Page 20 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

Aponi

T he candlelight had burned down to a flicker.

Tag's lips still tasted like quiet promises and danger.

I hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. Not tonight. Not with the weight of a hundred girls still heavy on my back and a gang leader back from the dead.

But then he whispered my name like it meant something.

And suddenly, I didn’t want strength. I wanted to surrender.

I didn’t want safety.

I wanted him.

Tag brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. “Say something.”

I swallowed hard. “If you’re going to stop, now’s your chance.”

He chuckled, but he didn’t move. “I’m not stopping.”

His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me in again, his mouth warm and demanding this time—no hesitation, no restraint.

I didn’t want gentle.

I wanted real.

I reached for him, gripping his shirt and pulling it over his head. His skin was warm under my fingers, his muscles flexing beneath my touch. He looked at me like I was fire and he was already burning.

“You sure?” he asked, voice rough.

“Tag, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed me hard, deep, like he’d been waiting years. Like he knew I wouldn’t break. Like he wanted every part of me that I kept locked away.

He laid me back on the bed, his body pressing into mine, every inch of him solid and warm and overwhelming in the best damn way.

My sweatshirt was gone in seconds. So were my pants. His hands never stopped moving—tracing my curves, learning the lines of my hips, the dip of my waist, the scar above my rib that no one had ever touched like it was beautiful before.

He kissed down my neck, across my collarbone, to the swell of my breasts, and I arched under him, desperate and aching.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured against my skin. “Every time you walk into a room, I can’t breathe.”

“Then stop breathing,” I gasped. “Just don’t stop touching me.”

He growled low in his throat and slid lower, pulling me with him into a heat I hadn’t felt in years—maybe ever.

There was nothing soft about the way we came together.

It was hot and hard and raw, a tangle of limbs and whispers and gasps as we moved against each other, hungry and breathless.

His hands gripped my hips, guiding me, grounding me. He was so big, I cried out in joy. “Give me all of it. Yes, that's so good.”

My nails scraped down his back as he drove deeper, every thrust stealing more of my control, every moan dragging me closer to the edge.

And when I finally shattered, it was with his name on my lips and his arms wrapped tight around me.

He followed seconds later, breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine.

We stayed tangled like that for a long time—our bodies slick with sweat, our heartbeats slowly falling back into rhythm.

He didn’t let me go.

Not when the sweat cooled. Not when the world tried to creep back in.

And for once, I didn’t push him away.