Page 21 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

“Savannah—” he warned.

She licked him from base to tip, slow and decadent, then wrapped her lips around the head, sucking softly.

He jerked beneath her, his fingers tangling in her hair.

She hollowed her cheeks, taking him deeper, loving the way he gasped and arched off the bed.

His hips rocked, trying to thrust, but she held him steady with her hands braced against his thighs.

“Jesus Christ,” he bit out, voice hoarse. “You’re going to kill me.”

She grinned around him, letting him slide from her lips with a wet pop. “Not yet.”

With shaking hands, he grabbed a condom from the nightstand.

She took it from him and rolled it down his length slowly, her gaze locked with his.

Then she rose up over him, guiding him to her entrance, and sank down slowly, inch by glorious inch, until he filled her completely.

A deep moan escaped her lips as her body stretched to accommodate him.

He gritted his teeth, hands gripping her hips so tightly she thought she’d bruise. “God, you feel so good.”

She rocked against him, slow at first, grinding in lazy circles that dragged a tortured groan from him.

Every movement sent pleasure coiling tighter inside her, winding like a spring ready to snap.

His eyes locked with hers, blazing with need, and she loved the way he looked at her like she was the only woman in the world.

He sat up suddenly, wrapping an arm around her back and flipping her onto the mattress in one swift, fluid movement.

He braced himself above her, thrusting deep, finding that perfect angle that made her cry out with every stroke.

His body was all heat and hard muscle and raw male power, his scent—sweat and pine and something uniquely him—flooding her senses.

She clawed at his back, dragging her nails down his spine as he drove into her, harder and faster. The sounds of their bodies coming together, the slap of skin against skin, the breathless moans and gasps, filled the room like music.

“I’m close,” she whimpered, stars bursting behind her eyelids.

“Come for me, Savannah,” he growled against her neck, his teeth nipping her skin. “Let me feel you.”

With one more deep thrust, she shattered, her body clamping around him in waves that stole her breath and bent her spine off the mattress. Her scream echoed off the walls, and he followed, spilling into the condom with a groan that sounded like he was being ripped apart.

He collapsed on top of her, chest heaving, sweat-slicked skin sliding against hers. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Their breathing slowly returned to normal, and he finally rolled off, disposing of the condom before returning to spoon her from behind.

“Damn,” he whispered into her hair. “It’s never enough. I want you again already.”

She laughed softly, curling back into his arms, his body a warm, solid weight behind her. “We’ll have to eat eventually.”

“I’ll just eat you instead.”

Her laughter turned to a shiver as he nuzzled her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. But instead of seduction, he simply pressed a kiss there and wrapped both arms around her.

Savannah lay there quietly, letting herself soak in the feeling of being cherished, being held.

She ran her fingers along the ridges of muscle on his forearm, feeling the strength there.

This wasn’t just sex. Not with the way he held her afterward.

Not with the way he looked at her like she mattered. Like he saw her.

If it had just been physical, it would have been so much easier to walk away.

But Dylan made her feel safe. He listened to her. He didn’t mock her dreams or ask her to shrink herself to fit his world. He simply… showed up. Over and over again. And she was falling for him—hard.

Her mind whispered the warning she didn’t want to hear: What happens when the season ends? What happens when he leaves?

Because he would leave. His life was tied to the team. To the schedule. To a future she couldn’t predict, let alone control. Her rescue was rooted here. She had responsibilities, a life built on shaky foundations that she was still trying to shore up. Could she walk away from it?

Could she even survive letting him go?

Beside her, Dylan tightened his hold, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m just thinking.”

“About?” His voice was cautious.

“The future. Us. What happens when the season ends.”

He was silent for a long time. Then, quietly, he said, “I don’t know. But I do know I don’t want this to end.”

She turned in his arms to face him, brushing his cheek with her knuckles. “Neither do I.”

Their kiss was softer this time. Tender. A promise without words. And Savannah let herself believe—for just a little while—that maybe they could figure out the rest together.

S avannah’s breathing evened out, the soft rhythm of her exhale feathering against his bare chest, and Dylan finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

He closed his eyes, tension bleeding from his shoulders as he sank into the mattress and into the moment, grateful she didn’t roll over and ask him what this all meant.

Because he didn’t have an answer. Hell, he wasn’t sure what he could even say without opening a floodgate of emotions and complications he wasn’t ready to face.

This—her, them—was already so far past the realm of casual sex that the usual script didn’t apply.

He’d had hookups before. Convenient, uncomplicated, expected.

What had just passed between them had been anything but.

There was a rawness to it, a sense of being unraveled and stitched back together by the same pair of hands.

Dylan hadn’t come into this season looking for someone.

In fact, he’d avoided anything that might resemble permanence.

Baseball had always come first. That had been the rule.

His whole life had been proof of how brutal the sport could be on a relationship.

Everything in his childhood had revolved around his father’s career.

They were pawns on the board, collateral damage to every new contract, every trade.

Their family had been uprooted more times than he could count.

Just when he would start to get settled, find his rhythm, make friends, his dad would come home with the news.

A new team. A new city. A new house. His mom had become a one-woman moving company and emotional support hotline, always putting on a brave face for the kids while their dad chased glory across the country.

And then Lindsey started booking commercial gigs. His mom had a new cause, something of her own to pour all that energy into. Dylan had never blamed her, not really. She had sacrificed everything, only to be left behind again and again.

But Savannah—she wasn’t like that.

She had her own damn life. She didn’t orbit anyone else’s existence.

She ran a rescue. She fought for it tooth and nail.

She was stubborn, fiery, kind, chaotic in a way that made him feel alive.

She wasn’t looking for someone to rescue her or give her purpose.

She had that all on her own. And that was exactly what made it so complicated.

He brushed her hair off her face, the soft strands like silk across his fingers. Her cheek was smooth, flushed faintly pink from the night’s exertions, lips parted slightly in sleep. She was so fucking beautiful it made something tight twist low in his gut.

He knew without a doubt that if he got traded—or worse, offered a deal in a different city—Savannah wouldn’t come running after him. She wouldn’t abandon her rescue, her animals, her people, just to follow a man. And he admired the hell out of that.

Which made the thought of leaving her gut-wrenching.

Dylan cursed silently and let his hand drift down, resting over her waist, the curve of her hip fitting perfectly into his palm. She murmured in her sleep and rolled closer, her thigh slipping between his, her breast pressing softly against his ribs. His chest tightened.

Like Sadie, Savannah had wormed her way into his life through the cracks he hadn’t even known existed.

She’d slipped in quietly at first—his dog sitter, the barefoot whirlwind who talked to his grumpy golden retriever like she was a toddler—and then slowly made herself indispensable.

She’d turned his ordered existence upside down with notes on post-its and fruit platters and brownies with weird toppings.

And somehow, it had become the best kind of chaos.

His throat tightened, and he exhaled slowly through his nose.

She mattered. She mattered too damn much.

He didn’t know what that meant yet. But the idea of losing her, of watching her walk out of his life when the season ended—or sooner—was already a knife twisting in his chest.

She shifted again, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she curled more tightly against him, her body seeking his warmth instinctively.

He held her a little tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the wild lavender scent of her shampoo and something that was just Savannah—earthy, soft, and entirely addictive.

And for the first time in years, Dylan Prosser—the man who’d built walls around his heart in the shape of a catcher's mitt—wondered what it would be like to ask someone to stay. Or to ask if maybe, just maybe, he could stay too.

And that thought? That terrifying, exhilarating possibility?

It scared the ever-loving hell out of him.