Chapter 15
Kennedy
The morning light spilled across the sheets, golden and soft, coaxing me awake.
My body ached in all the right places—slow, stretching soreness that reminded me of how fully I’d given myself to him last night.
I felt it in the curve of my thighs, the tender pull of muscles I hadn’t known would remember him.
I turned my head and there he was—Nick. Fast asleep, chest bare and rising with each slow breath. One arm reached toward me, fingers just shy of my skin, like even in sleep, he couldn’t let me go. My heart gave a little stutter.
God, he looked so peaceful. Like none of the weight he carried—his name, his team, the world—existed in this room.
Just him and me and the silence after the storm.
I let myself stare, tracing the lines of his body with my eyes.
I knew the strength in those arms, the way they’d held me steady when my world tipped sideways.
And now? They looked soft. Gentle. Like they’d only ever meant to keep me safe.
I didn’t want to wake him, but I couldn’t resist leaning in, brushing a kiss to his shoulder. The scent of him—clean and warm and distinctly Nick—wrapped around me, anchoring me in a way nothing else ever had.
For the first time in a long while, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Not performing, not pretending. Just me. And whatever came next—whether the world watched or whispered—I wasn’t running anymore.
I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder, then let my lips wander up to his jaw, tasting the warmth of his skin.
He stirred beneath me, a low groan slipping past his lips as he instinctively pulled me closer, his arm curling around my waist like I was something rare—something he wasn’t ready to let go of.
Our eyes met, and that lazy, crooked smile spread across his face—the kind that made my heart flutter and my whole body hum. There was something unguarded in him this morning, something softer that called to me.
“Morning,” I whispered, the word catching in my throat, heavy with everything we hadn’t said but had still somehow shared. Last night hadn’t just been sex—it was a shift. Something inside me had cracked open, and now, in his arms, something deeper stirred—something that wanted.
His thumb brushed along my cheek, a reverent, almost awed gesture. It made my breath hitch. “You’re still here,” he murmured.
I smiled faintly. “Where else would I be?”
But his expression shifted—barely, just a flicker in his eyes, like he was weighing the truth of that answer against all the ways this could still fall apart.
“You could’ve run,” he said softly.
The words hit deeper than I expected, settling in my chest like a question I hadn’t wanted to face. But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t pull away. Not this time.
Instead, I curled closer into him, letting my fingers drift over the lines of his chest. “Not running,” I said. “Not anymore.”
And I meant it—with everything I was.
A shy grin tugged at my lips as I met Nick’s gaze, the morning light catching in his eyes like fire smoldering just beneath the surface.
His warmth wrapped around me even before he touched me, and I didn’t try to bury the truth clawing its way to the surface.
“I want you again,” I breathed, the words trembling out of me before I could retreat behind caution or pride.
His smile curved into something dark and knowing—dangerous in the way only he could be—while still managing to feel like a promise.
He shifted beneath me, slow and effortless, until he was lying flat and guiding me to straddle him.
His hands moved over my thighs like I was something delicate. Precious. His eyes never left mine.
“Then take what you want,” he said, voice thick with sleep and something deeper—something reverent.
The ache between my legs was still there, a tender echo of last night’s claiming, but my desire bloomed right through it.
I wasn’t afraid of the hunger anymore. Not his, not mine.
This time, I wanted to explore him—not as a girl trying to be enough, but as a woman who already was.
I rocked my hips against him, and the shiver that ran down my spine felt like lightning bottled in my bones.
I leaned forward, my hands on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath my palms. His body was a study in contrast—hard edges and soft heat, power coiled beneath restraint.
I pressed kisses to the sharp cut of his collarbone, then down, lower, tracing the ridges of his abs with my lips and tongue.
He tensed slightly beneath me, a quiet intake of breath letting me know he felt it—every flicker of my touch.
“God, you’re perfect,” I whispered, reverent.
His hands came up, sliding slowly along my back, not directing—just grounding. Anchoring. He let me move as I needed, trusted me to guide the rhythm between us. I kissed my way back up his chest, slow and aching, until our foreheads touched and our breaths tangled between parted lips.
When our eyes met again, everything else fell away. There was no past, no pressure—just this. Just us. And the soft, electric truth humming beneath my skin: this wasn’t just about needing him.
It was about belonging.
I took him in my mouth, the taste of him unfamiliar but intoxicating. He groaned, a deep, primal sound that sent a thrill through me. His fingers buried in my hair, guiding me as I moved up and down, finding a rhythm that made his breath hitch.
I hoped I was doing this right. I wanted to please him, to make him feel as good as he made me feel. His grip tightened in my hair.
He pushed deeper into my throat, and my eyes teared up. But I didn't stop. I wanted this. I wanted him.
"Fuck, princess," he growled, his voice strained. "I'm going to shoot my load down your throat right this fucking second if you don't stop, and as much as I want to watch you swallow every fucking drop, I want your pussy more."
He tugged my hair, pulling me up until I was straddling him. His eyes were dark with desire, and I could feel his cock, hard and ready, pressing against me.
"Ride me," he commanded, his voice low and rough. "I want to feel you come on my cock."
I hesitated for a moment, unsure of myself. But then I saw the way he was looking at me, like I was the only thing that mattered in the world. And I knew I wanted this. I wanted him.
I lowered myself onto him, feeling him fill me completely. He groaned, his hands gripping my hips as I began to move. It was slow at first, but then I found my rhythm, rocking back and forth, grinding against him.
Nick’s hands gripped my hips, steady and sure, guiding me with a tenderness that made my breath catch.
Every motion was deliberate, every press of our bodies a wordless vow.
His gaze never left me—not once. It burned into me, fierce and full of awe, like I was the only thing he saw… the only thing that had ever mattered.
“Just like that,” he murmured, voice low and reverent, the words falling against my skin like a secret meant only for me.
We moved together slowly, bodies aligned in a rhythm that felt deeper than touch—like a language we’d only just discovered but somehow already knew by heart.
He met each movement with quiet strength, his hands anchoring me, thumbs tracing lazy circles along my waist as if he needed to memorize every inch.
My name left his lips in a whisper between kisses, each one softer, deeper, more consuming than the last. His fingers slid up my spine, not rushing, just exploring—learning me again like I was something sacred. And I was—at least, in his arms, I felt like I was.
The wave crested in me first, a soft gasp escaping as my head dropped to his shoulder, overwhelmed by the heat, the closeness, the way he held me like I was both fragile and infinite.
He followed moments later, a shudder rolling through him as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me down against his chest like he never wanted to let go. And I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I just breathed him in and let myself belong.
We lay tangled in the sheets, our limbs still loosely wrapped around each other, his warmth seeping into me like sunlight.
The air felt charged, humming with the remnants of what we’d just shared.
I pressed my ear to Nick’s chest, letting the rhythmic thud of his heart ground me.
Steady. Strong. It almost made me forget everything else.
His fingers brushed through my hair, slow and purposeful, like he wasn’t ready to let go of me either. “I’ve got a game tonight,” he murmured, voice rough and intimate, like it was a secret meant only for me.
The words pierced the haze. I tensed slightly, the world outside these walls rushing back in. Right—he wasn’t just Nick. He was Nick Maddox. The Bomb. The man with an entire city watching his every move. Suddenly I felt small again, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with the physical.
“I want you there,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “Wearing my jersey.”
A hundred emotions surged at once—panic, excitement, longing. I searched his face, unsure if he realized what he was asking. “Won’t people… talk?” I whispered, my voice barely holding together. I wasn’t used to being seen, not like that. Not as someone who mattered.
He shifted then, pulling me onto his lap with ease, like I belonged there. His hands slid up my back, anchoring me in place. “Let them,” he said simply. His thumb swept across my cheek. “You’re mine, Kennedy. I don’t give a damn who knows.”
Something warm and fierce bloomed in my chest at his words. Not possession—something deeper. A claiming that didn’t cage me but set me free.
His gaze held mine, dark and certain. “You belong with me. Don’t hide.”
I swallowed hard. The truth was—I had been hiding. From the world. From myself. But here, in his arms, I felt seen in a way that terrified me and soothed me all at once.
“I’m trying,” I whispered, because it was all I could offer. My voice shook, but I meant it.
Nick leaned in, his forehead resting against mine. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to show up.”
And maybe that was the bravest thing I could do. Not for the cameras. Not for the world. But for him—and for me.
“Tonight is about us,” Nick said, and there was something in his voice—an intensity wrapped in steel—that sent a ripple through me. Not anger, not quite. But something raw. Something that made my pulse skip and my breath catch.
I bit my lip again, a nervous reflex I couldn’t seem to shake. It was becoming a habit—one he’d probably already memorized. He was so sure of us, so unshaken by the world outside while I felt like I was still learning how to hold steady in his orbit.
“What if…” I didn’t finish the sentence. The rest lodged in my throat, heavy with doubt. I hated how easily fear slipped back in, how quickly it turned something beautiful into something fragile.
“What if what?” he asked, his hand warm and solid on my waist, anchoring me like he could keep the uncertainty from pulling me under.
“What if they don’t understand?” The words felt small. Weak. But they were real. What if all they saw was the girl who used to be someone else’s? What if they didn’t believe in me the way he did?
Nick didn’t flinch. “Let them try.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. There was a certainty in his tone that burned hotter than any spotlight ever could. “They don’t get to define this. They don’t get to touch what’s ours.”
A lump rose in my throat. He made it sound so easy, like I could just step into this world and not be swallowed by it. But maybe that was the thing—I didn’t have to face it alone.
“I want to be there,” I whispered. And I did. Not because he asked me to. But because I wanted to show up for him. For us. For the version of myself I was just beginning to believe in.
Nick’s smile then—wide and unguarded—melted away the last of my hesitation. There was no pretense in it. No charm for the cameras. Just Nick. My husband. And for the first time in a long time, stepping into the light didn’t feel like exposure.
It felt like coming home.
He grinned, a playful spark igniting in his eyes. As he leaned down, his lips brushed mine—slow, sweet, teasing.
“You’ll look better in my sweater than I ever did,” he murmured against my mouth.
A warmth spread through me, a mix of anticipation and something deeper. I didn’t have to respond; his kiss silenced every doubt swirling in my mind. He kissed me deeply, crawling on top of me again, the weight of him pressing down felt grounding.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, drawing him closer as the world outside faded into nothingness. His hands tangled in my hair while I explored the contours of his back with my fingertips, feeling every ridge and muscle beneath my touch.
“Nick…” I breathed, pulling away just enough to catch his gaze.
He looked at me like I was everything he wanted—like he could get lost in me for days. And maybe that’s what scared me most; this uncharted territory we were stepping into together.
But there was no fear now, only desire and a reckless sense of freedom. “I’m all yours,” I whispered, the words spilling from my lips like a promise. And with that declaration hung between us, I surrendered to the moment completely.
Nick’s hands skimmed down my sides, reverent in the way he touched me—like I was fragile and sacred all at once.
He kissed the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then lower, each press of his lips unraveling something inside me.
There was no rush between us, just this slow, aching build that made every movement feel like a confession.
I felt him guiding me, grounding me, and yet every second made me feel like I was floating.
Our bodies moved together in a rhythm that felt instinctive, like we were learning each other in a new language made of sighs and shivers and shared breath.
I clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he rocked into me, deep and unhurried.
The friction was enough to draw out little gasps from my throat, pleasure curling through me like smoke—slow and intoxicating.
Every roll of his hips was a promise: I see you, I want you, I’ve got you.
As the crescendo built between us, it didn’t crash over like a wave—it bloomed. I held on tighter, burying my face in his neck as my body trembled and arched, falling apart piece by piece in the safest place I’d ever known.
Nick followed soon after, his low groan against my skin laced with awe, with reverence. He held me through it, arms wrapped tightly around my waist, as if he never wanted to let go.
And honestly, I didn’t want him to.