The high-performance speakers vividly captured the electrifying commentary. As the broadcast team analyzed the Dallas Lonestars’ first regular-season NFL game of the year, they heaped praise on the star quarterback, the hero of the victory.
— “The Dallas Lonestars are reaping the benefits of their star quarterback this season! If Peyton Aster keeps this up, he could be the youngest Super Bowl MVP in history, don’t you think?” — “Haha, as a longtime fan of Peyton myself, I can only hope! What on earth is going on in that quarterback’s mind to pull off plays like that? After today’s game, I’m dying to hear the answer in his Super Bowl MVP interview!”
“What’s in there? Probably just a shriveled brain and a skull.”
Behind the excited voices of the commentators, a sharp remark cut through. The low, resonant voice carried the distinct accent of American high society, rumbling from a broad chest. Rough hands, skilled at maneuvering a football, raked through sweat-dampened golden hair. Beneath long lashes, emerald-green eyes flickered under the light fixed to the bedroom wall.
“They’re acting like they want to dissect me. At this rate, they’ll be displaying me piece by piece in a museum.”
Peyton’s perfectly sculpted body, swollen from intense sex, showcased every defined muscle. Not a single scar marred his skin—his body was as smooth as marble. Peyton, who had been on the field since childhood, had an almost spotless injury record for a player of his caliber. If there was one peculiarity about his flawless physique, it was the almond-shaped scar in the center of his chest—a stab wound. Before every game, he pressed his hand to that scar and prayed. Fans assumed it was a gesture of deep faith, and reporters simply called it his signature pose, flashing their cameras. But no one had ever discovered what—or who—he was praying for.
“…It’s, uh, a metaphor.”
A bead of sweat trickled down his chiseled jaw, sliding past Ian’s Adam’s apple before dripping onto her pale skin. It rolled down the smooth contours of her body.
Exhausted, Ian criticized Peyton in a shaky voice. Her breath was ragged, words cutting off shorter than usual, but she forced herself to continue.
“It means… you’re that… special. A compliment.”
Ian clasped her hands in front of her chest, carefully enunciating each word. Her fragile vocal cords trembled with the effort of forming even a single sentence. Stuttering—it was her innate flaw. Ian lived life at a slower pace than others. Some people learned ten things from a single lesson, but the opposite was also true. Ian was the latter. She had no pathological cognitive issues, but under pressure, her body and mind would freeze, turning her into a rigid, unfeeling stone.
Ironically, this was the complete opposite of her childhood friend and former lover, Peyton Arthur Aster.
“So you’re saying I should just shut up and be grateful for the compliment?” “S-something like that.”
Born the eldest son of the wealthy Aster family, Peyton possessed golden hair like spun silk and dazzling emerald-green eyes. From a young age, he had proven his superiority, outshining his peers in every way. Peyton traced the path of sweat dripping down Ian’s body with his hand, his touch sending shivers across her skin, as if she were submerged in scalding water. It was a heat too intense for Ian to bear. Like recklessly rushing to embrace the sun, only to melt away unknowingly—this was how Ian had felt when she loved Peyton.
Ian promised firmly, her lips trembling.
“I’ll… I’ll stop the dissection somehow.”
Their naked bodies were tangled together like poorly kneaded pastry dough. Peyton, built like a quarterback, was massive compared to Ian, an ordinary person. Even their torsos were different in thickness. Pressed beneath Peyton’s weight, Ian should have struggled, but she bore it with familiarity.
“So… f-focus on the game… Ah, why do you keep—”
Ignoring Ian’s protests, Peyton roughly groped her full breasts, squeezing and kneading them like a rubber ball. Every time Ian stuttered, Peyton’s fingers pinched her left nipple, turning its soft pink tip into a deep cherry red.
“Because you hate it.”
“Nn—!” “And I enjoy it.”
Peyton lowered his upper body completely, swallowing Ian’s swollen nipple and areola in one fierce motion. The hot breath and saliva against her sensitive skin made Ian’s body tremble violently. When sharp canines grazed her nipple, she instinctively gripped Peyton’s golden hair by the roots. Peyton’s animalistic body, slick with a thin sheen of sweat, gleamed like oil. His imposing, battle-hardened physique contrasted with his childlike fixation on certain areas—something Ian could never get used to, no matter how many times she experienced it.
As Ian was lost in the sensation of Peyton’s hair wrapped around her fingers, a sinister whisper slithered into her ear.
“Ah~… You like this?” “N-no! I—I don’t!”
Startled, Ian quickly pulled her hand away from Peyton. Peyton rubbed his cheek against Ian’s clenched fist, the soft lashes tickling her palm like a puppy begging for affection—though only in gesture.
“Korean. Stuttering idiot. Designer.” “A-American. Crazy. Quarterback.”
When Ian fired back without hesitation, Peyton bit down on the soft flesh of her palm. Ian barely suppressed a laugh from the tickling sensation and pushed Peyton away. Peyton tilted his head, looking down at Ian.
“They say you can’t see the stands from the field. That’s a lie. We see everything. The faces of the crowd, their clothes. Even the half-eaten snacks they leave behind.”
He turned off the blaring TV and collapsed fully onto Ian’s body.
“I can tell just by looking at their eyes—are they my fan, or not?”
Cupping Ian’s head in his hand, Peyton resumed his thrusts, filling the tight space inside her. The thick cock plunged deep, unstoppable. Ian’s legs were draped over Peyton’s broad shoulders, her body folding in half from the force. Overwhelmed by the depth, Ian clutched Peyton’s neck with both arms.
“Ahh… It’s too… too d-deep…”
They had started as soon as they entered Peyton’s room, and Ian’s body was already drenched in pleasure. Every touch from Peyton sent waves of sensation through her. Peyton always targeted her most sensitive spots, leaving Ian’s senses razor-sharp, never dulling. The sheets beneath them were soaked, the obscene sounds of their lovemaking amplifying Ian’s shame.
Peyton smirked at Ian’s oversensitive reactions, slowly grinding his hips.
“At this rate, you’ll cum just from looking at my dick.”
“S-stop… Stop it!” “When are you getting your uniform fitted?”
Peyton relentlessly targeted Ian’s most sensitive spot, making her toes curl like a snail. Ian hastily covered her mouth with the back of her hand, but the lewd moans slipping through her teeth couldn’t be hidden.
“Explain it to me now.”
Peyton pressed his thumb under Ian’s chin, demanding an answer.
“W-what do you want me to explain?” “Why we broke up.”
Ian’s honey-brown eyes, brimming with tears from the overwhelming pleasure, darted away from Peyton’s gaze. There wasn’t a trace of malice on her face as she tried to escape the interrogation.
“Funny.”
The man, now buried up to Ian’s navel, whispered wickedly, pinning her slender shoulders down. Ian had no choice but to endure the pleasure Peyton forced upon her. Every thrust of Peyton’s cock, as thick as a child’s wrist, sent waves of arousal gushing out, soaking the space between their legs.
“Ahh! Stop… It’s too… too much…” “We were perfect… except for our personalities…”
Peyton hugged Ian so tightly it stole her breath, rooting himself in her deepest depths. His cock swelled, nearing climax. Soon, the heavy pressure against Ian’s cervix triggered Peyton’s prolonged release. Even after multiple orgasms, the volume was no less than the first.
“Hah… I… I can’t breathe. Just… give me a second…” “Why? Trying to run away again?”
Ian knew the frustration hidden beneath Peyton’s twisted tone. Her erased existence in Peyton’s memory was like a wisdom tooth, growing painfully, unsettling him.
Four years ago, an accident during a game had robbed Peyton of his memories. Though he suffered no lasting physical effects, he still couldn’t recall his past. But Ian held no resentment toward Peyton’s forgotten memories. Among the vanished time were precious moments with him, but also the painful ones—perhaps it was for the best that they were erased. Sitting down and crying about it wouldn’t change anything.
“You’re the expert at sneaking away like a coward, aren’t you?” “D-don’t worry.”
Ian reached out to Peyton, who eyed her with suspicion. Ignoring the distrust, she pulled Peyton into her arms. The rigid man slowly rested his head against Ian’s shoulder.
“I won’t… run away. Ever.”
The fierce heartbeat against her skin felt like Peyton’s answer. If he hadn’t lost his memory, he would have said it himself:
“Cherry, never leave me alone again.”
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
