Page 15

Zane

If Colter noticed his sister in the stands wearing my jersey, he didn’t say a damn word on the drive back to Braysen. And honestly? I’m relieved. The last thing I need right now is to explain why she’s wearing my number instead of his.

Me: You better be awake when I get home.

Me: And wearing nothing but my jersey. Leave the window cracked for me.

Wyatt: My mom is home tonight, but she’ll be in bed. Are you sure you don’t want me to just meet you at your place?

Wyatt: You could always use the door, ya know.

Me: We could, but I want to make new memories with you in your room. On that bed.

As if seeing Wyatt in my jersey wasn’t enough to fuck with my head, all I could think about the entire ride home was seeing her in it again—only this time, without the rest of the crowd around.

I spent most of the trip forcing myself to focus on the ESPN highlights playing on my phone. Myla had a game today against UConn, and she pulled out a win, ranking them at the top of their conference. I should’ve been pumped for her. I am pumped for her. But it still wasn’t enough to distract me from the way my girl looked standing in that stadium with my name stretched across her back like a goddamn claim.

The second the bus pulls into the school parking lot, I’m up, grabbing my bag and hauling ass toward my car. The equipment manager can deal with the gear. I have somewhere else I need to be.

I toss a half-hearted wave over my shoulder to the guys before heading straight for my car. The roads are thankfully empty at this hour, making the drive home quick. The moment I pull into my driveway, I kill the engine and climb out, my mind already racing ahead—to her.

Wyatt.

I messaged her when we pulled into town, letting her know I’d be there soon, but the text is still sitting on Delivered. She must’ve fallen asleep on me.

I don’t waste time heading across the yard toward her house. My shoes barely make a sound against the grass as I reach for the tree outside her window, climbing with a little more effort than I remember needing in high school. If Coach saw me right now, he’d have my ass for risking an injury, but I don’t care.

The window lifts without a fight, and I slip inside, careful to close it behind me. The soft glow of her night-light casts just enough illumination for me to make out the room—the familiar space I’ve snuck into more times than I can count. A sound machine hums on her nightstand, filling the room with steady rainfall, muffling any noise I make as I step closer.

And then I see her.

Facedown, tangled in her blankets, her wild hair sprawled across the pillow. With one knee hitched up, she has her ass pushed in the air like a goddamn invitation.

But what really catches my attention is the jersey stretched across her back.

My jersey.

Number 24. Kinnick printed in bold, block letters.

A growl hums low in my throat.

Slowly, I ease the blanket down, revealing more of her. My breath catches when I realize she actually listened to me earlier.

Nothing but my jersey and a pair of tiny panties.

Fuck me.

I lean down, my lips ghosting over the shell of her ear.

“Wyatt,” I whisper, my fingers tracing the hem of my jersey at her hip.

She stirs, letting out a soft sound that goes straight to my dick.

I smirk. Yeah… this is exactly where I need to be.

I strip down to my boxer briefs in record time—the need to touch her, to feel her, overpowering every other thought. Climbing onto the bed, I settle between her legs, molding myself over her, my chest pressing against her back as I lace my fingers with hers.

She tenses for a split second before I rock my hips against her, my thick length grinding into the curve of her ass. A sharp breath leaves her lips, my name slipping past them in a breathy moan.

“You feel that, baby?” I rasp against her ear, my cock pulsing against her soft skin. “You feel how fucking hard I am just from seeing you wearing my name and number?”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across her lips as she turns her head slightly, her gaze locking with mine. Then, with the kind of confidence that drives me insane, she arches her back, rolling her ass against me. I groan, gripping her waist to steady myself.

“You like knowing what you do to me?” I grit out.

She nods, eyes dark with heat.

“Fuck,” I growl, dragging my lips along her jaw. “You have any idea how long I’ve been fighting this? How I just spent thirty minutes on a bus, packed between my teammates, losing my damn mind at the thought of slipping into your room and finding you like this?”

“Zane,” she breathes, and it’s pure surrender.

“That’s right, baby,” I whisper against her ear, nipping at her lobe. “If I slip my fingers between those gorgeous thighs, will I find you soaked for me?”

“Yes,” she hisses. “Always.”

A satisfied hum rumbles in my throat as I pull away just enough to take in the sight of her sprawled beneath me. A shiver runs down her spine at the loss of my warmth.

“Up on your hands and knees, firecracker,” I order, my voice thick with need. “Let me see.”

She obeys without hesitation, rising onto shaky arms and arching her back in a way that makes my blood heat. My fingers trail down her spine before slipping between her thighs, groaning when I find her dripping for me.

“Damn,” I mutter, lifting my fingers to my lips, tasting her, savoring her. The musky sweetness of her arousal sends a fresh wave of hunger through me.

Shoving my boxer briefs down my hips, I take myself in hand, dragging my thick length through her slick folds, teasing her, pressing between the plush globes of her ass.

“Tell me you want this, Wyatt,” I demand, voice strained.

She tilts her hips, pressing back against me, her breath hitching. “I want this. I want you.”

And that’s all I need.

Fuck. I’m so turned on right now, I can barely think straight. If I don’t slow down, I’m going to lose it before we even have a chance to really get started.

Gripping her hips, I roll her onto her back, pinning her beneath me as my mouth finds the soft skin of her neck. Her breath hitches, her fingers threading into my hair, and I trail slow, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, lower to the dip between her collarbones.

When I push my jersey up over her breasts, my tongue flicks over one peaked nipple, then the other, earning me a shuddered gasp. My lips continue their descent, a slow, torturous path down her stomach, stopping just above where she’s already trembling for me.

I drag a single finger through her slick folds, and her hips jerk, a whimper escaping her lips.

I grin against her skin. So damn responsive.

“Please, Zane,” she breathes.

I force myself to tear my gaze away from where I’m touching her, meeting her eyes. “Please, what? Tell me what you need.”

“More. I need more.” Her voice is breathy, desperate, and fuck if it doesn’t send a fresh surge of heat straight to my dick. “I need you to touch me.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere. I need you everywhere.”

She arches off the bed, pressing herself closer, as if that will be enough to force my hand.

Sliding lower, I kiss a path along her inner thigh, pausing to drag my teeth lightly over her skin. I feel the way she quivers, the anticipation winding so tightly inside her she’s seconds away from begging.

Good. I want her desperate for me.

Spreading her open, I hover just above her, blowing a warm breath over her soaked skin. The way she shudders, the way her fingers fist the sheets—it’s almost too much.

“Oh God,” she moans, her head rolling back, her fingers tangling in my hair. She tries to push me closer, guiding me to where she wants me most, and I chuckle against her thigh.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, it does. Quit teasing me already.”

I flick my tongue against her pussy lips, just enough to graze her but not where she’s aching for it.

“Fuck, Zane. Please.”

Her grip tightens in my hair, nails scraping along my scalp, and she tries to slip her free hand between us, reaching for her own clit.

I grab her wrist and yank it away, shaking my head.

“Nope. I don’t think so, baby.” I press a slow, lingering kiss to her swollen folds. “This is mine. And I’m feeling very possessive.”

Her breath stutters, her thighs quivering against my shoulders.

This time, when I brush my tongue over her clit, she keens, a long, throaty moan ripping from her lips.

I chuckle, gripping her hips to hold her still. “You have to keep quiet, firecracker,” I murmur against her. “Unless you want your mom walking in and catching us.”

She glances down at me, her eyes blazing with heat as I lean in, flicking my tongue through her folds. The moment I latch my lips around her clit and suck, her body jolts, her back arching off the bed as a muffled cry slips past her lips.

Her thighs tremble against my face like she can’t decide if she wants to pull me closer or push me away.

I don’t give her the choice.

Pinning her legs to the mattress, I devour her, desperate and wild, like I’m a starving man and she’s my last meal. I could stay here forever, buried between her thighs, never coming up for air.

Wyatt throws an arm over her mouth, trying to quiet her moans, but I don’t miss the way her body tenses and her hips roll, chasing more.

When I finally pull away, she whimpers, breathless and desperate. Crawling up the bed, I settle between her legs, and she instantly hooks them around my waist, lifting her hips and urging me closer.

I smirk, dragging the thick head of my cock through her slickness, watching as she shudders beneath me.

“Zane, please.”

“Please, what?” I tease, trailing my mouth along her jaw, waiting for her to give me what I need to hear.

Her fingers grip my biceps, nails digging into my skin. “Fuck me.”

My sweet Wyatt. My firecracker. I love listening to her talk dirty, love the way she says those words just for me.

“This little pussy is so greedy,” I murmur, giving her a light slap between her thighs, feeling the way she clenches around nothing.

Her lips part on a strangled gasp, her teeth sinking into her fist to stifle the sound, but I catch the way her hips lift like she wants more.

Watching between us, I position myself at her entrance, pressing the thick tip against her heat, and slowly push inside. Inch by inch, I sink into her, groaning at the way she stretches around me, taking me so perfectly.

She lifts her hands, cradling my face as I hover over her, chest to chest, arms braced beside her head.

“Kiss me,” she whispers.

I brush my lips over hers, and she sighs into my mouth, rolling her hips, taking me even deeper.

“If you keep doing that, baby, I’m gonna come,” I admit, my forehead pressing against hers as I try to catch my breath. “You’re so tight. I don’t know how long I’m gonna last.”

Her legs tighten around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer. “Come in me,” she breathes. “Make me yours.”

“Fuck,” I groan, my control snapping as I rear back and thrust deep, claiming her the way I’ve been craving for so long.

She’s hot and tight and perfect and mine .

Her nails rake down my back, her moans filling the air as I press my mouth to her ear, whispering how fucking good she feels, how she was made for me, how I never want this night to end.

And as much as I regret the time we lost, I wouldn’t trade this —her, in my arms, underneath me, surrounding me—for anything.

This is how it’s always supposed to be with her.

No matter how much time has passed, no matter the obstacles placed between us, I know—deep in my bones—that this was meant to be.

Even if nothing more comes of this, even if we wake up tomorrow and reality finds a way to pull us apart again, I’ll forever be grateful for this moment.

For her.

For the way she feels wrapped around me, her body trembling, her breath mingling with mine as we fall together—release crashing over us like a tidal wave.

I want to tell her.

It’s on the tip of my tongue—the words I’ve held back for so damn long. I want to tell her how I feel, to tell her what this means to me, to finally right all the wrongs I’ve made.

Instead, what slips out is, “I’m sorry.”

The silence stretches between us, and for a moment, I wonder if she even heard me—if I only said the words in my head.

Finally, her soft voice cuts through the quiet. “Sorry for what?”

I collapse beside her, folding my arms around her, tangling our legs together as I pull her against me.

“For the way I’ve hurt you,” I admit, my voice hoarse with the weight of it. “For making you think I ever regretted a second with you. For letting you believe—even for a moment—that I could see you as anything but mine.”

She swallows hard, her throat bobbing, eyes fluttering shut. I know she’s fighting it—the emotions, the memories, the pain I put her through.

“Zane, it’s okay—”

“Don’t,” I murmur, tightening my grip around her waist. “Don’t say it’s okay. Don’t minimize what I did. The way I hurt you.”

She exhales slowly, fingers tracing absent patterns against my skin. “I don’t want you to beat yourself up over it. I know you had your reasons. I pushed you away, too, because it was easier than getting hurt. I just—” She hesitates, then softly adds, “I know you weren’t ready.”

She knows. She’s always known.

All the pressure I was under—football, my dad, expectations so high they felt impossible to reach.

Her voice is quiet when she finally asks the question I know has been lingering between us since the night of the bonfire. The night I finally gave in. “So what’s changed?”

I meet her gaze, no hesitation when I answer. “Me.”

She blinks, brows drawing together like she doesn’t quite understand. I don’t expect her to—not yet. Hell, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it myself.

“You said it yourself—it was easier to push you away. And I let myself believe it was for the best. That you deserved better.” I brush my fingers down her arm, trailing along her skin, watching the way goose bumps rise in my wake. “But the truth is, I’m the best version of myself when I’m with you.”

She exhales sharply, turning to face me, searching my expression. “Do you really mean that?”

I cup her face, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “It’s the only truth I know.”

She bites her lip, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, and I hate it—I hate that I made her doubt me, doubt this .

“The only time I ever lied to you,” I continue, “was the night I told you our kiss was a mistake. When I told you that you were like a sister to me.”

She winces, but then a laugh bubbles out of her. “Well, thank God, because if that were true, what we just did would be… really awkward.”

“Oh, is that right?” I smirk, shifting so I’m hovering over her again, settling between her legs.

She giggles, squirming as I grab her wrists and pin them above her head.

Then I roll my hips, pressing my already hardening length against her heat, and her laughter dies on a sharp inhale.

“You feel that, baby?” My rough voice is thick with need. “You feel how fuckin’ hard you make me? Would this happen if you were like a sister to me?”

“God, I hope not,” she breathes, her hands fisting the sheets.

I grin wickedly, reaching between us to position myself at her entrance. And when I thrust inside her—hard and deep—her head falls back, a gasp spilling from her lips.

“Mmm,” I hum, dragging my mouth over her throat, feeling the way her pulse races beneath my tongue. “I think I just found the best way to shut that smart mouth of yours.”

“Zane,” she moans, her nails scraping down my back. Gripping my ass, she pulls me deeper, voice thick with desperation. “Fuck me.”

I groan, my control snapping like a frayed wire.

“It would be my fuckin’ pleasure,” I growl, shifting my weight, gripping her hip as I drive into her. “Now, be a good girl and feed me that sweet nipple, baby. I want to feel this pussy squeeze around me when you come.”

She does—again and again—until we’re both wrecked and completely spent.

When I finally collapse beside her, I don’t let her go. I pull her against me, skin to skin, my face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing her in like she’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.

And when sleep pulls me under, it’s the best fucking rest I’ve had in over a year.