Page 31

Zane

I’ve never been a fan of flying for away games. Something about being thousands of feet in the air—packed in with my teammates and knowing everything we’ve worked for comes down to the next few days—makes my skin itch.

We land in Texas late in the afternoon, three days before our playoff matchup against the Kolmont Kings. The undefeated powerhouse. The biggest threat standing between us and the championship. The weight of it sits heavy on my chest.

By the time we make it to the hotel, it’s nearly five. I’m grateful to be rooming with Reed. Out of all my teammates, he’s the least likely to piss me off before a big game. After checking in, we drop our bags, freshen up, and head downstairs for the team dinner. My stomach’s been in knots all day, but now that I’m here, exhaustion outweighs my nerves, and I shovel down my food without thinking.

Reed sticks around to bullshit with Beckham and Hayes, but I slip away as soon as I can. I haven’t talked to Wyatt much today, just a few texts between meetings and practice. I need to hear her voice.

Sliding onto my bed, I grab my iPad and hit FaceTime, anticipation curling in my stomach as the line rings.

When she answers, the camera is pointed at the ceiling.

“Baby,” I chuckle. “What are you doing?”

“Just got home from work,” she says, her voice warm and familiar. “I wasn’t expecting you to call this early. I was in the shower.”

My grin deepens. “Is that why I’m looking at your ceiling fan? Because you’re naked?”

She shifts, finally peeking into the frame, and my heart kicks against my ribs. Her curls are damp, clinging to her bare shoulders. She drags her lip between her teeth, and just like that, my mind nosedives into the gutter.

“You could always prop the phone up and let me see you,” I suggest, my voice dropping.

She laughs, shaking her head. “And let Reed hear us? No thanks. You’re not exactly quiet, Zane Anthony.”

The use of my full name makes me smirk.

“He’s still downstairs with the guys. That means now’s our only chance to be alone.”

Wyatt rolls her eyes but adjusts the phone. When she comes into view, she’s in a thin tank top—if you can even call it that. The fabric is so sheer I can see the outline of her nipples, her breasts spilling over the edge like she’s daring me to lose my mind.

“Jesus, Wyatt,” I mutter, my jaw tightening. “You couldn’t have warned me first?”

She glances down, feigning innocence. “What?” she asks, blinking up at me. “You don’t like my outfit?”

Her devious little smile tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” she says, twirling a damp curl around her finger.

I lean forward slightly, my pulse kicking up. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“I’ve been giving you space after the last game, you know, with the press conference and everything,” Wyatt says, her voice softer than usual.

She’s not looking at me. Instead, she focuses on her reflection in the mirror, spraying product into her hair, fingers threading through the strands to separate the curls. She’s trying to make this conversation feel casual, but I know her too well. I know where this is going.

I exhale, settling back against the pillow, bracing myself.

“I was wondering…” she starts, hesitating just long enough for me to tense. “With everything Luca said about your father, and since we ran into him at Whiskey Sinner’s, have you thought about talking to him?”

A weighted silence fills the space between us.

The truth? Of course, I’ve thought about it.

A few months ago, you couldn’t have paid me to go anywhere near that asshole. After the way he used my relationship with Wyatt against me, how he twisted Myla’s name into a tabloid headline just to get under my skin, I don’t know how I feel about him.

Or if I ever will.

Luca may be my father’s son, but I don’t know if he wants to admit it. Hell, I don’t even know if I want to.

“I mean, yeah, I’ve thought about it,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face. “But I don’t know…”

Wyatt adjusts the camera, finally looking at me. “What’s holding you back?”

I should’ve seen that coming. She has a way of peeling back the layers I try to keep hidden. It’s why I pushed her away for so long before. Why I once thought distance would make it easier.

I huff out a breath. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this, Wyatt? Finding out my dad has a whole other kid, a secret love child —with his ex-mistress, no less? And I say ex like I actually know for sure, but who the hell knows? He’s spent his whole life covering up his messes. This one just happened to make itself known.”

Wyatt presses her lips together, watching me carefully. “I get it, Zane. I do. But don’t you think, at least a little, that none of this is Luca’s fault? He didn’t ask to be James’s son. He sure as hell didn’t ask to be a secret. His dad made him change his last name to protect himself . Can you imagine what that does to someone? How that messes with your head?”

A dull ache settles in my chest, the weight of her words hitting harder than I want them to.

“He might not have asked to be here,” I admit, jaw tightening, “but he made the choice to come after me. He used you to get under my skin. He spread lies about Myla just to hurt our family. That was his choice. And I’m just supposed to forget about it?”

Wyatt exhales, closing the lid to the toilet and sitting down, adjusting the camera so we’re face-to-face.

“No,” she says simply. “I’m not saying you should forget it. I’m saying maybe— maybe —you should hear him out. Let him explain.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Even if I do, I don’t think I’ll ever trust him. For all I know, he could turn around and use whatever he learns against me. Against my siblings. My mom has been hurt enough from his actions.”

Wyatt hesitates, her expression shifting like she’s choosing her words carefully.

“I don’t think this is about hurting you,” she murmurs. “I think he’s just taking his pain out on you. A part of him probably resents you, Zane. Not for who you are but for the life you’ve had. For the opportunities you were given just by being James Kinnick’s son. The success you’ve built for yourself.”

I stare at her, my pulse hammering in my ears.

I don’t want to admit she might be right. That this might be more complicated than just who threw the first punch.

But I know Wyatt. She doesn’t say things just to say them.

I want to say, Yeah, and the pressure he put on me from the second I took my first breath—to be the perfect son, the perfect athlete, to live up to impossible expectations.

But I don’t.

Instead, I nod, keeping it simple. “I’ll think about it, okay? I promise.”

Wyatt studies me for a long moment, her gaze soft but searching. The love in her eyes makes everything else feel small. Like no matter what happens—whether I make it to the NFL or my career falls apart before it even begins—she’ll still be here. She’d stand beside me, help me pick up the pieces.

She’d help put me back together.

The thought alone settles something deep in my chest. I don’t ever want to put that weight on her, but knowing I’ll never have to face any of this alone again? That does something to me.

She runs her fingers through her damp hair, flipping it to the side in that effortless way she does. I wish she were here. The urge to reach through the screen, to grab her by the chin and press my mouth to hers in a hard, claiming kiss, nearly drives me insane.

“What are you thinking about right now?” she asks, her voice softer, more curious than before. There’s something unreadable in her expression when she adds, “You got serious all of a sudden.”

I tilt my head, a slow smile creeping onto my face. “I’m thinking about how bad I wish you were here—so I could throw you on this bed and bury my face between those beautiful thighs.”

Wyatt sucks in a sharp breath, her lips parting slightly. My grin widens.

“You done messing with your hair yet, baby?” My voice drops, thick with need. “Because I need you right now. And I want you to lift that excuse of a shirt and let me see those gorgeous tits.”

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. Because the camera shifts, flashing glimpses of her hallway as she moves. The faint click of her bedroom door shutting sends a thrill down my spine.

Her bed creaks as she climbs onto the mattress, settling in, before her face fills the screen again.

“Let me see you,” she whispers.

I don’t hesitate. Reaching behind my neck, I grab the hem of my shirt and yank it off, adjusting the camera so she gets a full view of my chest.

Wyatt groans, her eyes darkening. “You have no idea how much of a turn-on your arms are.”

I smirk, dragging my palm down my abs.

“The way you talk about throwing me down,” she murmurs, voice turning breathy. “I can picture it. You pinning me beneath you, your muscles flexing, your cologne all over my skin…”

She’s lost in the thought of it, and fuck if I don’t love seeing her like this.

“Well, then you should know,” I rasp, “that I love nothing more than having you under me. The softness of your skin, the way you arch for me when I take you deep, the way your tits bounce every time I slam into you.”

She shivers at my words, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Every inch of you,” I murmur. “Every curve. Your stomach, those gorgeous tits. You consume every damn thought in my head, and now I need to see you.”

Wyatt doesn’t wait for permission. She sits up, grabs the hem of her tank top, and pulls it over her head.

My breath catches.

She adjusts her arms, pushing her full, round breasts together, her pale pink nipples pebbled against her fair skin. The soft freckles along her shoulders and cheeks make my chest ache with something primal.

I groan, gripping my length through my sweats. “Jesus Christ, baby. You trying to kill me?”

Her lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. “Maybe.”

I’m wrecked. Done.

Wyatt sucks her finger into her mouth, her eyes locked on mine as she drags it out slowly, trailing it over her nipple. A low, breathy moan spills from her lips, and fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

My grip tightens around my dick through my sweats, barely resisting the urge to tear them off right now.

“Zane,” she whispers when her eyes flutter open, heavy with lust.

“I’m so fuckin’ hard for you, firecracker.”

“Let me see,” she murmurs, her voice almost pleading.

I glance around, trying to figure out how to prop my tablet up. Dragging my duffel bag closer, I wedge it against the screen—not perfect, but it'll work. I shove my sweats down over my hips, and the second my cock springs free, I wrap my fist around it, dragging my thumb over the tip.

“You wanna watch me get off thinking about fucking you, Wy?”

She nods, biting her lip as her hand disappears out of frame. But I know exactly what she’s doing. The moment she touches herself, her head tips back, a shaky breath slipping past her lips.

My abs tighten. My grip flexes.

“Tell me what you’re doing, baby.”

Her tits jiggle with the movement of her arm, her soft breaths turning to heavy pants.

“I’m so wet,” she murmurs. “My clit is swollen… so sensitive. I wish you were here—wish it was your tongue on me. I need you to suck on my clit while you fuck me with those long fingers.”

I groan, my hips lifting off the mattress at the visual playing out in my head.

“Fuck, baby. I’d have my head buried between your thighs, sucking and fucking you until you’re begging me to stop—then I’d flip you over and slam my cock deep into your tight pussy.”

Her breath hitches. “Yessss. Please. Zane, please.”

I watch the way her body moves, the way her breaths turn desperate.

“Keep going, baby. Keep fucking yourself for me. Imagine my fingers are inside you, stretching you, owning you. Tell me it’s my pussy, Wyatt.”

“Oh my God,” she cries out, her back arching.

The slick sound of her fingers working herself has me right on the edge.

I can’t hold back anymore. My grip tightens, my strokes growing erratic, and then I’m falling—spiraling over the edge, pleasure crashing through me.

“Tell me,” I growl, my abs flexing, my body strung tight. “Tell me who owns that sweet pussy.”

“ You do, Zane! ” she gasps, her body trembling, thighs clenching as her orgasm rips through her. “ You do. ”

Pleasure detonates inside me, thick ribbons spilling across my chest and stomach. My head tips back, jaw clenched as I ride it out, chasing every last drop of bliss.

When I finally come down, Wyatt’s looking at me with a soft, lazy smile. Sated. Beautiful. Mine.

A grin tugs at my lips, and something warm, deep, and unshakable expands inside my chest.

She’s my firecracker, and the love I feel for her is like a slow burn and a wildfire all at once.

And I’ll spend forever making sure she knows it.