Page 36 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

Chapter

Twenty-Three

S avannah woke to a sensation so exquisite it stole her breath—a warm, wet glide of Dylan’s tongue between her thighs, his mouth moving with practiced, reverent precision.

Her body arched instinctively, pleasure flaring through her like fire.

His silky hair brushed her inner thigh, and she writhed beneath him, chasing the sensation even as his strong hands anchored her in place.

He built her quickly, masterfully, until the pleasure snapped tight and shattered, sending her over the edge with a choked cry.

He didn’t stop. His lips soothed her with soft kisses as his finger slid deep inside her, curving perfectly until her breath hitched and she cried out again, her muscles clenching in aftershocks so strong she could hardly bear it.

Dylan lifted his head, that wicked grin flashing as he peered up at her, his eyes heavy-lidded and full of heat. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

She panted, still dazed. “I like waking up this way.”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Let’s see if we can make it even better.”

A second finger joined the first, stretching her, stroking deep.

She jerked in response, hips lifting off the bed, but he held her fast. His tongue returned to her clit, flicking and circling with maddening precision, until he sealed his mouth over it and sucked hard.

Her back bowed, a scream caught in her throat as another climax crashed through her.

When she finally returned to herself, he was over her, pressing inside with a slow, deliberate thrust. His jaw was taut with restraint, his eyes locked on hers with a hunger that stole her breath.

He gripped her thighs and bent her knees toward her chest, opening her fully to him.

She moaned, overwhelmed by the depth of him, the intimacy of his gaze, the vulnerability of the position.

He drove into her over and over, deeper, harder, until his rhythm became ragged and he came with a hoarse shout, thrusting once more as her body seized again in answer, wrung dry by the intensity of him.

He withdrew gently and padded to the bathroom to dispose of the condom, returning moments later to pull her against him and drape the sheet over their bodies.

She nestled into his chest, his fingers tracing slow circles on her belly, a soothing, aimless pattern.

Their breathing gradually slowed, hearts finding a common rhythm.

She closed her eyes and let herself rest in the quiet.

He kissed her bare shoulder softly. “How are you feeling?”

His voice was low and warm, but the question pulled her back too quickly to the aching void she’d spent all night trying to forget. The weight of yesterday slammed into her chest again. She tensed, and he felt it, arms tightening as if he could shield her from the pain.

She drew a shaky breath. “I’m okay, I guess.”

But she wasn’t. Not really.

There was an emptiness in her chest—a raw, hollow ache where Carl used to be.

The kind of emptiness that didn't just take space but carved it out violently, leaving behind torn edges and bleeding seams. She’d done what she’d had to do.

She knew that. She’d found Carl a good home with a sweet young couple who had shown up at every adoption event just to see him.

They were ready. She had told herself that again and again.

Still, the memory of Carl’s confused eyes as she closed the car door on him gutted her.

And worse—worse than the memory—was the fear that she’d been wrong. That she hadn’t done right by him. That she’d given away the one creature who truly saw her.

A sob tore from her throat before she could stop it, and she wrenched herself away from Dylan, sitting on the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands.

Dylan sat up immediately, his hands on her shoulders, steady and grounding. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“I did the right thing,” she whispered, then turned to him, her voice cracking with desperation. “Tell me I did the right thing. Tell me he’ll be okay.”

The look on his face—momentarily surprised, then softened with sympathy—made her throat tighten. He pulled her into his arms again, holding her as if he could hold all the pieces together.

“Of course you did,” he said gently. “You’d never let Carl go to someone who wasn’t worthy.”

She nodded, but her heart didn’t believe it. “You understand why I had to, right? It’s what we do. It’s the job.”

He hesitated. She felt the shift, the pause, the flicker of uncertainty.

She pulled away and looked at him sharply. “You think I was wrong.”

“It’s not for me to say.”

The non-answer infuriated her.

“Don’t do that.” She stood, planting her hands on her hips. “I’m asking you. Do you think I was wrong?”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t keep him. He was already bonded to you. You loved him.”

She crossed her arms, holding herself tightly.

“It’s my job, Dylan. Rescue isn’t just cuddles and kisses.

It’s logistics and survival and impossible choices.

Every day, I have to decide who I can help and who I can’t.

I made a commitment to the next dog, the one still sitting in a shelter waiting for someone to care. ”

“I get it,” he said, clearly uncomfortable, his voice tight. “But it’s a slippery slope. Maybe there was a better way.”

She straightened, forcing steel into her spine even though her insides felt like jelly. “There wasn’t. Carl’s new family loves him. They’ll give him everything he needs. I’m confident in my decision.”

Dylan nodded slowly. “Okay. I have to head to the park soon. Afternoon game.”

She nodded, lips tight. “See you tonight?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. See you tonight.”

He showered while she made him breakfast, the silence stretching between them like a hairline crack in a windshield—nearly invisible, but under pressure, bound to grow. Something had shifted between them. Not broken, not yet. But strained. Tentative.

When he kissed her goodbye, it was soft, sweet. Polite.

The door closed behind him, and she stood in the kitchen surrounded by silence. No thudding paws on the floor. No dog toys scattered like confetti. No tail thumping quietly against her leg.

She made the right decision. She knew it. Dylan had said she did.

So why did it still feel like grief?

Why did it feel like she’d lost something she might never get back?

She sat down hard on the couch and pulled the Sherpa blanket over her lap. Maybe this was what love felt like—messy, painful, uncertain. Maybe this was what it cost to care.

And maybe, just maybe, the only thing worse than losing Carl… would be losing Dylan too.

D ylan drove to the ballpark, the Georgia sun beating down on the windshield, but the tightness in his chest had nothing to do with heat.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles pale with strain.

His mind churned with the events of the previous night, looping them over and over, like a bad replay he couldn’t fast-forward through.

He’d known Savannah was upset—he’d seen the swollen eyes, the silent misery carved into every tense line of her body.

He’d held her through those raw, shaking sobs, her tears soaking into his shirt as he whispered every soothing thing he could think of.

In that moment, he would’ve done anything to take away her pain.

Anything. He’d even imagined driving to wherever Carl had been taken, finding the dog, and bringing him back.

He didn’t care how crazy it sounded. That dog wasn’t just any dog. He was her dog.

But then the truth had hit. She hadn’t lost Carl.

She’d given him up.

On purpose.

And that knowledge had cracked something open inside him—an old, buried fracture from the days when love had always come with conditions or expiration dates.

When he’d realized she’d made the choice willingly, something dark and cold had curled low in his chest. A weight that hadn’t lifted since. His grip on the wheel tightened again.

Betrayal. That’s what it was.

She had called him heartless, unfeeling, the first time they met—accused him of treating Sadie like a burden just because he’d considered handing her off to a rescue.

Sadie had been a stray who had wandered onto his property.

He hadn’t known her, hadn’t asked for her, hadn’t wanted her.

But he’d taken her in anyway. And now, he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

Savannah, on the other hand… Savannah had saved Carl from the brink of death.

She’d held him through sickness and trauma, built him back into something strong and whole.

That dog had looked at her like she hung the moon and stars—and she’d let him go.

Just handed him off with a fleece blanket and a handwritten note.

And if she could let go of Carl, the one creature who had trusted her without question… what did that say about him?

What did that say about their connection?

His jaw clenched as he turned into the players’ lot.

No promises had been made between them—hell, she’d barely agreed to call their dinner a date.

She kept one foot out the door from the beginning, always cautious, always careful.

Maybe that had been a red flag he didn’t want to see.

Maybe he’d been a fool to think it meant more.

Maybe he was just her latest project—like Carl. A fixer-upper in need of healing. Someone to tend to, train, love a little… and then release when the job was done.

The thought hit harder than he expected. It gutted him, actually.

He hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t meant to fall for her.

He never got involved during the season—never.

It was one of his few hard-and-fast rules.

But she’d gotten under his skin, snuck past all his defenses with her sarcastic quips, her fierce devotion to her rescue, her stubborn independence.

She made him laugh, made him think, made him feel.

And now… he didn’t know where he stood.

He parked, cut the engine, and sat in the sudden silence, fingers tapping the wheel. Had he misread everything? Was he just another temporary fixture in her life—like the dogs she rehabilitated and sent away? He didn’t know. And that not knowing was the worst part.

Because if Savannah could let Carl go, after everything they’d been through… who was to say she wouldn’t let him go just as easily?

And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.