It’sus.
“I didn’t know if you’d come,” he says, voice low, rough.
“I almost didn’t,” I whisper.
His jaw tightens. “Micah said something, didn’t he?”
I nod. “He saw me this morning. Said I wouldn’t be the only one wearing your number today.”
Kane’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. “I don’t care what he says. I care that he said it toyou.”
“I didn’t believe him,” I say quickly. “I just… hated that he knew I was wearing your number. And I know you have a crazy amount of fans, so of course I won’t be the only one wearing it.”
Kane exhales, slow and sharp. “You’re not just wearing it. You are it.”
I blink. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re mine,” he says. “And this is one of my actual jerseys. No one will be wearing it but you.” He brushes the hair out of my face, slow and deliberate, then drags his knuckles along my cheek. The touch is featherlight, but it anchors me. Like he’s tracing proof that I’m real. Thatwe’rereal.
Without thinking, I lean up on my toes and kiss him.
It’s not careful. It’s not rehearsed. It’s instinct—pure and immediate. His hands find my waist, steadying me, pulling me closer. The concrete wall presses cool against my back, but his body is all heat and tension and restraint.
He kisses me like he’s been waiting all day.
All week.
Maybe longer.
And I kiss him like I’m not afraid. Like the crowd doesn’t exist. Like the noise and the jersey and the risk don’t matter.
Because right now, it’s just us.
The kiss deepens, becomes less about impulse and more about… need. A desperate, unspoken need that I hadn’t dared to acknowledge until this very moment. His lips are firm, demanding, and I meet his urgency with a fervor of my own. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently, urging him closer still. He groans softly, alow rumble that vibrates against my lips, and the sound sends shivers down my spine. The world tilts, spins, and for a glorious, dizzying moment, I forget everything but the feel of his mouth on mine.
Then, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his football glove. The leather is worn and softened with use, molded to the shape of his hand. He slowly, deliberately, pulls it on, the action strangely intimate. Then, he does something that completely throws me. He raises his gloved hand and slowly, deliberately, glides it down the side of my leggings, from my hip to my knee. The touch is light, almost fleeting, but the impact is electric. My breath hitches in my throat. He watches my reaction, a knowing glint in his eyes. “So I can smell you when I’m playing football later,” he whispers, his voice a low, suggestive purr as he presses his fingers between my legs.
“K-Kane, someone could see.” My voice trembles slightly as my legs open involuntarily.
“I need you to mark me, sunflower. I can’t keep sane if I don’t have a part of you with me. Do you trust me?”
Even with the war waging in my mind, I answer, “Yes.” I wouldn’t be in a secluded place with anyone else right now.
“I’m going to make you come all over my glove. And then I’m going to wear it for my game. Do you know why?”
My eyes flutter shut, head lolling back.
He leans close, his breath warm against my ear. “Because when I’m out on that field, I’ll be thinking of you. Of this. Of how you felt when I made you fall apart.”
His words are a brand against my skin. He wants to own every piece of me—my thoughts, my body, my pleasure.And the terrifying part?I want to give it to him. I want to be consumed by him.
He starts with his mouth, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, lower. His hands grip my waist, holding me steady as he works his way down my body. Every touch is a declaration. Every kiss is a promise.
When his mouth reaches the waistband of my leggings, he looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire. “I want to taste you, Blair. All of you.”
My breath hitches. My heart hammers. And then I nod.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and tugs them down, taking my panties with them. The cool air hits my skin, but it’s quickly replaced by the heat of his mouth. He’s not gentle. He’s not hesitant. He’s ravenous.
