Page 36

T he conference room is packed.

I expect it, but that doesn’t make the weight of it any lighter.

Reporters are crammed into seats, cameras set up in neat little rows, every eye in the room locked on me.

My team’s PR director sits off to the side, hands folded, watching with that neutral expression that says, Don’t fuck this up.

I won’t.

Because I’m done hiding.

I step up to the podium, place both hands flat against it, and scan the room.

Jake, Kingston and Gator are in the back. Arms crossed. Expression carefully blank. But they’re here, in silent support.

Kenzie isn’t.

She wanted to be. I told her no. Because this? This is my job. My career. My decision.

I exhale, steadying myself, then lean into the mic.

“I’m not going to drag this out,” I say.

Cameras click. Reporters lean in.

“I know you all have questions. So let me make this easy.”

A brief pause.

Then—the truth.

“I’m in a relationship with Kenzie Williams.”

The room erupts.

Flashbulbs go off. Voices overlap, questions shouted over each other. I lift a hand, silencing them.

“This is not a scandal,” I continue. “This is not some story for the blogs. Kenzie and I met before I took this job. What’s between us is real. And it has no bearing on my position with this team.”

Someone shouts, “But her brother plays for the Eagles—”

“Jake Williams is a professional athlete,” I cut in smoothly. “And I am a professional coach. That hasn’t changed.”

Another voice: “So you’re saying there’s no conflict of interest?”

“I’m saying that my personal life doesn’t impact my ability to lead this team.”

Someone else: “So you’re confirming this relationship has been ongoing?”

I meet the reporter’s eye, unwavering. “I’m confirming that Kenzie Williams is an important part of my life. And I won’t let speculation or gossip define something I know is real.”

The voices start up again, but this time, another one cuts through the noise—Jake’s.

“I think that’s enough.”

Every head whips around.

Jake leans against the back wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“This doesn’t change how I feel about my coach,” he says, his voice even, strong. “He’s one of the best. And it damn sure doesn’t change how I feel about my sister.”

A beat of silence.

Then—chaos.

Reporters explode with questions, but me?

I just smirk.

It’s done.

We’ve won.

***

I stand on the other side of her door.

Still in my suit.

The door swings open wide, letting me in. And the second the door clicks shut behind me—

I grab her.

My hands fist in her hoodie, pulling her against me, my lips crushing against hers like I’ve been waiting all damn day to do it.

Kenzie melts.

Her arms wrap around my neck, her body pressing into me, needing the confirmation, the reassurance, the absolute certainty of me.

“You—” she gasps between kisses. “You just—”

I hum against her mouth, my hands sliding underneath her shirt, warm and sure. “Took long enough, huh?”

Kenzie laughs, breathless, her fingers tugging at my tie.

“Oh yeah.”

And then?

I stop thinking.

Because I’m here.

And I’m hers.

And when her hand starts to undo the buckle of my belt it’s clear she has every intention of showing me exactly what that means.

Her fingers yank at my belt like she’ll die if she doesn’t get me naked right now—and fuck, I get it. My hands are already under her hoodie, pushing it up, desperate to get my mouth on her skin. The second it hits the floor, I freeze.

Because Jesus Christ.

She’s standing there, flushed, breathing hard, bare to the waist, wearing that look—the one that says she’s mine now. Not just in secret. Not behind closed doors. Mine , out loud, in public, no going back.

My chest cracks wide open. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman like this. Not just to fuck—though yeah, I want that, need that—but to worship. To wreck.

“You’re fucking perfect,” I breathe, skimming my hands up her waist, fingers brushing the underside of her tits. Her nipples are already tight, begging for my mouth, and fuck, I’m gone.

“Off,” she whispers, tugging at my shirt, eyes dark and needy.

I rip it over my head and crash my mouth to hers.

She tastes like relief and hunger and victory. Like everything I’ve been holding back. Our tongues tangle, and she moans into my mouth—this needy, reckless sound that shoots straight to my cock.

Her hands slide down, fingers skimming my abs, finding the waistband of my jeans. One flick, and she’s got me out, her hand wrapping around my length like she owns it.

I grunt, biting back a curse as I buck into her palm. “God, Kenzie…”

“I want you inside me,” she whispers against my jaw. “No teasing. No waiting.”

That’s all it takes.

I grip her ass, lift her up, and she wraps around me like we’ve done this a hundred times. But it’s different now. It’s real. It’s ours.

We stumble toward the bed, mouths locked, breathing each other in like oxygen. When I lay her down, she’s already pulling at the rest of her clothes, panties sliding down those perfect legs. I shove my jeans the rest of the way off and crawl up her body, pausing only to press my mouth to her throat, her collarbone, her tits—God, those tits—sucking her nipple deep into my mouth until she cries out.

She’s soaked. I can feel it against my stomach, the slick heat of her ready for me. Needing me.

I line up, tip brushing her entrance, and meet her eyes.

“You sure?”

Her smile is wild. “Grant. Shut up and fuck me.”

So I do.

I thrust deep in one stroke, and her back bows off the bed, her mouth falling open in a silent scream. I feel it all—the tight heat of her around me, the way she clenches, the tears pricking her eyes because it’s not just sex. It’s everything .

“Jesus,” I growl, bracing on one forearm while the other grips her thigh, pulling her open for me. “You feel unreal. Like fucking heaven.”

I move. Hard. Deep. My name falls from her lips over and over, her nails digging into my shoulders, her legs locked tight around my waist like she’s never letting go. Her tits bounce with every thrust, her hair a mess across my pillow, and all I can think is— this is mine. She’s mine.

I slide a hand down between us, find her clit, start circling. Her hips jerk, her moans sharper now, louder. “That’s it,” my voice a low pant. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock.”

Her whole body locks up—and then she shatters. Screaming. Writhing. Coming so hard I feel her clamp around me, pulsing, milking me like her body’s begging me to stay forever.

I lose it.

I drive in once, twice more—then I’m spilling inside her with a guttural groan, burying my face in her neck, heart pounding like a war drum.

We collapse in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and breathless, dazed laughter.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel like I’m holding back. I don’t feel like I’m hiding.

She’s mine. The world knows it.

And I’m never letting her go.