Page 46

Chapter thirty

My name, all over you

Zoe

T he ride home is mostly him touching me.

His hand never leaves my thigh, his palm dragging slow, teasing circles over it while I struggle to keep my breathing even. His voice is low and lazy, all smoke and sex and satisfaction.

“You know what I’m gonna do when we get in that door?” he murmurs, thumb skating just under the hem of his jersey still draped over my thighs. I haven’t bothered to put my pants back on.

I glance at him. He’s got one hand on the wheel and the other up my leg, because he’s feral and clearly can’t help himself.

“Not give me water like a decent human being?”

He smirks. “I’m gonna bend you over the kitchen island and make you scream. Gonna eat you with your legs shaking while I hold you down by the throat and remind you who this pussy belongs to.”

“Wow. Romantic.”

He leans closer at a stoplight, pressing his mouth to my jaw. “You love it.”

I hum. “I do, but you’re a menace.”

He slides his hand higher, fingers skating right up the inside of my thigh. “You wore my jersey with no panties. Don’t act like I’m the problem here.”

I bite back a smile. “You’re not the problem. You’re just…” I glance at him. “So fucking horny right now it’s honestly a little concerning.”

He grins, eyes still on the road. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

“I mean, no. But do you have to act like you’re going to come every time I breathe?”

His hand moves again, this time higher. “Yes.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re mine, sweetheart,” he retorts.

I shake my head, laughing as I push his hand away—mostly just to feel smug about how easily he groans in protest. “We better be exclusive if you’re gonna talk like that.”

“We are.”

“And I’m on the pill.”

His eyes flick to me as we stop at another red. “You telling me I don’t have to wrap up?”

I tilt my head. “I’m telling you we’re good, but not invincible. So if you knock me up, I’m coming at you with a fork.”

He groans. “Fuck. I’d give you twins right now if you ask me nicely.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fine, but you don’t know what you’ve just said, baby.”

I roll my eyes but don’t answer because I know he means it. The post-game testosterone is high, and I plan to take full advantage.

When we reach the condo, I haphazardly slide back into my pants in the SUV. We giggle as we pass through the lobby and wave sheepishly to Nate before scuttling into the elevator. Once we’re inside the condo, Chase doesn’t even turn on the lights.

The door barely clicks shut before he’s backing me into it, sliding his hands under my thighs to lift me. I wrap around him instinctively as he fumbles with his pants, and then he’s pressing inside me in one thrust—no preamble, no patience. Just raw and consuming and completely fucking feral.

“I’m gonna fuck you in this jersey every night this week,” he grits, hips slamming into me. “I’m gonna fill you up and watch you drip in it. My cum, my name, all over you.”

I can’t even speak, all I can do is gasp and dig my nails into his shoulders like they’re the only anchor I have left.

What follows is a blur. A fever dream of skin and sweat and noise and teeth.

I don’t know how many times it happens. I just know the lights stay off, the jersey stays on, and he doesn’t stop touching me.

His mouth on my shoulder, his breath on my neck, his hands on my hips like he’s trying to brand himself onto my skin.

From the kitchen to the couch, to the shower, and then to the bedroom.

By the time we collapse into bed, my body feels like it’s been ruined in the most delicious way. I drift off tangled in him, aching and bare beneath the blankets, with his lips pressed between my shoulder blades like a vow.

It’s hours later when I stir. The condo is quiet now, thick with the kind of stillness that only happens between three and four in the morning.

I shift slowly, peeling myself out of bed with the kind of sore that makes me blush just thinking about how it happened.

Chase doesn’t move. He’s sprawled on his stomach, arm thrown across my side of the bed, unconsciously reaching for me.

I tiptoe into the ensuite, flick the light on, and wince as it floods the small space. My phone is still on the bathroom counter where I left it hours ago, and I pick it up, planning to check the time and scroll half-heartedly while I pee.

One notification is sitting on the lock screen. It’s an Instagram message from an account I don’t recognize. I frown, thumb hovering, and something sharp and cold fluttering in my stomach as I swipe it open. And then I stop breathing.

It’s a photo of me from tonight, standing rink side in Chase’s jersey, mid-cheer. Arms in the air and smile wide.

The photo’s taken from behind me in the stands, close enough to see the stitching on his name across my back.

You looked so pretty in his name tonight. Too bad it won’t last.

Frozen, I stare at the screen. The ache in my thighs, the hum in my bloodstream, the warmth I’ve been floating in since Chase scored that goal and pointed straight at me—it all ices over.

A slow, crawling awareness prickles at the back of my neck as I finish peeing and stand to wash my hands. I should go back to bed. I should forget the message, turn the light off, and crawl back under the covers into Chase’s arms.

I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until the silence fractures behind me with soft footsteps. Chase presses his chest to my back, arms winding around my waist as he nuzzles into the crook of my neck.

“I missed you,” he says hoarse with sleep, even though we’ve spent the last three hours wrapped around each other.

His hands skim lower, fingers splaying over my hips, then his mouth dips to the pulse point beneath my jaw, the one he always goes for first. As his tongue dips out against my skin, he pauses.

Blue eyes find mine in the reflection, eyebrows pulling together.

“Zo?”

I try to nod, to lie or do something, but I’m too slow. His gaze drops to the phone still clutched in my hand. His frown deepens as he sees the screen, grip tightening at my waist.

“What’s that?”

“DM,” I say softly. “Just now.”

He turns me around gently, stepping between my legs. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing,” I whisper, but I’m a terrible liar. I don’t even sound convincing to myself.

His hand comes up, palm open, waiting. I hesitate for a beat too long.

“ Zoe. ”

I hand it over. His eyes scan the screen, but he doesn’t say a word. I can feel the rage vibrating off him in waves—his jaw grinding, one hand tightening on my hip, anchoring himself to me. His whole body is one breath away from violence. Instead, he finally speaks.

“Where the fuck did this come from?”

“It’s just another DM,” I say quickly.

“This is a photo , Zoe.”

His eyes are wild now. He tosses the phone on the counter and runs a hand through his hair before gripping the edge of the sink hard enough to make it creak.

“They were there. ”

I don’t say anything, just stare off into the void, trying to decide what to do next. I exhale, then cross my arms to steady myself.

“You know,” I start lightly. “I always thought I’d be the kind of woman who’d kick a stalker in the balls and laugh about it on the ride home.”

Chase’s brow pulls tight as he watches me.

“I mean, I still might . But…” I force a little smile. “I don’t know. It’s just… creepy, y’know?”

His eyes don’t leave mine.

“Zoe.”

“I’m fine. It’s just…” My throat closes. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like I can joke about it anymore.”

The second the words leave my mouth, they feel real. Heavier than I meant them to be now that I’ve voiced them.

Chase steps in and cups my jaw, eyes sweeping over my face, gentle in a way that doesn’t match the fury in his spine.

“You don’t have to be fine,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to joke and brush it off. Not with me.”

My mouth wobbles. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

He stares at me, eyes burning. “Sweetheart. You’re the only thing I want to worry about. We’ll deal with it, okay?”

I believe him, but that’s not what I need right now. Right now, I need to not feel watched. I need to not feel like my body, my joy, my name, have been turned into something someone else can own.

So I press my face to his neck and inhale the scent of him—salt and citrus and sleep.

“Touch me.”

He freezes. “Zoe…”

“I need to feel something else,” I whisper. “I need to feel you. Not anything else, just you.”

He pulls back and studies me for a second, then nods. Wordlessly, he backs us toward the mirror. The light is still on, humming overhead, cool and white and unrelenting. I think that’s why he does it, why he doesn’t take me back to bed or the couch or somewhere dark.

He wants me to see.

He turns me gently until I’m facing the glass, then slides behind me, his eyes meeting mine in the reflection.

“You tell me to stop,” he says. “Any time. I mean it.”

I nod, facing the wide expanse of glass above the counter. My skin is flushed, hair wild, eyes soft in a way I don’t usually let them be. I look vulnerable, and I hate how easy it is to see.

Chase steps behind me, warm and bare and solid. His chest presses to my back, and his hands slide around my waist like they never want to let go.

“No one gets to see you like this,” he murmurs into the shell of my ear. “Just me.”

He kisses my shoulder, my neck, the curve of my spine, then one hand drops between my legs.

“You’re already wet for me.”

I watch his free hand splay over my stomach, holding me still as his fingers slide inside me. I arch instinctively, pressing back into him, and his mouth finds the side of my throat again.

“I want you to watch, ” he growls. “Want you to see how good you look when you’re mine.”

I moan as he curls his fingers, dragging them deep, thumb circling just enough to make my thighs tremble. My breath hits the glass, fogging the reflection, and he grins behind me.

He withdraws and I whimper, already aching for more, but then I watch in the mirror as he strokes himself, eyes still on me .