Page 10

Zane

We hadn’t even made it to the Georgia–South Carolina border before Wyatt was out cold in the passenger seat, her slow, steady breaths the only sound competing with the quiet hum of the engine.

I kept my eyes on the road, but my mind was elsewhere—back at that damn party, picturing her in the middle of it, surrounded by guys who didn’t give a damn about anything but their next drink and their next hookup. She thought I was being jealous and overprotective, maybe even possessive. But that wasn’t it. If it had been Myla at one of those Alpha Nu parties, I would’ve lost my shit the same way.

Some places aren’t safe. And Wyatt? She has no idea how much I hate the thought of her in a place like that.

By the time I pull into the Vaughns’ driveway and kill the engine, the car goes silent. Wyatt shifts, sighing softly as she leans her head against my shoulder. Like even in sleep, she seeks me out.

I sit there, unmoving, letting myself feel it for a second. The warmth of her skin. The way she fits against me like she always has. It’s the same as all those nights I snuck into her room when she couldn’t sleep, when she needed someone.

But this is different.

Because now, I’m the one who needs her.

My jaw clenches as I stare through the windshield, my hands gripping the wheel like it’ll keep me from doing something I shouldn’t. Because the second I saw her walking down those stairs in that tight-as-fuck lace bodysuit, her black bra teasing through the fabric, I wanted to drag her into the back seat and rip it off her.

And that’s exactly why I can’t.

I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. I’ve spent years convincing myself that this—whatever the hell this thing is between us—can never happen. Even if it could, Colter would string me up the second he found out I’ve been wanting his baby sister for longer than I should admit.

Not that he has room to talk. He snuck around for months with our old teammate Alec’s sister, Ava. And now? They’re solid. He’ll probably put a ring on her finger before the ink dries on his diploma.

But Wyatt and me?

This is my last year at Braysen U. Next year, I’ll declare for the NFL draft. Who the hell knows where I’ll end up, but one thing is for sure—it won’t be here.

And Wyatt doesn’t deserve to be held back by a guy who’s already halfway out the door.

I glance down at her, my throat tightening.

She deserves someone who can stay. And that’s never going to be me.

I can’t be another weight on her shoulders. Not when she’s already carrying so much—grief, loss, the pain she never speaks about but wears like armor. I won’t be the reason she breaks.

Losing her the way I have has been hard enough. If I lost her for good? I don’t know if I’d ever recover.

Reaching for her, I adjust her head so she’s leaning against the headrest before carefully slipping out of the car. She stirs slightly, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks, but she doesn’t wake.

I open the passenger door, crouching low to scoop her into my arms. The second I lift her, she lets out a sleepy groan, her head lolling against my shoulder.

Her brows pinch together as her eyes open just enough to take in her surroundings. She glances up at me, confusion clouding her gaze.

“What are you doing?” she mumbles, her voice groggy.

“Carrying you inside,” I whisper, nudging the car door shut with my foot. “Wrap your arms around my neck, firecracker. Hold on.”

Something in her softens at the nickname. Her body instinctively curls into mine, her arms sliding around my neck as she buries her face against my chest.

She exhales, long and slow, and it nearly undoes me.

I grit my teeth, fighting the thought that she knows exactly who’s holding her—like some part of her recognizes me even half-asleep. Praying she trusts me enough to let go, to melt into me like she used to.

I curse under my breath when I find the front door unlocked, making a mental note to remind her in the morning to lock up. Stepping inside, I carry her up the stairs, her breath warm against my collarbone.

The moment I cross into her room, the scent of citrus and honeysuckle wraps around me, familiar and intoxicating. I press my face against her hair for half a second longer than I should, inhaling deeply before carefully lowering her onto the bed.

She stirs when I pull back the comforter, her fingers curling into the fabric of my hoodie as I reach for the zipper on her boots.

“Wait,” she whispers, her voice hoarse with sleep. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur, focusing on unzipping her boots, tugging them off, and setting them neatly at the foot of the bed. “Just helping you get comfortable.”

She watches me, her heavy-lidded gaze searching.

“So you’re staying?” she asks, her words slow, weighted.

I don’t answer right away, keeping my hands busy, giving myself an excuse not to look at her.

She shifts slightly, her hand lifting to point toward the pile of clothes near her desk.

“I was wearing those earlier.”

Her voice is barely a whisper, but I hear it loud and clear.

And dammit if I don’t know exactly what she’s asking me to do.

I bend down, grabbing the worn Kansas City T-shirt and soft gray cotton shorts from the pile. When I stand, Wyatt is already reaching for the button of her jeans.

“Whoa.” I hold up a hand and immediately turn around.

“Oh, knock it off, Zane,” she mutters, the rustling of fabric filling the space between us. “It’s not like you haven’t seen plenty of naked girls before. You can already see my bra anyway. I have underwear on too.”

Her words hit harder than they should, something sharp woven between them—something that sounds a hell of a lot like hurt.

I clench my jaw, staring hard at the wall in front of me, knowing damn well I should keep my mouth shut. Instead, I stay frozen, stuck on the unspoken meaning beneath her words.

The mattress shifts as she moves, peeling off her jeans and tossing them to the floor with the lace top she was wearing. I don’t move, don’t turn, just listen as the quiet shuffle of fabric tells me she’s slipping on her shorts.

I’m just about to exhale, about to let my muscles relax, when she says, “You weren’t looking, so I figured I’d take my bra off too.”

My body locks up, my grip tightening around the clothes in my hands.

“They’re just boobs, Zane. Just because I might be a bit bigger than the girls you normally go for doesn’t make my body any different from theirs. You’ll be fine.”

The breath I was holding in comes out in a low, frustrated groan.

What the fuck?

I don’t have to turn around to see the exhaustion in her posture, the way she collapses onto her pillow like she’s trying to disappear.

Like she actually believes what she just said.

“What the hell does that mean?” My voice comes out rougher than I intend, my body wired too tight, my chest tightening like she’s just punched me in the damn ribs.

“Forget I said anything,” she murmurs, already pulling the blanket up over her shoulder, turning her back to me like the conversation is over. “Just shut the door on your way out, please.”

The words might as well be a gunshot.

I stand there, my fists clenching at my sides, my pulse hammering.

Did she really just insinuate that I wouldn’t want to look at her? That I wouldn’t want her because she has curves?

I feel something deep and dark rise in my chest, something that tastes a hell of a lot like anger—and something else I’m too afraid to name.

Because if Wyatt thinks for even a second that she isn’t the most tempting goddamn thing I’ve ever laid eyes on…

Then she doesn’t know me at all.

I rip the blanket away, tossing it to the floor, and kick off my boots before climbing on top of her, straddling her hips.

Wyatt yelps, squirming beneath me, but I move fast, pinning her wrists above her head and locking them together with one hand. My body presses against hers, my forehead nearly brushing hers as I lean in.

Her chest rises and falls, and despite every ounce of self-control I try to cling to, my eyes betray me—catching the way her nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of her shirt.

I grit my teeth, dragging my focus back to her eyes.

“I’m gonna ask you one more fuckin’ time, Wyatt Lynn,” I murmur, my voice low and rough. “And I expect you to answer me honestly. What the hell did you mean by that comment?”

She lets out a frustrated grunt, twisting beneath me, trying to buck me off. It’s a useless attempt.

I chuckle, tightening my hold just enough to remind her who’s in control. “You’re gonna have to try a whole lot harder, firecracker, if you think you’re gonna move me. I’m six-five and pushing two-fifty. You don’t stand a chance.”

Her glare is sharp enough to cut steel. “Have I told you how annoying you are recently?”

I smirk. “Not today, but you’re welcome to remind me—as long as I get to return the favor.”

She jerks her hips again, her legs kicking, pushing the blanket the rest of the way down.

And that’s when it happens.

Her chest brushes against mine, the heat between us damn near suffocating.

Even in the dim glow of the night-light across the room, I see it—the shift in her eyes. The slow rise and fall of her breath. The way her body reacts to mine despite the fight she’s still trying to put up.

She wants this just as much as I do.

And fuck, if that doesn’t make it even harder to hold myself back.

“I want you to make me a promise,” I say, my voice softer now, my grip loosening just enough.

She swallows hard. “What?”

“Promise me you won’t go to another party in Keaton again.”

Her brows pinch. “Why?”

I drop my head slightly, brushing my lips close to her ear, inhaling the citrus and honeysuckle scent that still lingers on her skin.

“Do you trust me?”

She exhales sharply, jaw tightening, like she’s fighting against something inside herself. But when her gaze meets mine again, there’s no hesitation.

“Of course I do,” she whispers.

And then, just barely audible, she mumbles something else. Something that sounds an awful lot like, Although I probably shouldn’t .

But I choose to ignore it.

Because right now, her body is beneath mine, her pulse is hammering against my fingertips, and the only thing that matters is that she does.

“I’m only making you promise me this because I’m looking out for you,” I murmur, my voice rough. “Okay? Because I don’t trust those fuckers, and I’m trying to keep you safe. If you want to push my buttons, I’m sure there are better ways than messing around with rats.”

Wyatt doesn’t answer right away. Her lips press into a thin line, her chest rising and falling with each breath as she searches my face. I stay silent, my gaze locked onto hers, waiting her out.

Finally, she exhales, rolling her eyes like I’m the most insufferable person on the planet. “Fine. I promise. Is that all now?”

She shifts beneath me, and my hips rock against hers. The second she stills, eyes going wide, I know she feels it—the solid press of my hard dick against her stomach.

Her gaze snaps to mine, her pupils blown wide with something that isn’t just surprise.

I release her wrists, trailing my hands lower, adjusting her legs until they spread on either side of me. I guide them around my waist, locking them behind me.

“Zane?” she breathes, her voice tight.

“That’s not all, firecracker,” I murmur. “There’s one more thing…”

I roll my hips against her, slow and deliberate, letting her feel every inch of the tension coiling between us.

Her breath hitches.

The only thing separating us is a layer of denim and the thin cotton of her shorts. It’s nothing. Not when I can still feel the heat of her against me.

“What?” she whispers, her hands now fisting the sheets.

“Do you feel that?” I rock against her again, just enough to make her suck in a sharp breath.

She nods once, stiffly, her body trembling beneath mine.

My lips curl into a slow, satisfied smirk. “Do you feel how fuckin’ hard I am just from being this close to you? From watching those perfect tits bounce beneath your shirt while I have you pinned under me?”

Her breath comes out shakier this time. “Zane…”

“That’s right, baby. It’s me.” I thrust again, slow, teasing, pushing her right to the edge of whatever line we’ve been dancing around for years.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

I know I shouldn’t.

It almost feels surreal—like I’m watching from above, outside of myself, living out the kind of moment I’ve only let myself have in dreams.

But she’s here. She’s real. And fuck if I’m stopping now.

I drop my hand, dragging it down the side of her body, my thumb skimming beneath the curve of her breast. She shivers at my touch, her body arching, chasing the friction.

“Before you ever say anything negative about your body again,” I murmur, my lips hovering just over hers, “before you ever try to tell me I wouldn’t want you, I want you to remember this.”

I roll my hips against hers, making sure she feels me everywhere.

“Remember how hard I am just from having you beneath me. From thinking about you. From wanting you.”

Her breath stutters.

And for once, Wyatt doesn’t have a single comeback.

Her lashes flutter, heavy with the weight of whatever this is between us, but I don’t stop. My grip tightens around her thigh, holding her against me like she’s mine to keep.

She arches, her body instinctively pressing into me, her soft curves molding against every hard inch of mine. A sharp breath leaves her lips when I dip lower, dragging my face between her breasts, inhaling the sweet, intoxicating scent of her skin.

I need to stop. I know I do. But fuck, she’s making it impossible.

Every little sound she makes, every shift of her hips beneath me, every breathless sigh has my restraint hanging by a thread. I can already feel how warm she is against me, how easily she’d let me slide my hand between us, past the waistband of her shorts, until my palm finds her soaked and aching.

The thought alone nearly destroys me.

Because once I do, I won’t stop. I won’t be able to.

I’ll want to sink to my knees, spread her open, and devour her until she’s trembling beneath me, moaning my name like she was made to.

Just imagining it—hell, just hearing the way her breath hitches—has me fighting to hold on.

I shove myself up, detangling her legs from around me and pushing off the bed.

Wyatt’s hands slap down onto the mattress, her frustrated huff filling the space between us. “What the hell was that, Zane?” she snaps, her voice edged with disbelief. “You’re just gonna do all that and then take off? Again! Are you kidding me?”

I don’t answer.

Instead, I reach for my zipper, lowering it just enough to adjust myself, shifting my dick until it’s pressed flush against my stomach. Her mouth parts, her gaze locked on my hands, and she looks like she’s seconds from losing her mind.

It only makes me smirk.

Reaching down, I grip her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze as I lean in, my lips brushing her ear.

“Sweet dreams, firecracker,” I murmur, my voice thick with amusement. “Of me, I hope.”

She groans, rolling onto her back, muttering something under her breath that sounds a lot like a curse.

I chuckle as I pull on my boots, already knowing I’ll be spending the rest of the night dealing with the throbbing ache she left me with. But I don’t mind.

Just as I step through her doorway, her voice follows me—exasperated, frustrated, and sharp.

“I hate you!”

I grin to myself. Yeah, firecracker.

Keep telling yourself that.