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The backyard grass was still damp from the afternoon sprinkler, cool under their bare feet as Lucy circled him, barefoot in her black yoga shorts and that cropped tank top that rode up every time she moved.
Tim had ditched his shirt; the heat was merciless, sure, though mostly because she’d smirked and said, “Lose the shirt, Sergeant. Fair’s fair.”
He’d rolled his eyes but complied.
Now he was regretting it.
Every time she shifted her weight, his brain short-circuited on the flex of her stomach, the curve of her hip, the way sweat had started to gather in the hollow of her throat.
Lucy was grinning like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
“Focus, Bradford,” she teased, bouncing lightly on her toes. “You’re supposed to be teaching me throws, not staring at my tits.”
“I’m multitasking,” he muttered, voice gravel-rough. “You’re the one who wanted backyard judo date night.”
“Because the gym has too many witnesses for when I kick your ass.”
He snorted. “Big talk.”
She lunged.
He caught her wrist, pivoted, tried to use her momentum against her—but she was faster than he expected tonight, slippery, anticipating. She ducked under his arm, hooked his ankle, and damn near had him. He recovered at the last second, muscles screaming, and flipped the hold. Her back hit the grass with a soft thud, his body following her down, pinning her hips with his thighs.
For one glorious heartbeat he had her exactly where he wanted her—chest heaving, pupils blown, lips parted. He dipped his head, chasing her mouth.
She turned her face at the last second.
“Uh-uh.” Her voice was breathy but smug. “Round two.”
Tim groaned, low in his throat, forehead dropping to her shoulder. “You’re evil.”
“You love it.”
He did.
God help him, he did.
They reset.
Round two.
Round three.
Round four.
Each time he got close—close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin, close enough to smell the coconut of her shampoo mixed with clean sweat—he’d try to close the distance. A hand on her waist, a brush of lips against her jaw. Every single time she’d twist, slip free, laugh that low, delighted laugh that made his cock twitch, and announce another round.
By round five he was hard, aching, and seriously considering just tackling her to the ground and calling it a forfeit.
“You’re killing me, Chen,” he growled when she danced out of another pin attempt, cheeks flushed, ponytail coming loose.
“Good.” She licked her bottom lip, eyes glittering. “Payback for all the times you made me run laps just to watch my ass.”
He barked a laugh despite himself. “That was training.”
“Right.”
She came at him again—lower center of gravity this time, smarter. He went to counter, overcorrected, and she used every ounce of leverage she had.
Tim hit the grass on his back.
Hard.
Lucy followed him down, straddling his hips, knees bracketing his waist. Her hands planted on either side of his head, hair falling around them like a curtain. She was breathing hard, triumphant, gorgeous.
“Got you,” she whispered.
He stared up at her, chest tight, cock straining against his shorts. “Yeah,” he rasped. “You did.”
She leaned down slowly—agonizingly slowly—until her lips were a whisper from his. “Say it.”
Tim’s hands slid up her thighs, thumbs digging into the soft skin just under the hem of her shorts. “You win, baby.”
Her smile was pure sin. “Good.”
Then she kissed him.
Finally.
It was messy and hungry and perfect—teeth clacking, tongues sliding, her hips rocking down just enough to make him curse into her mouth. He flipped them in one fluid motion, settling between her thighs, grinding against her so she gasped.
“Fuck, Lucy—”
“Inside,” she demanded, already yanking at the waistband of his shorts. “Now.”
Clothes came off in handfuls—shorts shoved down, tank top rucked up, her sports bra shoved aside. He didn’t bother with finesse; he just pushed into her in one long, deep stroke that had them both groaning.
“God—Tim—”
He set a rhythm that was too fast, too desperate, but she met him thrust for thrust, nails raking down his back, legs locked around his waist.
She laughed breathlessly against his mouth when he hit just the right angle. “Told you… backyard judo… was a good idea.”
“Shut up,” he growled, but he was smiling, kissing her again, slower this time, deeper. “You’re so annoying.”
“You love me.”
“Yeah.” He pressed his forehead to hers, hips rolling in that slow-grind way that made her eyes flutter shut. “I really fucking do.”
She came first—shuddering, clenching around him, whispering his name. He followed right after, burying his face in her neck, groaning her name into her skin as he spilled inside her.
They stayed like that for a long minute, tangled and sweaty and stupidly happy, breathing each other in.
Eventually Lucy poked his ribs. “You okay down there, old man? Did I break you?”
He lifted his head, glared half-heartedly. “I’m fourty-five.”
“Ancient.”
He rolled off her, flopped onto his back, and dragged her on top of him so she was sprawled across his chest. Her heartbeat thumped against his.
“Next time,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head, “I’m pinning you in the first thirty seconds and we skip straight to this part.”
She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him with that mischievous glint he both loved and feared in equal measure. "Thirty seconds, huh? Big talk for a man who just got taken down by a textbook osoto gari.”
Tim groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”
“Nope.” She leaned in and kissed the underside of his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, then the tip of his nose. “You looked so surprised when your feet left the ground. It was adorable.”
“Adorable,” he repeated flatly.
She grinned wider, shifting so she could rest her chin on his sternum. “You’re intimidating when you’re barking orders, Watch Commander. When you’re half-naked and sweaty on your own lawn furniture? Less so.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, scanning the yard. “Think we scarred the neighbors for life?”
“Please,” she said with a wicked little shrug. “They’ll just be jealous they didn’t get front‑row seats.”
Tim let out a long‑suffering sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re a menace.”
“Your menace.”
He slid his hands up her bare back, slow and possessive, fingers tracing the knobs of her spine. “Mine,” he agreed, voice dropping lower. “Still can’t believe you talked me into backyard sex like we’re horny teenagers.”
“You loved it.”
“Debatable.”
“Liar.” She rocked her hips just enough to make him catch his breath. “Seems like you’ve still got some energy left, old man.”
“Jesus, Chen.” He caught her hips, half‑groan, half‑laugh.
He flipped them again—slower this time, more deliberate—until she was underneath him once more, wrists lightly pinned above her head in one of his hands.
“You keep calling me old,” he murmured, brushing his lips along the shell of her ear, “I’m gonna start proving you wrong. Again. And again. Until you’re the one begging for a break.”
Her pupils blew wide. “Promise?”
He kissed her slow and filthy then, the kind of kiss that felt like he was trying to crawl inside her skin and stay there. When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing unevenly again.
“Inside,” he said, echoing her earlier demand. “Shower. Bed. Then maybe—maybe—I’ll let you try that throw again tomorrow.”
Lucy’s smile turned wicked. “Only if you promise not to hold back this time.”
“Oh, I won’t,” he murmured. “Next time, you’re the one eating grass.”
She bit her lip, eyes sparkling. “Challenge accepted, Sergeant.”
They stayed like that for another minute—quiet, tangled, hearts knocking against each other—before she finally nudged him.
“C’mon, old man. Shower’s calling. And I’m not sleeping sticky on your patio furniture.”
He snorted, pushed himself up, and offered her a hand. She took it, letting him pull her to her feet. They gathered scattered clothes in lazy handfuls—his shorts, her sports bra, his tank top—and padded barefoot across the grass toward the back door.
Halfway there she stopped, turned, and looped her arms around his neck.
“One more thing,” she said.
He raised a brow.
“I love you too,” she told him.
Tim exhaled roughly, like the air had been punched out of him, and kissed her again—soft this time, reverent.
“Yeah,” he murmured against her lips. “I know.”
They didn’t make it far. The laundry room was as good a detour as any. The shower took twice as long as it should have, and when they finally tumbled into bed—clean, damp‑haired, limbs heavy with contentment—Lucy curled into his side, head tucked under his chin, one leg thrown over his hip.
“Next time,” she mumbled, already half‑asleep, “we christen the kitchen island.”
Tim huffed a quiet laugh into her hair, arm tightening around her. “You’re trying to finish me off, Chen.”
“Only the good way.”
He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
Worth every damn second.