groups – putting players together that normally don’t get along. Psychologists, psychiatrists, and therapists took the groups.

Heading to the coach’s main office, Scott intercepted me.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he demanded, livid.

“It’s not my job,” I said. “You’re a grown adult – you’re more than capable to handle yourself. There’s a psychiatrist, psychologist, and therapist in your private office.”

“Why?”

“All players and coaches are working with a team. What I see now shows you need it too. I’ve got the most experienced ones for you.”

I turned down a hallway to HR as I turned to say “Refuse, and I’ll know. Susan and the owners gave me authority to suspend you without pay until you participate.”

He stormed into his office as I continued to HR.

Susan met me at HR doorway and led me to a boardroom she’d prepared with a futon. “Here you go,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said, taking out my contacts. She left. I locked the door, climbed onto the futon, set my alarm, and immediately fell asleep.

Ninety minutes later, I woke, went around to the bathroom around the corner to brush my teeth and I put my contacts back in, returned, cleaned up and gathered my stuff. On my way out, I texted Susan “Thanks!” and met the team and coaches in the clubhouse.

“Are the players ready to go home?” Holland asked.

“Yes, they can,” I said. “I expect them same time tomorrow morning, and I don’t know what I have planned for tomorrow afternoon.”

The Jasons and the other coaches sent the players home as Scott returned. He looked ragged, mad from being forced to meet with the specialists, though he knew it was necessary. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m too mad at you to even go back to my place,” he muttered.

“I don’t give a shit,” I said. “No coach or player is authorized to stay at the arena, especially without my OK. You can either sleep in your bed or on your deck, but you’re not allowed to stay here.”

The Jasons came over, asking if I needed a ride home. “Yes,” I said, and they happily drove me back. As I got out of the SUV at Scott’s house, they made sure I had a few to-go boxes of catered lunch saved just for me—mac and cheese, buttered green beans, and chicken and dumplings. I hugged them both tightly.

Once inside Scott’s house, I put the food away, showered, and came downstairs in just a T-shirt that barely covered what needed to be covered. The food was still mostly hot, so I didn’t bother reheating it. I ate directly from the to-go containers, drank more water, and put the tumblers in the dishwasher. I left a note for Scott, letting him know I was sleeping in the guest bedroom again and that he was fending for himself for dinner.

I went upstairs, took out my contacts, set my alarm, and went to bed. Hours later, I heard the door squeak open and then squeak closed. I immediately fell asleep, remaining in deep sleep until my alarm woke me up the next day.

Blood, sweat, and surrender

When Scott and I finally pulled up to his house, the first thing I noticed as we walked in to get a drink of water and use the bathroom was the smell of citrus. It was crisp and bright, unmistakable. His house always smelled like that, and it fit him—refreshing and steady. We both grabbed some water and went to the bathroom before heading back out to his SUV to get my luggage.

When we finally found the energy, we lugged my bags inside, both of us already running on fumes, but neither of us would relax until my clothes were unpacked. Together we carried my suitcases upstairs, talking through where things should go. The decision was the guest bedroom as there’s no room for my clothes in his room.

“I’d love for us to get ready together in the morning but there isn’t enough space in the main bedroom,” Scott said, pulling open the sliding doors. “I hope there’s enough space for your pile of clothes in the walk-in closet and all the dressers.”

“I’ll have more than enough room,” I said. “You have way more clothes than I do anyway.”

He smirked. “Are you saying I overdress?”

“I’m saying you own too many clothes,” I teased. “You could change your clothes a five times a day and you’d still have more than I would!”

We laughed through the exhaustion, side by side, tucking my things into drawers, hanging up dresses, setting shoes in place. By the time we finished, I collapsed back on the bed. We both took a few twenty-minute naps in the guest bedroom, too exhausted to move, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around us.

“I’m beat and could definitely use a shower,” I sighed when we woke up. “I want to just skip dinner and go straight to bed.”

Scott arched a brow. “Care for company? Showers are always better with someone else.”

“If my shower companion is you, then yes, I do want company,” I said with a smile.

We stripped in the bathroom. I threw our discarded clothes in the hamper basket as Scott turned on the water and made adjustments to the temperature. With a small gesture, I joined him in the shower; thankful that there were two showerheads instead of the one.

“Fuck, the water feels great,” I moaned, tilting my head back. “Thank you for getting my favorite shampoo and conditioner. And soap!”

“You’re very welcome, babe,” he said, grabbing his usual three-in-one.

I smirked. “One day, I’ll convert you to real shampoo, conditioner, and soap.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” he winked. “This makes it easier for me when we have long practices into the night or early morning meetings with the owners.”

I rinsed the suds from my hair while he scrubbed down quickly, letting the hot water soothe travel fatigue. When we finished, I grabbed my deodorant/antiperspirant from the cabinet while he brushed his hair. That’s when I noticed his things weren’t crowding the shelf anymore.

“You moved your stuff,” I said softly.

“So you’d have space – my things are in the bathroom in the basement,” he replied simply, pulling on boxers and linen shorts. “And about sleeping arrangements—you’re welcome to join me in my room, but if you’d rather the guest room, that’s okay too. Your choice every night.”

I smiled, touched. “Thank you. I’ll be down in a few minutes—looks like attire tonight is casual.”

“You could wear a burlap sack and still look good.”

I kissed him before heading naked into the guest room to grab an oversized shirt with nothing else underneath it as I was too tired to care. I hung my towel, brushed out my hair, and padded downstairs.

“Dinner smells great,” I said as my stomach growled. “I don’t even remember what I ate last or when I ate last.”

Scott glanced up from the oven. “Thanks, babe. Very, very late last night on the plane—you probably had a yogurt drink or three at the arena. Want to pour some wine while I take the egg and bacon pie out of the oven?”

“Sure.”

It took me a minute to find the wine glasses and I found my favorite bottles of white wine and rosé chilled in his fridge. By the time I set the glasses down, Scott was plating the egg and bacon pie with extra bacon. We sat at the island, but before I could lift my fork, he took my hands in his.

“I know it’s important to you to pray,” he said gently. “Out of respect for your beliefs, we’ll pray each time we sit down to eat.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. “But you don’t need to.”

“I want to.”

He bowed his head and prayed, and I squeezed his hands back. Once finished, we dug in, both of us silent until halfway through our second slice.

Scott shifted uncomfortably.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You have a question about how I can be sexually active while believing in God?”

“Did your God tell you that?” he smirked.

“No. My God doesn’t talk to me much but shows me things. Like in Song of Solomon—it’s also called Song of Songs. Some read it as God’s love for us. Others as a love and sex story between two people. To me, it means we aren’t meant to be denied sex but to enjoy it.”

“Interesting point of view,” he said.

“I’m liberal. I read the Bible as a guideline, not a rulebook,” I added, sipping my wine.

Scott grinned. “And the other question—why Bongo?”

“Because at an open mic night here, you sang way off key while playing bongos. And because your balls are the size of bongos.”

“What?”

“Yep. Not only do you have the largest dick I’ve had, but your balls are massive.”

“You’re honest!” he laughed, shaking his head.

“Want another slice?”

“Of course. More bacon for more answers.”

“And wine,” I grinned.

“Definitely wine after that one.”

We finished the pie and three bottles of wine between us. My contacts were killing me, so I went upstairs, removed them, and used rewetting drops. When I came back, Scott was asleep on the couch, lips parted, arm draped over his chest. Peaceful. I covered him with a blanket, grabbed a glass of water, and went upstairs to his bedroom.

Hours later, I was woken up with him joining me in bed. He pulled me close to him, his arms around me from behind; one squeezing my large tits and the other fingering my wet pussy. I moaned in pleasure.

“Do you want more, baby?” he asked huskily in my ear.

“Yessssssss,” I moaned.

Scott helped me to roll onto my back. I spread my legs as he was kissing and caressing my body. He made his way down to my waiting pussy and expertly used his tongue and teeth. I repeatedly climaxed on his tongue. When I thought I couldn’t climax anymore, I did three more times. After the last time, he slid up my body and pressed the tip of his unusually large dick to my pussy.

“Do we need to use condoms?”

“No,” I whispered. “I’m on birth control.”

In one swift thrust, he was deep inside of me. I screamed his name in pleasure and he came inside of me instantly, shooting a thick stream after thick stream of cum deep inside of me. He was significantly larger than Vince in length, width and girth…I was stretched was an understatement.

Once Scott caught his breath, he began to thrust his large dick in and out of my pussy. Within seconds, he was suckling one of my nipples and was rolling the other in his forefinger and thumb – often switching between nipples. The more he suckled and bit my nipples the more I climaxed on his dick and he climaxed inside of me as often. An hour or so later, he shifted my legs over his shoulders so he could thrust deeper inside of me. He picked up the pace and how hard he thrusted.

“My god, babe,” he moaned and grunted. “Your pussy is so tiny and tight…..I can’t stop climaxing in you!”

“I love how you stretch me…it hurts,” I moaned in pleasure. “Don’t stop, babe. I love the pain…yesssssssssssssss!”

Scott climaxed in me one last time, screaming my name as if he were in the scrum. It took him many minutes to shoot his last load of cum in me…his dick continued to twitch in me. As he pulled out, we both climaxed once more.

“I wish you could stay forever,” he murmured as I was falling asleep in his arms.

We were so jet lagged and tired from the previous day talking with each player that we slept through the alarm. It finally woke me ninety minutes later. I shot straight up and woke up a heavily snoring Scott. We rushed through our shower and breakfast then stopping for coffee before we hit the arena.

The players were already scrimmaging when we arrived inside. When they saw me hand in hand with Scott, they groaned. I smiled. We stopped at the bench where there was padding for me - shoulder pads, mouth guard, helmet clipped tight…..the helmet resembled the football helmet of an American football player from the 1920s however it contained current updated padding and technology. The tech in my gear monitored impacts, flashing red if a headshot was too strong and the helmet was soft enough that if a player hit my helmet with any part of their body, they wouldn’t be hurt.

The drills were the players were participating in looked intense, and I stretched with the medics and junior coaches before joining scrimmage. When I was properly stretched, I asked the players to not take it easy on me. For a few hours, it was going well as they taught me defensive and offensive plays until one of the players swung his elbow wrong and slammed me straight across the nose.

White-hot pain exploded. Blood gushed. Ears rang.

Scott was on the ice instantly, shouting at the player, face red with rage.

“Scott!” I barked through the blood and swelling. “Chill out! It was an accident. I’m fine.”

The medics wanted me sit while the others finished drills. By the time everyone showered, I’d stopped bleeding, though the swelling was bad. Instead of leaving right away, we gathered in the video room to watch films of the players.

The coaches rolled footage of past matches and practices, pausing to highlight sloppy passes, defensive holes, and refs’ reactions.

“You see this?” one junior coach said, pointing to a clip of an old match. “That’s misconduct territory. Fighting with each other, arguing with refs —it all adds up. The owners are watching and they’re not happy….which is one of the many reasons why Deppgrl is with us.”

I leaned forward, holding an ice pack to my face. “That’s exactly what we need to talk about. I’ll be notifying the owners of future misconduct issues It has to be addressed now before it escalates.”

The room went quiet. Some players looked nervous. Scott backed me up. “She’s right. This isn’t just about penalties—it’s about reputations. Yours, and this team’s.”

We went clip by clip, breaking it down, my throbbing nose forgotten in the flow of strategy. When we wrapped, Scott gave me a look that said, Enough—we’re going to the hospital.

At the hospital, the intake staff member clucked as she checked me in. “Oh my. Now that is a broken nose. Did he do it?”

“Nope. He wouldn’t be standing if he ever laid a finger on me,” I said to the intake staff member smugly. “He’d be in more need of the services provided than I would be.”

Both she and I laughed as she finished checking me in. Before Scott and I could sit down in the waiting room, I was called back but Scott stayed back because he noticed my nose started to bleed again as he gets queasy by blood. I had my vitals taken by the nurse and then provided pain meds by IV for pain as a nursing student tried to help me stop my nose from actively bleeding. Scott rejoined me a few minutes later.

The ER physician examined me. “Swelling’s bad  but it appears to be a clean break. We’ll get imaging done first, then realign your nose. Due to the injury, you may have a black eye or two.”

Scott hovered at my side, arms crossed but eyes soft with worry. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

The doctor chuckled. “She’d have to be, Coach. It looks like the boys did quite the job!”

“Hey, dorkwads….you know that I’m right here, right?” I said as I was getting frustrated. “Doc, just because I’ve got amazing tits doesn’t mean you have the right to mansplain or over explain shit me unless its neurosurgery. I am right here with a broken nose. You talk to me – the patient…the All Blacks’ newest coach and Social Emotional Learning supervisor – not the head coach.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the doctor said realizing he was in te wrong. “I’ll get someone to transport you to imaging immediately.”

As I went for imaging, Scott had the intake nurse upload pictures of me scrimmaging with the All Blacks players and asked her to include that I am the team therapist and coach. For future billing, they were to bill the owners at their personal expenses. By the time he got back to the exam room, I was back from imaging and waiting on the plastic surgeon

The plastic surgeon came in, brisk but kind. “We can reset it today. Pain meds will help as you’re healing. You’ll be sore but healed in weeks. All that I ask is for you to be careful blowing your nose and sneezing.”

“Good. I just want to breathe and not look like a Picasso painting.”

Scott squeezed my hand. “You’ll still be beautiful. Broken nose and all.”

I rolled my eyes, heart softening.

I held onto the exam room bed as the plastic surgeon put my nose back into alignment. I groaned in pain as soon as he felt the cartilage get back to where it needed to be, he inserted internal nasal splits afterwards to help my nose heal and appear how it looked previously.

After leaving the hospital, we stopped to get dinner to go from the place Scott ordered from when I received my discharge papers and care instructions of my nose. When we arrived to the restaurant, I started to open my door to pop inside to grab the food.

“Deppgrl, stay in the car,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to think that I hurt you.”

“No one is going to think that unless you come inside with me.”

“For my sanity, would you please stay in the car this time while I get the food?”

“Fine!” I said as I was plotting my plan.

Scott hopped out of the SUV and closed the door. I immediately sent pics of the practice, me getting my nose broken and my trip to the hospital to the primary owners of the All Blacks.  By the time that Scott returned to the SUV, I was finishing the last call I had with te owners.

“Why am I getting texts from the owners?”

“In my country, anything like this would make news,” I said. “You could lose your job and your reputation. God forbid any news company comes to the arena for practice and sees me like this? The whole country knows that you’re still legally Jane but you’re romantically involved with me – you or her could be accused of hurting me. Is losing your job, reputation and your private life worth it?”

“No, it isn’t,” he sighed as he put his SUV in gear and headed home.

“The owners will leak pictures of me scrimmaging with the guys and one of the pics where my nose gets broken anonymously over the next couple of days. They’ll add some kind of tagline of me being the only coach willing to gear up and scrimmage against the guys.”

A few minutes later, we arrived to his house and unloaded the bag and took the food containers and the plasticware to eat.

“I’m going to eat out on the deck,” I said knowing that the cool night air soothing after a long day.

“I’ll be upstairs in the office,” he sighed.

Later, when we bumped into each other in the kitchen, plates in hand, he smiled softly.

“I’ll clean up,” he said.

“No, I’ve got it,” I said.

“You’ve had quite the day.”

“I’m the one who could potentially save your job if any press or paparazzi spins an accident into something else.” I said as he conceded.

I tossed the takeout containers and plastic ware while he lingered, then suddenly he leaned in, kissing me. Soft at first, then deep, hungry.

“You joining me in my room tonight?” he murmured.

“No,” I said as I looked at him. “I don’t expect you to understand what is considered normal for me in my country. I know that you don’t see it but what I did was to protect you. What would happen if any of the owners show up at practice tomorrow and see what I look like while they know that I’m staying with you? You have a history of having a short fuse; it’s been televised throwing water bottles, arguing with the refs and the other coaches, kicking benches and the like. The owners, the players and I all know that you wouldn’t hurt me but the public doesn’t. Once the pics are watermarked with a made-up social media handle and then leaked, the heat will be off of you and you will still have your reputation and job.”

He kissed me once more. “Fair enough. Hope you sleep well.”

I carried my water upstairs, stripped, took out my contacts and went to bed.

 

 

A whirlwind departure - part two

The drive to the private terminal was a study in contrasts, a tranquil buffer between the recent chaos and the storm I was headed toward. City lights streamed past the window, a blur of gold and red, an abstract testament to the world left behind. The low hum of the engine was a calm counterpoint to the events of the last few hours.

"You alright?" Scott asked, his voice low as he squeezed my hand.

"I'm processing. It was difficult leaving him like that. He was at my place to heal and wait until he was able to get a new vehicle."

"He's a strong man from what you’ve told me in the past," Scott said. "He'll be fine. And Vince is a good man; he'll take care of him."

"I know," I said. "He's in love with me, Scott. It's becoming more obvious."

“They both are but it’s hard to not be,” he said.

“I feel like I’m running away from them,” I sighed. “I’ve known Vince for just over half of my life and no mater what happens between us, we can never get rid of the other. Matteo is a different story. We know each other but not as well as Vince and I. He’s healing at my place and now you guys need me.”

"You're not running away. You're doing what you were meant to do," he said. "This is your purpose - it's who you are. He'll understand, even if it hurts right now. It just shows how special you are. He'll be okay."

"I hope so."

We arrived at the tarmac, where the New Zealand All Blacks team plane was waiting, its sleek body gleaming under the security lights. The flight crew greeted us with professional smiles as we boarded.

A flight attendant named Emily was the first to approach. "Welcome aboard, Bongo," she said with a warm smile. “You must be Deppgrl. Bongo won’t stop talking about you!”

Another flight attendant, Hector, stepped forward. "I'm Hector.”

"This is the best team there is," Scott said with a wide smile. "I'm counting on you to take good care of her. I'll be back shortly. I want to talk with the main pilots."

"We most certainly will," Hector said. "I was just about to conduct a safety check and make sure we have everything we need, and then we’ll be at your service.”

Twenty minutes later, both Emily and Hector were done with their safety checks and the less senior flight attendants were finishing up the rest of the checks. As they were walking over to me, Emily asked me what I wanted to drink. "Hot chocolate, if you have it," I replied. "I could use something warm."

"Absolutely," she said. "I'll be back as soon as we’re in the air and cleared to take off our seatbelts."

Bongo came back as the one pilot came on the speaker to ask all of us to have a seat and put on our seatbelts on. Bongo and I sat next to each other while Emily and Hector sat with the rest of the cabin crew. I stroked his dick as we were waiting to taxi down the tarmac.

As the plane lifted off the ground, I watched the city lights slowly disappear. When we reached cruising altitude and the seatbelt sign turned off, Scott left but returned shortly with a few bankers' boxes. He set them on the floor in next of me, then placed a bag of supplies beside them, pulling out a variety of highlighters, pens, pencils, and erasers.

"Alright, here you go," he said. "Everything I've got on them. Reports, psych evaluations, interviews with each player, write-ups... it's all here." He gestured to the boxes. "I'll leave you to it, but do you need anything else?"

A sense of purpose built inside me. "Do you mind if I just spread all of this out on the floor? I work better with a bit of a controlled mess, you know."

He chuckled. "The cabin is all yours - do what you need to do. Just be careful not to trip Emily or Hector. They're both used to my unconventional work habits, but you'll be a new challenge for them."

Emily returned with my hot chocolate and stopped, her eyes wide as she saw the boxes. "Oh my," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Looks like you have your hands full."

"I do," I said. "Just a bit of light reading. I'm afraid I'll need to work on the floor to get everything organized."

“We’ll work around you,” she said.

I took a sip of the hot chocolate. "Thank you so much," I said. "This is exactly what I needed."

"My pleasure," she said, patting me gently on the shoulder. "Enjoy the flight."

I thanked her again and watched her go. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I slid out of my seat and sat on the floor, surrounded by the boxes. I stared at the boxes for a full hour, the sheer volume a testament to the task ahead. The emotional weight of leaving and the daunting work took their toll. After drinking six hot chocolates, two coffees and three gallons of water, a trip to the bathroom was necessary before I could devise a game plan. The paperwork, as expected, was a complete disaster.

As I headed toward the back of the plane, I saw Scott motioning to a different door. "Hold on there. Use the coaches' bathroom. It's more comfortable and you'll appreciate the space."

I nodded and changed my path. The bathroom was a welcome surprise. It was four times the size of a standard plane bathroom, with a large, polished vanity and enough room to turn around. It even had a spacious shower stall with a sliding door.

After using the bathroom and washing my hands, I returned to my pile of boxes. Scott was out cold, a victim of jet lag. I didn't want to wake him, so I just headed back to my pile of boxes, my mind already racing with potential solutions.

"Pardon me, Deppgrl," a voice said, and I looked up to see one of the pilots. "I’m Pierre and one of the primary pilots on the flight. I wanted to welcome you aboard."

I tried to stand up to shake his hand but he held up a hand. "No need for major formalities, please. We'll be making the smoothest landing in Auckland anyone has ever seen. The boys are anticipating you."

"Thank you, Pierre," I said. "I appreciate the welcome. How much security clearance does everyone on board have?"

Pierre's eyes twinkled. "That's an excellent question. Most of our employees know nothing more than what has been released publicly. However, there are two employees with the highest level of clearance. They know every detail about the boys' issues, and they have the authority to act on it if needed."

I stared at him, a sudden understanding dawning on me. "And who would those two people be?"

"One is sound asleep, snoring in his seat," he said, nodding toward Scott. "The other is sitting on the floor, surrounded by paperwork….."

“Oh,” I said defeatedly.

He started to turn away, but I stopped him. "Pierre, wait. One more question."

He turned back. "Of course. "

"The paperwork is a total mess," I said, gesturing to the boxes. "I'm going to sort through it all. When I'm done, I'll put everything into individual sealed folders, labeled one through forty-two and the numbers won't correspond to their jersey numbers. So, if a crew member is available, would they be able to help me put them in the boxes in sequential order?"

"You're a woman of foresight," Pierre. "That's a very clever way to keep things confidential. I'll speak to the other primary captain about it and get back to you with an answer."

After Pierre left to head back to the cockpit, I started with the first box. I grabbed some paperwork and used the seats to keep things organized by using one seat per player. Each seat. Due to this process, I was able to get through all five boxes within a few hours. Halfway through, Pierre said that he and Markian, his fellow primary pilot, said since everything will be in large envelopes, there wouldn't be an issue with Emily and Hector helping me rebox the documents in the boxes.

Pierre said that it was time for me to have a break. He said that he and Martian would join me in the cramped coaches office in a minute. I headed there and stripped. By the time they joined me, I was naked and in no time, so were they. Over the next forty five minutes, Pierre and Markian shared me and also took their turns. I loved having Pierre’s dick in my pussy and Markian’s in my ass as well as them switching spots; Markian in my pussy and Pierre in my ass. We finally made our way back to our spots on the plane.

By the time I was finished with putting each player’s individual paperwork in folders and numbering them, Emily and Hector came to assist. They gathered all the envelopes and handed them to me as I boxed the envelopes, their movements swift and silent. The three of us worked in a quiet rhythm, a team in our own right. As I sealed the last box, a deep sense of relief washed over me. The emotional weight of the past few hours finally began to lift, replaced by a quiet sense of accomplishment.

Just as I settled back into my seat, Scott stirred, stretching his arms over his head with a low groan. He blinked a few times, clearing the sleep from his eyes, then looked down at the perfectly stacked boxes on the floor.

"Looks like the mess has been tamed," he said, a wry smile spreading across his face. “And you got my surprise.”

"It took six hot chocolates, two coffees, three gallons of water, and a lot of floor time, but yes," I replied, a tired but genuine smile of my own. "It's all organized, labeled, and ready to go. I hope it's not a pain to get it into the baggage hold when we land."

"No, we've got it," he assured me, reaching over to squeeze my hand. "That's why we bring so many crew members. You did incredible work. I knew you would, but to see it…it's really something else."

His eyes held mine for a moment, the gratitude in them a comforting balm. I hadn't realized how much I needed to hear that. The anxiety of leaving Vince and Matteo behind, the fear of the unknown, had been a heavy blanket. But sitting here, in this quiet cocoon of a plane, with the boxes neatly stacked beside me, the purpose of my journey felt tangible and real.

"This is just the beginning," I said softly, more to myself than to him.

"It is," he agreed, his voice a low rumble. "And you're exactly where you're meant to be."

As the sun fully crested the horizon, the cabin lights dimmed for the landing. Pierre's promise of a smooth descent was almost true, but a sudden crosswind gave the plane a jolt as the wheels touched the tarmac. The landing was slightly bumpy, a minor protest from the storm I'd been flying toward.

"That wasn't the smoothest landing I've ever seen," I teased Scott as we gathered our belongings.

He chuckled. "It's a good metaphor for what's about to happen. The assistant coaches, Jason Holland and Jason Ryan, will be picking us up."

Once the plane was fully parked and cleared, I pulled out my phone. I sent a quick text to Kay, Tara, Vince, and Matteo, all individually, to let them know I'd landed safely. I also provided them with my new Kiwi phone number and told them to email me if they needed me to call.

After the airport crew unloaded our baggage, the two Jasons took the boxes and my bags and threw them in the trunk of one of the SUVs. As we got in the car, I asked what the next step was.

"It's going to be a long day," Jason Holland said. "We've called an emergency meeting for 25 minutes from when we got in the car."

"What time is it?" I asked, a feeling of dread building.

"It's 6," he said.

"AM or PM?" I asked, my heart sinking.

Scott, who was already half asleep in the front seat, chimed in, "Very, very AM!" I groaned, knowing there would be no more rest for me.

I tried to get a few more minutes of sleep during the short ride to the arena, thankful that I'd been able to get some sleep on the plane. The Jasons woke me up just as we pulled into the lot. The groundsman had a few carts ready for us to bring the boxes inside.

We walked in, and the first thing I saw was a coffee waiting for me. I gratefully accepted it from the head of HR.

"You must be Deppgrl," she said, her smile professional. "We're all very happy to have you here. I'm Susan."

"Thank you, Susan," I said, handing over my passports, work visa, and other government IDs. "I appreciate the coffee and the warm welcome."

"It's the least we can do," she replied. "We'll get you back on the payroll right away. Here's all the paperwork you'll need to fill out, and once that's done, you're all set to go."

After a quick moment to get everything settled, the Jasons, Scott, and I walked into the locker room, with me leading the way. The second the players noticed me, a bunch of shouting and cursing erupted. Their loud, boisterous energy filled the room, but it died the second I raised a single eyebrow. The silence that followed was instant and absolute.

"I'm not happy with you, and I'm certainly not happy with your behavior," I said, my voice low but firm. "I have every piece of paper about every single one of you for the past three years, and there is going to be a ton of work from today on."

A collective groan filled the room, but it didn't last long. My silence and piercing stare seemed to stifle any further complaints.

Scott brought me up to a large, sunlit boardroom, with a long mahogany table in the center and a stunning view of the practice field. The Jasons followed us in, each pushing a cart loaded with the three bankers' boxes.

"This is your space for as long as you need it," Scott said, gesturing around the room. "The boys will come in one by one. We'll start with the leadership."

We opened the first three envelopes, labeled 1, 2, and 3. Inside were the files for Fabian Holland, De'Plessis Kirifi, and Scott Barrett. The Jasons and Scott helped me get organized, placing the documents for each player in their own pile. We worked quickly, a silent, efficient team.

The first to come in was Fabian Holland. His face was a mask of skepticism. I poured over the paperwork, my eyes scanning the reports, psych evaluations, and personal notes. He sat across from me, his arms crossed, waiting for me to speak.

"Fabian," I began, my voice calm. "Your file shows a pattern of escalating aggression on the field, particularly in the final ten minutes of a game. Your discipline record reflects it. Can you tell me what's going on there?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "I'm just playing hard. It's a physical game."

"Playing hard is not the same as losing control," I countered, sliding a sheet of paper with his penalty stats across the table. "This isn't about physicality; it's about a lack of mental fortitude under pressure. We're going to fix that."

De'Plessis Kirifi came next, and then Scott Barrett. The conversations were all different, but the core of them was the same. We went over each player's individual struggles, their strengths, their weaknesses, and how their behavior was affecting the team. The Jasons and Scott were a quiet presence in the room, watching and listening, providing context when needed.

This process took several hours. My mind was completely fried, but I was just getting started. As I was about to open the next envelope, Scott came to get me. "Susan needs your paperwork completed ASAP," he said.

"I'm fried," I said, leaning back in my chair. "I can't even remember my name right now, let alone fill out government paperwork."

Scott chuckled and pulled out his phone. "I know. Don't worry, I've got this." He called Susan into the boardroom, and she arrived a few minutes early with a new stack of papers.

"I figured you'd be a little overwhelmed," she said with a kind smile. "I've already inputted the information from your work visa and both of your passports. All you have to do is sign."

I stared at the neatly typed forms, a wave of relief washing over me. "Thank you, Susan," I said, my voice full of gratitude. "This is a lifesaver."

I quickly signed each page, my hand steady. After I finished, I took the original blank papers that she had given me, found the shredder in the corner of the room, and shredded them, then handed her the copies that I had just signed. She gave me my government documentations back, along with a business card.

"Welcome back to the team," she said. "If you need anything at all, just call."

The last player was called into the boardroom. He was one of the chillest players on the team, but his file indicated a recurring issue with refs.

I handed him a paper from his file. "This is a record of your communication with refs. You're losing them with your tone and your unsportsmanlike behavior, and it's costing the team."

He shrugged. "I'm just passionate. I'm not trying to be a jerk, but sometimes a ref makes a bad call."

"There are better ways to question a call than getting in a ref's face," I told him, looking him in the eyes. "We're going to work on that. You can be passionate without being aggressive."

"I'll work on it," he said, nodding. "You've got a point." He got up, left, and closed the door behind him.

Once the door was shut, a collective sigh of relief filled the room. The Jasons, Scott, and I began the process of packing up the boxes. We worked efficiently, putting everything back in a far more organized manner than they'd arrived.

"Alright, let's get these to the office," Scott said, pushing the last cart toward the door.

We brought the boxes to the coaches' office and put them under lock and key. Each of the four of us received a key, a silent agreement of shared responsibility.

"Well, that's it for us," Jason Holland said, pulling his keys from his pocket. "Our partners have the rest of the day off, so we're on kid and pet duty."

"Time to switch from rugby to dog leashes and soccer practice," Jason Ryan added with a laugh.

"You guys have earned it," I said. "Thank you both for everything. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You too," Scott added, clapping them on the shoulder. "Get some rest."

With a nod, the two Jasons headed out, leaving me and Scott alone in the quiet office. The day's work was done, but the real challenge was just beginning.

Scott turned to me and asked, "You ready to head home?"

I slumped against the wall, a wave of exhaustion hitting me. "Yes," I sighed. "I want to sleep for the next 24 hours straight."

He laughed, a warm, low sound. "I get that. We'll get you back to the house, but I want you to promise me something. Don't go straight to bed. Take a shower, nap for a little bit, then wake up, eat a good dinner, and get hydrated. You can go to bed early, but don't sleep the day away."

"I feel like I could," I said, but a small smile touched my lips. "I appreciate the advice. I'll take a shower, eat something, and then try to get to bed a little earlier than usual."

He nodded, already grabbing our bags. "That's my girl. Let's get out of here. The real work starts tomorrow, but for tonight, you need to recharge."

He drove slowly through the silent streets of Auckland. The city was just starting to stir, the sky a faint bruised purple over the horizon. Neither of us said a word; the long flight and the intensity of the day had taken their toll. The silence was comfortable, a shared understanding that words were unnecessary.

As we neared his house, a familiar knot of anticipation tightened in my stomach. I turned to him, the soft light from the streetlamps illuminating his profile. "You know how much I'm looking forward to getting our sex life back on track?"

He smiled, a slow, genuine curve of his lips. "You have no idea, Deppgrl. I've been thinking about it all week. And every minute of this trip."

My heart fluttered. "Really? What's on your mind?"

"I've got a lot of ideas," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. "But I have a rule."

I blinked, surprised. "A rule?"

"Yeah," he said, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "Out of respect for you, I want you to be on New Zealand time before we start anything. I don't want you so jetlagged you're not fully present. It's not fair to either of us. I want you to be here with me, not still half-asleep back home."

The thought was so caring, so utterly Scott, that my exhaustion momentarily vanished, replaced by a deep wave of affection. It was a perfect blend of passion and respect.

"I can respect that," I said softly, reaching over to put my hand on his. "Thank you."

"Can we still mess around a bit, though?" I asked.

He turned his head and gave me a playful smirk. "Of course. Anything to keep you happy. But don't blame me if it gets a little heated."

A whirlwind departure - part 1

The morning began with a quiet grace, sunlight slanting through the blinds to illuminate the soft curves of my body next to his. We were wrapped in the comfortable intimacy of shared space, a stillness that had become the anchor of our days. Our movements were a familiar, practiced ballet, and our connection was a quiet crescendo of heat built from lingering gazes and the lightest touch.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my hair. "Don't move. Stay right here."

"Morning yourself," I whispered back, burying my face deeper into his chest. "I could stay here forever. The world outside is a distant, irrelevant hum."

"Good," he chuckled, his arms tightening around me. "My only agenda is you. A hundred pizzas and the rest of the week is just us. What do you say?"

"A great plan," I said as I looked up at him, "but I have an urgent errand to take care of."

He smiled, a lazy, contented curve of his lips. "Mostly a promise. The world’s demands can always wait."

“I need to go, Matteo,” I said as I got up.

I showered, got dressed and put my glasses on. I didn’t want to deal with my contacts as my allergies were bothersome.

The drive to my doctor’s office was what I needed to clear my head; I needed to get Matteo back to his place and put some distance between us. Having him in my bed with me had been amazing but I knew it was leading him on. Inside, I was quickly ushered into an exam room. Alex, the male nurse, came in with a clipboard and a wide grin. I had grown to trust him implicitly; he was the only male nurse I was comfortable with, and only he, my doctor and I knew his secret: he was a FTM man.

“All right, let’s get this done,” he said, his voice easy. "How have you been?"

"Better now," I smiled. "How are you doing, Alex? I know you were having issues with your new place. If there’s any more trouble with your landlord, please let me know. A dear friend of mine is an attorney and can get you the right person to represent you. She has zero tolerance for discrimination."

His grin widened. "I'm doing great, thank you. The transition has been a journey, but I'm finally feeling like myself. My therapist – the one that you recommended? – has been a great support to me. The apartment is settled, too. As you know, the landlord was having a hard time with my new name and pronouns and misgendered me – plus it was bordering on harassment. You really saved me a headache when you stepped in and mentioned that what he was doing was discrimination."

“It was my pleasure,” I said. "It's baffling that people are so conditioned by what they see on the outside, they forget that sometimes we have to have the bravery to find out who we are. You have always been Alex; you just had to find your way home. If you come across problems with your landlord again, text me and I will get you in touch with my friend who is an attorney. She works on business related legal stuff but she’ll get you in touch with a civil rights attorney. "

“I appreciate that,” he said. “I think after the last time, it set him straight. Ready for your injection?”

“Yep! Let’s get this party started!”

Alex laughed. I pulled down my sweatpants just enough to expose the curve my upper butt, then laid down on my stomach on the exam table. He swabbed the area with an alcohol wipe, the familiar cold sting a brief distraction.

“A little pinch coming,” he warned gently.

The needle slid in, and I barely flinched. The slight pressure of the liquid entering my muscle was all I felt.

“All done,” he said, pulling the needle out and placing a small bandage on the spot. “And you’re in luck today. Dr. Evans sent an auto-injector to your pharmacy. Said you could take care of it yourself in the future. Less hassle for you.”

“That's amazing,” I said, relieved as I pulled up my panties and sweatpants. “My business has become busier – which is great – but  I've been having a hard time stepping away from the office every time as it pulls me away from the clients and staff. Thanks, Alex. You're the best."

"Anything for a friend," he said with a wink. "Don’t be a stranger."

"Never," I promised.

When I got back to the house, the easy calm I’d left behind had been shattered. The air was thick with tension, a conversation that had gone terribly wrong. As I walked into the living room, I found Dom and Matteo on the couch, a smirk on Dom’s face, while Matteo stood a few feet away, looking annoyed.

"Matteo, what's he doing here?" I asked, my voice a whisper that held an edge of irritation.

"I invited him over. We're friends from back in the day. I thought I'd introduce you two," Matteo said.

"Deppgrl and I dated for about two months, which is why I'm familiar with her house," Dom stated. “I got a tattoo in her honor and joked that if we ever broke up, I would cover it up. She didn't like the joke, and she broke up with me.”

"Dom, seriously?" Matteo said, his frustration clear. "That's pretty rude no matter how you intended it. It's like spending money to honor someone and then stating you don't respect them by covering it up if it didn't work out. No wonder she broke up with you."

“I was going to ask her to marry me a few months down the road," Dom tried to defend himself.

“Get out of my house, asshole,” I stated, my voice low and dangerous. “Never accept any invitation from anyone to come here again. You step foot on my property without my explicit permission, and I will have you arrested for trespassing.”

Dom got up, walked to the door, and left. I slammed the door behind him and turned to Matteo, who stared at me with an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know," he said.

"It was a few months ago, and it’s not important,” I said. "It was short and messy, and I didn't want to bring it into our friendship. You don't tell me about every woman you’re with, do you?"

"No, but that's not the point," he said. "The point is, I just found out something personal about you from him. I feel like I'm getting a highlight reel of your life, not the real thing. What else don't I know?" He shook his head and pulled out his phone. "I’m ordering pizza. I can’t even think right now."

The silence that followed after he ordered the pizza was suffocating. We went to my room, the only place we could escape the ghost of Dom’s visit. We stripped and got on the bed. I laid down on my back with my legs spread, waiting for Matteo’s impressive dick. The sex was less about passion and more about forgetting Dom. Matteo didn’t rush but took his time. We climaxed several times, and he came inside me each time. After the last time he came in me, he collapsed next to me.

When we caught our breath, we got up to shower and get dressed. I put on a clean oversized shirt, and he put on clean boxers and shorts. We headed downstairs just as the doorbell rang with our pizza. Matteo grabbed the door, and knowing him, he not only paid but tipped the delivery driver well. We then settled in to watch movies, the quiet company and simple comfort a welcome change. I knew Matteo was still upset, jealous that I had a past with Dom, and frustrated that I hadn’t shared it with him myself. I also knew he was still in love with me, and that this moment was a test of what we had. Like I realized earlier, I knew that I needed to put space between us.

As the last movie—an old Humphrey Bogart classic—played, I began to stroke Matteo’s dick, hoping it would help him relax before bed. My grip was gentle but sure. With each slow stroke, he shook, his hips instinctively thrusting up to meet my touch. I watched his face; his eyes were closed, and his mouth was parted, gasping in pleasure. The room filled with the soft sound of his quiet moans rising with every movement. I could feel his desire building under my hand, the tension coiling through his body as I stroked him faster. When he finally let go, his climax was sudden and overwhelming, every nerve alight beneath my touch. He came so much all over my hand.

As he was catching his breath and I was in the kitchen wash my hands, the front door opened, and a familiar Kiwi voice call out, “Hey. Deppgrl? It’s your favorite mate, Bongo.”

“Hey! I am in the kitchen washing my hands!” I yelled out.

As I dried my hands, I felt Scott’s—Bongo’s—arms around me, hugging me from behind. I then felt his lips on my neck. I turned and hugged him fiercely. It had been too long since we last saw each other. Had it really been two years?

Before I could properly kiss Scott, Matteo joined us in the kitchen.

Matteo’s shock registered instantly, his posture shifting as he gently exited the room, protective but tense. "Who is he? I've seen him before," he whispered.

"This is Scott Robertson," I said. "He’s a friend of mine from New Zealand."

“Oh?” Matteo asked.

“I went to a sporting event and in my travels during my tour afterwards, I bumped into Scott,” I explained, my voice quiet. “One thing led to another and we had an affair the few weeks that I was staying in New Zealand. His wife, Jan, found out. It almost cost him his marriage, but she decided against a divorce.”

“Something else you never told me about,” Matteo muttered to himself.

“Like you and that tattoo of my name on your chest,” I stated.

“Touché, Deppgrl,” Matteo smiled a little. “Touché.”

Scott’s tone was all business. “We need you…the boys need you. I  need you. It's a crisis."

Matteo blinked rapidly, the pieces snapping together. “The All Blacks,” he breathed. "You're their head coach? The most famous rugby team in the world?”

“What kind of crisis are we talking about, Bongo?" I asked.

Scott’s jaw was set, his expression grave. “It’s worse than the stress, extra practices, extra gym time and work for the championship and preparation for the Rugby World Cup. It’s a complete breakdown of the team. There’s been both verbal and physical arguments during practice as well as some bullying. Some of the physical fighting is so bad that it takes all of us coaches to break it up. And it’s not just that, Deppgrl. The coaches and authorities have caught some players for excessive non-medical use of weed, and they're not even trying to hide it. Us coaches look away if it’s half a joint here or there for the players smoking but the players just keep lighting up. They're falling apart and you're the only one who can fix this. You know their minds. You know how to get them back on track." He looked from Matteo to me, a silent plea in his eyes. "They're counting on you. I'll run to your lock box for your paperwork—give you two some privacy first."

“Is she the only one that can help the team?” Matteo asked. “I just got this incredible woman back in my life and she’s got to just like that?

“Yes,” Scott replied. He immediately headed toward room holding the lock box. “I need you there in less than twenty-four hours. This isn't just about a game - this is the championship and the World Cup. They need you to get their heads back in the game. It's a team of forty two incredible men and they're falling apart. I’m falling apart.”

“Do you have the team’s private plane?” I asked slyly before he completely left the room.

“Yes,” he said, knowing the full reason why.

“Good because I need the privacy to focus and figure out to get these lug heads back together as a team of forty two instead of a team of one,” I replied

Soon as the door closed, I turned to Matteo. “Call Kay. Get her here with my paperwork as soon as possible—I need to sign what’s needed. She knows what it is. Ask her to bring the other paperwork that gives her temporary ownership of my company while I am out of the country and the power of attorney paperwork for the house, bills and other shit.”

He nodded without hesitation and reached for his phone. “On it.” He stared at me, a new, respectful awe in his eyes. "I had no idea. You're... incredible. First Dom, now this. You lead a completely different life when I'm not around, don't you?"

"I know. It's a lot," I said softly. "But it's my life. It's a part of who I am. I keep a lot of it separate, but it's me.”

“Clearly," he said.

“I’ll shower and pack while Kay’s on her way,” I said, trying to anchor myself in action instead of nerves.

Matteo rose with me, worry and pride all tangled in his eyes. “I’ll help any way I can,” he promised softly, dialing Kay’s number. "Kay? It's Matteo. Look, I know this is out of nowhere, but Deppgrl needs you to get over here with her paperwork. All of it. The All Blacks need her. Right. She'll explain everything. Just... hurry. Please"

As I disappeared down the hall to shower, the steady hum of activity and anticipation replaced the quiet intimacy, and my heart thudded with the certainty of leaving for whatever awaited next.

I showered quickly. When I got out and dried off, I could hear Scott and Matteo having words. I immediately called Mark, Matteo’s primary doctor, to see if Matteo could fly super long distance. The answer was no, that he needed more time to heal. I thanked him and then called Maddie. She wasn’t thrilled but said that she already sent out to ALL airlines that I was temporarily on a do not fly list however, she was going to do her best to lift that and also said she’d knew something like this would happen so she’s going to send me an email attaching a letter clearing me in case the airlines wouldn’t lift me being unable to fly. I thanked her.

I texted my pharmacist to see if they could get me an override from my insurance company to provide me at least a six month supply on all my medications as there was a family emergency outside of the country. My pharmacist, Tom, said that he’d get it done for me as soon as possible.

From there, I grabbed my largest suitcases and called out to Scott to see how many bags I could take and what clothes I needed. He told me that I could take up to six large bags, three medium bags and two smallish carry-on bags then told me to bring a variety as it’s their spring and the weather is all over the place. I thanked him. As I was raiding my bathroom for beach towels, bath towels and shampoo and conditioner, Scott came to join me in the bathroom.

“You know, you don’t have to bring a bathing suit if you don’t want to,” he murmured as I spun around. “New Zealand has unofficial beaches for nudists and naturalists. We can go for a nice, long walk by ourselves.”

“I remember,” I said slyly as I kissed him. “I need to wear something in front of the boys when we go to the beach. I don’t want to traumatize them before the championship. Besides, I'm sure you have something for me, anyway."

“Touché,” he said, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. “Don’t bother to pack sunscreen as the crap here isn’t allowed there. Save some space with contact solution, all kinds of towels and your shampoo and conditioner. I have all that stuff back at my house. Just focus on packing clothes you feel good in.”

“So, I’m staying with you then?” I asked as his hands slid up my shirt and stopped at my breasts. “Hope we’ll have some privacy. Will Jane be around?”

“We definitely will. The boys know how special you are to me,” he said. He leaned in, his voice a low rumble. "In fact, I've already set up a surprise for you. A little welcome back gift...a private retreat just for us for a few days. We'll have a few hours to ourselves before the madness begins. And no, Jane will not be around – she is on a retreat with her tennis coach."

“I’m sure you’ll be showing me how special on the plane, right?” I asked. "Is it an overnight flight?"

"The best ones always are," he replied with a grin. "Just a few hours of pure, uninterrupted us. I'e been looking forward to this for a long time."

Before he could kiss me, Kay comes running upstairs with all the paperwork. Matteo served as the witness and since Kay is also a notary, she said everything is official. "This is a Power of Attorney, too," Kay explained, her voice breathless. "It gives me temporary ownership of your assets so I can handle things while you're away. I'm honored you trust me with this. Just... promise to call me when you can." 

I told Kay that there’s more than enough money in our joint account to cover my monthly mortgage, water bill, cell phone, heating or cooling or whatever is needed. 

"Just let me know if there are any unexpected bills that pop up, and I’ll add more funds to our joint account. You know where the card and checks are. Use it if you need to. I'm counting on you, Kay." She and I hugged then she left. As she was leaving, Tom came inside hollering my name. I ran downstairs.

“Hey, Tom. What’s the good news?” I asked.

“Good news? It’s amazing news!” he said, holding up a rather large box of medication. “Well, it was a bit of a struggle but I let your insurance company know that you have a parent in the hospital in New Zealand and the prognosis isn’t great and let them know that you don’t know when you’ll be back,” he said. “I also looked into what medications you’re on to see if New Zealand has them and not every med of yours is in New Zealand. So I had to work some magic.”

“Long story short, Tom?”

“You have nine months of medications, no co-pays,” he said, a proud smile on his face. “The insurance said that if you run out, you’ll have to come back to get refills and since this is considered an emergency, they doubt that they’ll do another emergency refill in the same calendar year. You're set for a while. Just don't lose it. Oh and your specialty med that you can only get from the specialty pharmacy? I am getting it shipped to the hospital closest to where the All Blacks practice and play out of."

“Thanks so much, Tom! I appreciate it,” I said. “You’re a lifesaver. I owe you one. Better let you go before they find out you’re missing from the pharmacy.”

“Scott, do you have room for one more?” Matteo asked sheepishly.

“Matteo, I already called Mark and he said that you’re not cleared to fly yet,” I said. “Take it up with him. He was pretty clear about it. You can't just ignore doctor's orders."

“Did you tell him that you didn’t want me to go?” Matteo asked as his face became red.

“No,” I said, pulling out my phone and putting Mark on speaker. “Mark, Deppgrl. Sorry to bother you again. Matteo doesn’t seem to understand the severity of his injuries and flying.”

“Matteo,” Mark’s voice came through the phone, firm and direct. “It’s over a seventeen hour flight from where we are to New Zealand. Within an hour into the flight, you will be in severe pain. I do not suggest you fly over two hours at any point in the next few weeks. You're still recovering from the accident. A flight that long could cause a serious setback, or even worse, a medical emergency. You need to stay put until I clear you."

“Thanks, Doc,” Matteo said, his voice defeated. I hung up after thanking Mark for the second time in three minutes.

I pulled him aside. "Matteo, look at me," I said, holding his hands. "I know this is confusing. First Dom, now Scott, and I'm about to leave. This isn't what I wanted to happen, not right now."

"Then why are you going?" he asked, his voice raw. "Why don't you just stay?"

"Because I have to," I explained gently. "This is a part of my life – a very big part. The part I keep separate. I'm asking you to live your life. Go on dates. Move on from the pain of seeing Savannah with Paul. See people. Just don't put your life on hold waiting for me. That part of our lives is over."

"I don't want to see anyone else. I want to see you," he said, the hurt clear in his eyes. "How am I supposed to just... forget about you?"

"You won't forget about me but you need to move on from your current pain as do I. We'll talk. I promise. This isn't a goodbye, just... a see you later." He nodded, a little defeated, but accepting, and kissed me softly on the lips. “When I come back, you’ll be welcomed back into my bed but we’re completely different people. At any point, Bongo – sorry, Scott – will come get me. Or some politician.”

“Hey, baby cakes,” Scott said out of breath. “Here’s all of your paperwork, visas, passports, phone converter, the Kiwi phone and a certified copy of your birth certificate – just in case!”

The three of us headed upstairs. "Alright, let's get this done," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "How many bags did you say I could take again, Bongo? Because it feels like I'm packing for a small army."

"Six large, three medium, two small carry-ons," Scott recited with a grin. "Seriously," he laughed, zipping a suitcase. "Are you packing for a trip or an entire new life? I don't know where we'll fit all this. My SUV isn't a moving truck, you know."

"I'm a woman who's prepared for anything. You've taught me that much," I said, playfully elbowing him. "Besides, you said I could bring a lot!"

Matteo, holding up a pair of boots, looked confused. "Do you really need these? I thought you said the weather was warm."

"It's spring in New Zealand," I explained. "The weather is all over the place. You'll pack all the shoes you can for spring in a place where the weather is unpredictable. One minute, I could use rain boots and the next, I could use snow boots."

"You think about everything, don't you?" Matteo said, looking impressed.

"I have to. Now hand me that other suitcase, will you? And Bongo, did you remember the phone converter? I'll also be needing my New Zealand phone as it's an international phone that only works in New Zealand."

"Of course. It's on the counter with your paperwork and your Kiwi phone, remember?  I've got a bag packed with essentials, too. You won't need to lift a finger once we're on the plane."

"Always one step ahead. It's why I need you." It took about an hour for the three of us to fill up my bags. I did call my current phone carrier to let them know that I was traveling out of the country for some time. "Okay," I said, holding my hair straightener, "got it. Last piece of the puzzle."

Between the three of us, we were able to load Scott’s SUV quickly. As we loaded the last bag, I called Vince to come get Matteo as I had to fly out of the country. No questions asked and Vince was on his way….he said that he’d help Matteo find a replacement vehicle. I thanked him. I shared the conversation with Matteo. "Vince will be here soon. He said he'll help you with the car and get you sorted. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything," Matteo said.

"Please make sure you and Vince lock up. Don't forget the back door."

"I'll double-check everything. And I'll water the plants. Please let me know when you land. I'm going to be worried about you until I know you're safe."

We kissed again before I took my work visa, the passport of the country that I was born in and my New Zealand passport from Scott. Matteo looked at me oddly. "Wait, you have two passports?" he asked. "And a work visa? What do you do? I thought you were just a who worked on stocks and portfolios?"

"I have a work visa because I spend most of my time living outside of New Zealand, even though I'm a citizen. I also have a New Zealand passport by grant because I had spent over a thousand days in New Zealand over five years and I had to commit to live in New Zealand every so often….this trip will help me keep my passport and my citizenship. As for what I do... that's a story for another time," I said with a teasing smile.

"Two passports and you're the head coach of the All Blacks. You're a woman of many secrets," he said, a genuine smile returning to his face. "I can't wait to hear the rest of the story when you have time. Be careful out there….you’re far tinier than the players!”

“I’m three times as feisty and seven times as mean as any of the players on and off the field,” I said. “When they see me, they know that their asses are mine! Proverbially of course!

Matteo kissed me again, a sense of awe in his eyes. "Be safe," he murmured. "I'll see you when you get back."

“You got, Matteo,” I said. “Go find the love of your life.”

I turned and followed Bongo to his car. Like me, he has dual citizenship and has a driver's license in both countries. Halfway to the private airport, I asked Bongo if we would really have privacy and asked if Jane was in rehab again.

“Yeah, sweetie,” he sighed. “We’ll have privacy and yes, she’s in rehab again. Still alcohol and sex.”

“Tennis coach?”

“All three of them.”

We were silent for the rest of the trip to the airport. Once we arrived, Bongo drove on the tarmac up to the plane. Airport staff unloaded the SUV and asked which bags I needed and Bongo said that there’s enough storage in the passenger area and it was fine – just to make sure that is balance out for safety purposes. They nodded and loaded the plan with my bags and Bongo’s overnight bag.

In an hour, we were cleared for takeoff.

All that's left of the storm

The hospital room, with its low, steady hum and antiseptic air, felt less like a place of healing and more like a necessary purgatory. The adrenaline that had carried us through the past twenty-four hours was now a fading echo, replaced by a profound and bone-deep exhaustion. We were two islands in a sea of sterile efficiency, our gurneys positioned side by side, a silent testament to a shared ordeal.

Vince arrived, his face a roadmap of a long night spent in the waiting room’s impersonal family waiting area. "I'm heading home," he said, his voice a low rasp, raw with fatigue. "I need some sleep."

He gave me a hug and shook Matteo’s hand. Without a word, he retrieved my car keys from his pocket and placed them in my hand then retrieved his motorcycle keys from my purse. "I'll be taking my motorcycle so your car is here when you get out. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Matteo’s gratitude was a quiet weight in the air. "Thank you for everything, Vince. We couldn't have managed without you."

Vince offered a rare but genuine smile. "That's what friends are for." With a final wave, he was gone, leaving us to the quiet stillness. I surrendered to the call of sleep, a long-overdue mercy.

I was pulled back to consciousness by the low murmur of voices. Kay and Tara stood at the foot of my gurney, their faces a soft blend of relief and concern. The faint lines of worry around their eyes spoke of the night they must have endured.

"We're so glad that the both of you are okay," Kay said. "Matteo. You gave everyone a major scare."

"I didn’t mean to," he said. “With everything that has happened, my body clearly needed the rest.  I think between the injuries, how tired I was and the amount of calories I ate from Aditi’s amazing food…I couldn’t help but fall asleep while eating

“Trust me, friend, we understand. And yes, Aditi’s food tastes like heaven,” Kay said quietly. “You have been through quite a ton during the last day and a half.”

Mark and Maddie entered, their expressions composed and professional. Their presence felt like a final, reassuring anchor.

“Morning, you two," Mark said with a smile that reached his eyes. "Let's get you both checked out and sent home."

Maddie approached my gurney first, her movements practiced and light. A penlight shone in my eyes as she checked my pupils and asked me to follow her finger that she used to track my eye movement. "Any dizziness? Nausea? Headaches?" she asked, her tone both professional and kind. "Your preliminary scans were clear last night minus the concussion, but we want to be absolutely sure nothing has changed overnight."

"Just tired," I managed, my voice rough. "And a headache. I think it’s from when I hit my head when I fell."

"That’s certainly from the concussion," she said. "I'm going to send you for another CT and an MRI of your head before you get discharged."

Mark moved to Matteo's gurney. He checked his pupils and had him track his finger. "How are the ribs, shoulder, and knee this morning, Matteo? Any new pain?"

"A little sore mixed with painful, but barely better than yesterday," he said, wincing slightly as Mark gently palpated the areas around his injuries. “

"Your blood work was normal and your initial scans were a bit of a mess," Mark said, "but we want to take more imaging of everything to see if we can get a better reading." His expression a mix of professional reassurance.

Kay and Tara remained with us as we waited for transport while Maddie and Mark had left to go see their other patients. We felt that Maddie and Mark had expedited the orders as a matter of minutes later, we were both being wheeled down to radiology.

While Matteo underwent his MRI, I had my CT scan. My order was just for my head, so I was done in half an hour. Thankfully, the hospital had many MRI machines and rooms so I had an MRI done of my head immediately after the CT. The MRI didn’t take too long either and I was soon brought back to the shared room. I knew Matteo’s imaging would take a bit longer as he had more injuries.

As I was back in our shared room, Kay and Tara discreetly left to give me privacy to get dressed. Matteo was wheeled in a few minutes later as I was finishing up. A nurse offered to help Matteo, but he politely declined stating that he preferred my assistance. The nurse nodded, stated that she understood and left. He had always been appreciative of medical professionals but he was tired of the stares at his larger than usual sized dick.

The process of Matteo getting dressed was a slow, careful ritual of leaving the ordeal behind. Matteo was still very sore; moving and reaching hurt more than he wanted to admit. Grabbing our phone accessories to toss into my backpack was the easiest thing to do - other than getting imaging done

Maddie and Mark returned with our discharge papers. They explained that our follow-up imaging looked as clear as could be expected. They cautioned me to be mindful of dizziness and headaches due to the concussion and to make sure I eat, hydrate and rest often as needed. With Matteo, they cautioned him that he would be sore for a week or more and that he should stretch throughout the day, rest, drink plenty of water and not to be afraid to take a muscle relaxant if needed. Mark handed Matteo a prescription bottle of muscle relaxant and a paper prescription for the same muscle relaxant in case he needed more…Mark said that he was hopeful that Matteo didn’t need to fill the second prescription.

We finally walked out into the bright morning. The hospital doors slid open, and a wave of cool, fresh air hit us, a welcome shock after the stagnant and disinfected air inside. Kay, retrieving my bag of Matteo's and my things from me, said, "Matteo, you’ll ride with DeppGrl and I."

“You got it, boss,” Matteo said.

I handed my keys to Kay, and Tara said she’d follow in her car.

The ride back was a quiet, comfortable affair. Kay kept the music low, a soft, jazzy tune that filled the silence without intruding. Matteo, still tired, rested his head against the window, his eyes closed. I watched the world pass in a blur of trees and houses, my mind drifting back to the chaos of the last thirty six hours. But in the quiet of the car, with Kay at the wheel and Matteo beside me, a profound sense of peace settled over me. We were safe and okay.

Kay pulled into my driveway. The sight of my home brought a wave of relief so intense I almost cried. "Alright, you two," Kay said. "Let's get you inside."

Tara asked Kay to pop the trunk so she could get my backpack. Kay obliged and Tara grabbed my bag and quietly shut the trunk.

"I'm glad you're both home," Tara said. "It’s been a long thirty-six hours."

We walked up the path to the front door, the key feeling heavy and real in my hand. Opening the door, I was greeted by the familiar scent of my home, a comforting mix of peach and sandalwood. It was a scent that said: "You're home. You're safe." And for the first time since the whole fiasco started, I believed it.

Matteo and I made our way up the stairs, the climb feeling steeper than usual. Once in the bathroom, we stripped off the clothes we'd been in since yesterday, a symbolic shedding of the ordeal. We stepped into the shower together, the scalding water a welcome shock to our skin. We didn't talk too much, just let the water run over us, washing away the last remnants of the hospital and the tension of the previous night.

"God, that feels good," Matteo murmured, leaning his head against the tile as the water hit his shoulders.

"Best shower of my life," I sighed, letting the tension wash off.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Just clean."

"Exactly."

We finished the shower in silence. The hot water sluiced over our aching muscles, a physical release after the emotional toll. The steam filled the small space, wrapping us in a comforting cocoon of warmth and the invigorating scent of jasmine and white tea. I leaned against him, feeling the solid weight of his body as the water cascaded over us both, rinsing away the last vestiges of the soap. It was a shared moment of profound silence, a quiet communion after the chaotic storm. We just let the water run over us, washing away the last remnants of the hospital and the tension of the previous night.

Afterward, we toweled off. I put on a set of fresh loungewear, while Matteo, still moving gingerly, slipped into a comfortable pair of sweatpants. He looked at me with a soft and tired smile on his face.

"We made it," he said.

"We did."

"You look exhausted."

"You don't look so hot yourself."

"Fair enough. These clothes feel real again. Not like a hospital gown,” he said as he gently laughed then bent down to kiss me gently.

I pulled Matteo closer so I could deepen the kiss. I gripped his shirt as one of Matteo’s hand moved to the back of my head and his other hand rested on my breast….his thumb roughly stroking my nipple. I could feel his dick harden against me the longer we kissed. I dropped my one hand to see how hard Matteo truly was. He moaned into my mouth and became rock hard when my fingers lightly brushed his dick over his sweatpants.

“Let me help,” I whispered as I stepped back a little as I slid his sweats over his hips. “This will help you feel better.”

“Yessssss,” Matteo moaned once I dropped to my knees and wrapped my mouth around his dick. “My god, the things you do with your mouth, baby!”

He gently thrust his dick in my mouth as he gently grabbed my hair and head. As I was sucking his dick, I swirled my tongue around his dick and gently massaged his heavy balls. In no time, Matteo screamed my name as he unloaded a massive load of cum down my throat. After I swallowed his load, he helped me up before putting his dick back in his sweatpants.

We headed downstairs, drawn by the sound of laughter from the kitchen. Kay and Tara were already there, in the process of plating the food Aditi had just brought over while Matteo and I showered and dressed.

Tara nodded, a warm smile on her face. "Grab a seat, you two. Aditi stopped by to check on you both. Again.  When Kay let her know earlier that she was bringing you home, Aditi brought over some more food for lunch."

“That was some shower,” Kay said teasing us. “I don’t think my husband or I have ever screamed like that after a well-deserved shower!”

I laughed hard as Matteo turned a million shades of red. I’d completely forgotten that Kay and Tara were over. Kay has always known of my trollop sex life and still loved me….Tara – and the staff – have heard me a few times with her uncle, Dom, at the office. However, Aditi didn’t need to hear anything until then – sort of. She knows that I am a bit of a strumpet due to how many boyfriends of mine she has met – whether serious or not. Aditi, who had been sitting at the kitchen table, got up and gave us both a hug. "I'm so happy you both are home," she said, her voice soft with relief.

Matteo smiled at her. "Thanks for everything, Aditi. The food was incredible last night. I’m sure the food will be even better now that we’re home."

"It's just food," she said with a dismissive wave, as if bringing a fresh meal after an ordeal was a matter of course. Aditi stayed for lunch, sitting with us at the kitchen table. The conversation flowed easily between the five of us—a mix of small talk, gentle teasing, and shared relief. Aditi caught me in a moment of quiet and leaned in, her voice low. "I wanted to thank you again for sending me that information on the doctors," she said, her eyes earnest. "It’ help so much. I'll call them in a few days." After she finished eating and shared a few more laughs, she hugged us all goodbye. Once she left, I made my way to the office with Kay, closing the door behind us, the quiet click a seal on the moment. I walked over to Kay, who was sitting at my desk, and sat on the edge of it. My expression thoughtful, I said, "Kay, I want to get the papers started to make Tara a senior partner. There's no one I trust more to run things with me."

Kay's lips twitched into a small smile. "I'd rather you recover first. In the meantime, I'll get the papers ready for you to sign in a few days."

I walked over to her and wrapped my arms around her. "Thank you, Kay," I whispered. "For everything."

She hugged me back just as tightly. "Always," she said. After we pulled away, Kay looked at me for a moment, her eyes full of warmth. "Go get some rest," she said. "I'll see you in a few days with the paperwork. And yes, I know….not a word to Tara until you talk to her first."

I nodded, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me. I headed upstairs to find Matteo, who had already settled into bed – naked - for a nap. I slipped my clothes off and joined him in bed. I pulled the sheets up to my waist, and he nuzzled against my bare breasts, a gesture of quiet, intimate possession; occasionally sucking on my nipples…which still leaked a little bit since the abortion.

The afternoon felt heavy with something unsaid, a raw, undeniable current that had hummed between us since the moment we were alone. The sun slanted through the blinds, casting long, gold-dusted lines across Matteo’s propped body. His gaze was on me, sharp and unrelenting, as though he could pin me in place without touching me.

We’d talked for hours—banal things at first, small stories and unguarded laughter—but the words had thinned the longer we stayed stretched out on the bed. Eventually, all that filled the silence was his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the restless flex of his hand where it draped across my hip, tightening just a little each time I shifted.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I asked at last, my voice breaking the fragile quiet.

His mouth curved, but his smile wasn’t playful. It was a dark, dangerous promise.

“Because,” he said in a burning whisper, “you’re lying naked in bed next to me and I’m fighting the urge to fuck who I wish I could call mine.”

My pulse faltered, stuttering wildly in my throat. “Then stop fighting.”

The shift was instant. His restraint snapped like a thread stretched too thin. Matteo rolled on top of me, his body pressing into mine with a weight that stole the air from my lungs. His mouth found mine, and it wasn’t gentle—it was a confession, a claim. The kiss was bruising, desperate, his tongue tangling with mine as though he’d been starving for this.

I gasped against him, my hands flying up to his hair, tugging him closer. That only made him groan, a low, guttural sound that resonated through me, as if my response was the fuel to his fire.

“You undo me,” he growled into my mouth, between fevered kisses. His hand slid down, gripping my side so tight it bordered on painful, a physical anchor to his need. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“Yes,” I whispered, breath ragged. “I feel the same.”

He stilled for a moment, the look in his eyes dangerous, dark with possession. “Say it, then. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I whispered without hesitation, the words torn out of me, a surrender as raw as his demand. “For now,” I whispered softly.

The answering sound that rumbled through him was animal, a sound of pure, unbridled satisfaction when he pushed his large dick deep into my pussy. He kissed me again, deeper, hungrier, his strength bearing me down into the mattress. His body was overwhelming, hard planes pressing into me, a dangerous heat building wherever he touched me. My sharp gasp betrayed me when I felt him thrust in and out of me, insistent, demanding, more than I expected—so much that my legs trembled just from the pressure.

Matteo caught the sound and smirked, biting lightly at my lip. “What’s wrong?” he taunted, his voice velvet and dangerous. “Too much for you?”

“Never too much,” I breathed, clinging to him, though my body shook under the intensity.

“Good,” he growled, dragging his lips down my throat as I arched helplessly beneath him. “Because I’m not holding anything back.”

The rest of the world fell away. His mouth consumed my pussy, claiming every inch of me with his teeth, tongue, and lips, until all I could do was writhe and gasp, begging for more even as he teased. After climaxing on his tongue repeatedly, he thrust his hard dick in me again. At first he went slow as he pumped in and out of me savoring, leaving me desperate for what I couldn’t yet reach. But when my pleas spilled out—broken whispers of “please, Matteo, no more waiting”—he shattered all pretense of patience.

The rhythm between us turned wild and unrestrained. His weight pinned me down, held me open, while his hands gripped greedily, pulling me against him as though he meant to devour every part of me. My gasps grew louder, desperate, and each sound seemed to push him further, until he was groaning against my skin, half-crazed by the way I responded to him.

“You’re mine,” he rasped again, biting the words against my throat. “Every gasp, every shiver.”

“Yes,” I cried, nails digging into his back.

His rhythm grew harsher, fevered, dragging me over the edge of something I couldn’t name. I clutched at him, begging incoherently, saying his name like a prayer and a curse in the same breath. "Fuck," he groaned, the sound torn from him. "You feel so good."

He swallowed every sound with savage kisses, moving against me as if he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t breathe without pressing deeper, harder.

"Don't stop," I cried, my nails digging into his back. "Don't you dare stop."

His rhythm grew harsher, fevered, dragging me over the edge of something I couldn’t name. I clutched at him, begging incoherently, saying his name like a prayer and a curse in the same breath.

He swallowed every sound with savage kisses, moving against me as if he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t breathe without pushing his dick deeper, harder inside of my pussy.

“I am so close to cumming!” I moaned.

His breath hitched in a guttural moan, and my own gasp was a broken sob against his skin.

“Yes, baby!” he screamed. “I’m going to cum so hard!”

The climax that we both had broken between us—loud, consuming, endless. And when the chaos finally fractured into silence, we were left a tangled mess of limbs, our chests heaving in sync, both of us marked and undone. Matteo collapsed beside me, dragging me into his arms with a possessive swipe, as if even now someone might steal me from him. He pressed a final, searing kiss to my temple. “You ruin me,” he whispered, his voice raw and broken.

I kissed his cheek, still trembling, and dared a shaky laugh. “Then I’ll ruin you again later.”

The sound that escaped him was half laugh, half groan, but his arm only tightened until I was trapped against him. And like that, we both drifted into exhausted, dreamless sleep.

The low light of the late afternoon had turned to a deep twilight when we finally stirred. The nap had done us both good; the raw exhaustion was still there, but it was no longer a crushing weight. We untangled ourselves from the sheets and pulled on the same clothes we had discarded earlier. Downstairs, the kitchen was quiet, the lingering scent of Aditi’s paneer tikka masala still in the air. Matteo opened the fridge and pulled out the containers.

"Dinner?" he asked, his voice low and raspy.

"Yes, please," I said, a wave of hunger hitting me. I rubbed my temples, the dull throb of a headache starting to settle in. He saw the gesture and his brow furrowed.

"Headache?"

"It's been lurking all afternoon,” I said as I nodded.

 "I was about to take a muscle relaxant for myself. Do you want an Excedrin Migraine? I'll get you the bottle when I bring you water." he said, his voice soft with concern as he got two glasses.

"Please. I feel like a walking pharmacy," I muttered as I swallowed the pill with a sip of water.

"Better than a walking disaster," he said with a weak smile. "We’ll get back to normal soon."

We ate in comfortable silence, the leftovers a warm, savory comfort in our tired bodies. We simply focused on the food and the relief of being home. Afterward, we moved to the living room, collapsing on the couch. Matteo put on an old Humphrey Bogart movie, the kind with questionable special effects and cheesy dialogue. We didn’t pay much attention to the plot, instead leaning against each other, simply enjoying the quiet comfort of being together. A few times, I stroked his thick dick in my hands until he climaxed and moaned my name. The flickering light of the television danced across our faces, and I felt my eyelids growing heavy. When the credits finally rolled, Matteo turned off the TV and took my hand.

"Come on," he whispered. "Let’s get to bed, sweetie."

The exhaustion was a sweet kind of heavy now, and we made our way back up the stairs, ready for a long, well-deserved rest. We stripped our clothing when I remembered that we forgot to bring water with us. I told Matteo that I’d go downstairs to grab us some water, his prescription muscle relaxant and my Excedrin Migraine. I was quick and back upstairs within a few minutes. I placed one of the glasses on the night stand and Matteo’s medication on his side of the bed and I walked to my side, placing my water and migraine medicine on my nightstand. I slid into the cool sheets next to Matteo. He pulled me close to him and we fell asleep in minutes.

The sunlight woke me first. Warm streaks painted the sheets gold, highlighting the disaster of tangled fabric and the marks still lingering on my skin. Matteo moved almost before I did, pulling me instinctively closer, like his body refused to let mine slip free.

“Don’t you dare move,” he muttered into my hair, voice thick with sleep and command.

I smiled, tilting my face up to kiss along his jaw. “What if I want to?” I teased.

His eyes flickered open, and even in daylight they carried the same dark, dangerous heat as the night before. His grin ghosted sharp, wolfish. “Then we’ll just have sex until we’re both spent!”

Before I could challenge him, he rolled, pinning me beneath him effortlessly and spreading my legs. He pushed his dick in me again, making me gasp, but it wasn’t fear of his large dick that flooded me—it was fire.

“You can’t keep me here forever,” I whispered, though my body arched toward him.

His mouth ghosted over mine, hot breath spilling into me. “Sweetheart,” he said in that low, commanding voice that made me shudder, “you think you have a choice?”

The kiss that followed was rough, impatient, his tongue sweeping into me with a hunger that sent me reeling. I clutched at him, already unraveling beneath the dominance with which he claimed me—even in the golden quiet of morning. His hand cupped the back of my neck, holding me still as his mouth devoured mine, his growl vibrating against my lips.

“You’ll never have enough,” he whispered as his teeth grazed my skin. “And I’ll never stop giving you more.”

The second round burned with a primal, unrestrained intensity. His hips began a powerful rhythm that was all demand and no mercy. The bed groaned in protest as his dick pushed into me with each thrust, a friction that built a desperate heat between us. I dug my nails into his back as my body arched to meet him, my hips lifting to his every demanding thrust. The sunlight, harsh and clear through the window, illuminated the flex of his muscles, every dark, possessive look in his eyes. There were no words, only the raw sound of my own gasps and the low moans that tore from his throat.

"Oh god," he groaned, his voice raw. "You’re so beautiful."

"More," I pleaded, a breathless whisper against his ear. "Faster."

A low grunt rumbled in his chest, and his hips drove into me with punishing speed. His breath hitched in a raw, guttural groan, and a shudder ripped through his body.

"Fuck, DeppGrl," he groaned, my name a plea. "I'm so close."

"Me too," I sobbed, a sound torn from my lips as the pressure built. "Please... don't stop."

A guttural roar tore from his throat. I felt his body tense and then release, a shuddering release that mirrored my own. I cried out, a broken sob against his skin, as a soft sigh escaped my lips. My legs trembled and my body went limp. He claimed me a second time, pushing me to pieces all over again, and I answered him with my body, my hips lifting to meet his every demanding thrust until all I could do was cling to him and beg for more. We climaxed for the third time in less than twelve hours, him filling my hungry cervix with his thick cum.

“If I had my way,” he murmured, his voice still rough but softer now, “you’d never leave this bed.”

I smiled faintly, curling into him and letting his possessive embrace consume me. “Then don’t let me.”

And from the way he growled in response, I knew he never would.