Morgan Rielly Imagine

I Have a Plan

We spend the rest of the night sprawled across my couch. Our kisses calm and tender, our clothes still in place and our skin glowing with a pink hue.

I don't care.

Morgan's earlier words echoed in my mind as he finally crawls over me to stand, pulling me up behind him and we walk hand in hand to my bedroom. The clock on my night stand tells me it's too late to have this conversation but I don't think I'll be able to sleep a wink unless we do.

"Morgan?" I ask hesitantly as goes to the same corner of the room as last night, removing his shirt and loosening his pants.

"Yeah?" He glances over at me as I hover by my closet. He must see the expression on my face and know where my question is heading because he juts his chin towards my closet door. "Change first, we can talk all night if that's what you want."

Nodding, I slip inside and before I close the door behind me, I change my mind. I leave it open, though I make sure I'm fully facing the opposite wall before pulling my dress off. My hair feels like satin across the middle of my back as I reach for my nightshirt, the same silk one I had worn that night in Pittsburgh, and I nearly don't want to put it on. But the hormones of the boy whose eyes I can feel on my skin probably wouldn't be able to have that conversation with me then.

Slipping on the shirt and a matching pair of shorts, I head back out into the bedroom where Morgan is already tucking himself into bed. I watch his dark eyes appraise me and a thrill goes through my body at the thought that this boy wants me, and not just physically.

I climb under the sheets beside him and he immediately rolls onto his elbow looking down at me.

"So- " I begin but he places a finger over my lips.

"Y/N, I wasn't lying earlier. I don't care if you move back to Montreal, well I do, but I care more that I'm with you. Not just here physically with you but that you are mine and I'm yours. Because baby, these past almost two months have nearly been the death of me. I'll take you anyway I can have you," he finishes and leans down and gently presses a kiss to my forehead.

I blink up at him, letting his words soak in. His sweet, sweet words and his team of endearment and the use of the words yours and mine make my stomach summersault and my heart flutter. I love him. I love him a lot.

"Then we don't need to talk about it anymore," I say and before he can say anything I tilt my head up and meet his lips with my own.

Our kisses out in the living room had been sweet and tender, testing each other and being with each other, all emotion. These kisses are all want. Every painstaking need for him I had pushed down since I arrived to Toronto seems to have waited in the back of my mind, waiting for it's time to pounce. My hands trace his naked chest, scratching my nails lightly across his sides and back. His mouth is on my neck and then in the dip of my shirt.

His hands against the silk cloth of my shirt makes my skin feel wet and slippery, but it's only for a moment and then my shirt is on the floor. I tangle my fingers in his hair as he explores the uncharted territory, my heart running ramped in my chest. He rolls over top of me, supporting himself on his elbows, sounds of appreciation from him reach my ears and my body lights up like a firework.

My heart can't keep up with my body for the next better part of an hour. Every touch, every stroke and kiss send shock waves through my nerves and I pray he's feeling every bit as I am as I marvel at the feel of him above me, over me, beside me, under me, in me, with me.

It isn't until he falls asleep that I slip back out from under the sheets and pull my robe on. I tip-toe back out into the living room and run a hand through my mused up hair. I pad over to the great window overlooking the city below, much like I did in Pittsburgh the first night in my hotel. Instead of staring out a cold city, I stare out into the city that I have learned to love and I think loves me in return now. Yet I still feel a barrier between myself and there.

I can't be in another long distance relationship. Not with Morgan.

I sit in the living room for a long while, going over every last option I have and every conversation I could have to make him see, to make him understand.

--

I get an email in the morning as I sit at my desk.

Y/N,

For the upcoming road trip, we will not require you to join the team. It is time that we get the rest of the media staff used to not having you around and since it is a one-game trip, Mason should be able to handle it on his own. No ill will towards you, it's just best for the rest of us to begin the transition.

Steve

Unlike the email a day before, I don't reread this one. Instead, I lash out at the innocent, unsuspecting pencil holder on my desk and send it flying across my bare office. I had told Mason once the reason I hadn't decorated my office, now I wish that I had. Maybe then Steve and the others could see that I wanted to be here.

I bury my face in my hands and weep right there at my desk. This morning had been so wonderful. Once I had went back to bed, Morgan had wrapped me tight against his chest for the rest of the night and he had been so sweet and tender this morning.

I hate it. No, I hate Steve and every one in a position above me. Back in Montreal I had been the boss, I hadn't had to listen to others orders and I hadn't been sent emails telling me what I can and can't do.

Anger is hot and heavy in my chest and only makes me cry harder. I hate not being in a position where I can control what happens. It makes me feel small and insignificant when I am anything but. I'm better at my job that anyone else is, I'm better at Steve's job than he is and he knows it.

"Rough morning?" Comes a voice from the doorway, I hadn't even heard it open. Mason walks in and shuts the door behind him softly. "Why are you crying?"

I gesture to the computer screen and roll my chair away a few feet so he can take a look.

"Oh, Y/N, this is what your upset about?" He almost laughs and I send him a look that I wish would kill him. "Sorry, that came out wrong and in the wrong order."

I squint at him not understanding his words.

He leans forward in the seat he had just taken across my desk from me and lowers his voice as if telling me a secret. And I hear the best four words spoken since I came here.

"I have a plan."