Chapter 17
Kennedy
I stood just outside the players’ exit, cold seeping through the fabric of Nick’s jersey like it had something to prove.
The sleeves nearly swallowed my hands, the hem brushing the tops of my thighs—but I didn’t care.
It smelled like him. Felt like him. And in this sea of strangers and flashing team colors, it was the only thing tethering me to solid ground.
The energy was electric, chaotic. People crowded around the ropes, shouting, laughing, buzzing with post-game adrenaline. I kept my face calm—shoulders squared, lips pressed into something almost resembling confidence. But inside? I was a live wire.
Every cheer made me flinch. Every passing glance felt like it lingered too long. And still, I waited.
“You see her?” someone hissed nearby. “That’s Maddox’s girl.”
Another voice, sharper, nastier: “She dumped Gary for him? Seriously?”
I didn’t look.
“She’s a puck bunny in a jersey two sizes too big.”
I held my chin higher.
A flash of laughter. “Bet she’s already planning the engagement post.”
My stomach knotted, but I refused to give them the satisfaction. They didn’t know anything about me—about us. Let them fill in the blanks with jealousy and rumor. I knew the truth.
I adjusted the jersey and turned slightly, so the name on my back—MADDOX—was clear as day.
A flicker of doubt crept in—not about Nick. Never about him.
But about this.
The moment. The attention. The way people were already looking at me like I was some kind of headline in the making.
It wasn’t the cold that made me wrap my arms around myself tighter. It was the sudden, hollow ache of realization that my world was changing. That standing here, outside the players’ exit in his jersey, I was making a silent declaration. One that couldn’t be taken back.
Was I ready to be seen?
To be judged?
To have strangers pick apart who I was based on who I loved?
My fingers curled in the oversized sleeves like I could disappear inside them. I hadn’t asked for the spotlight. I hadn’t wanted the attention or the noise. I just wanted Nick—the version of him that looked at me like I was the only thing that made sense in the chaos.
But loving him meant this. It meant whispers and stares. It meant being called things by people who didn’t even know my name.
And that terrified me.
I stared at the door, willing it to open. Not because I didn’t know who I was without him—but because I knew I was braver when he was near. Stronger.
Still, I didn’t look away. I didn’t back down.
I held my head high even as the doubt whispered in my ear.
The locker room doors burst open, and the noise hit me like a wave—laughter, shouts, the sound of skates thudding against concrete. My pulse kicked up as I leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning the crowd for one person.
Then I saw him.
Nick stepped out like he was still mid-game, sweat dampening the ends of his hair, his jersey clinging to one shoulder and revealing the solid muscle underneath. His jaw was tight, eyes sharp. Electric. He looked like he could tear through the world and still have room to ruin me afterward.
And somehow, when his gaze found mine, everything else vanished. The crowd, the cameras, the voices I’d been trying so hard to tune out—they all disappeared.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just started walking toward me like he’d done it a thousand times in his head and wasn’t about to stop now.
I barely had time to breathe before he was in front of me, hands on my waist, lips crashing against mine like the kiss was the only part of tonight that mattered. I melted into him—every nerve ending lighting up, every ounce of restraint gone.
Gasps rippled through the fans near us. Phones lifted. Someone’s flash burst to life in my peripheral vision.
"Is that a wedding ring?"
"Are they… are they married?"
"No fucking way."
But I didn’t care.
I kissed him back like the world could burn around us, fingers curling into the fabric of his jersey, anchoring myself to this moment. To him.
And I didn’t flinch.
A flicker of insecurity clawed at my chest—sharp and unwelcome—but I buried it as Nick’s mouth claimed mine again, harder this time. His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging me closer until our bodies were pressed flush, like he couldn’t stand the thought of even air between us.
I kissed him back with everything I had, not because I wanted to prove something to them—but because I wanted to prove something to myself. That I could stand here, in front of everyone, and choose this. Choose him. Choose us.
With every beat of my heart, the fear dulled. I wasn’t some wide-eyed girl caught in a fantasy. I was part of this now—part of him—and I didn’t need permission to exist in his world.
And then it hit me. This clarity—blinding and warm—that it didn’t matter what they thought. None of them knew what it felt like to be held like this, kissed like this. To matter to someone who looked at you like you were his gravity.
I broke the kiss just enough to breathe, but I didn’t move far. My forehead rested against his, our breaths tangled in the cold air, and my skin burned with more than heat—it was defiance. Ownership. Not just of him, but of the life I was choosing, moment by messy moment.
Nick looked down at me, searching like he always did when words weren’t enough. And I didn’t need to say anything. He saw it. All of it.
This wasn’t a moment for the cameras.
It was ours.
The second Nick leaned down and muttered, “Let’s go,” a shiver raced through me—part anticipation, part adrenaline.
I gripped his hand tighter as we moved through the crowd, the cameras, the chaos.
But it didn’t feel chaotic with him. It felt like tunnel vision.
Like the world shrank down to just his body brushing against mine, his presence pulling me deeper into whatever this reckless, exhilarating thing between us had become.
By the time we reached his car, my pulse was thrumming. He slid into the driver’s seat like he owned the night, and I buckled in fast, the air between us thick with everything we hadn’t said.
The engine hummed low; the rumble matching the buzz under my skin as he pulled away from the lights, the noise, the eyes.
Streetlamps blurred past the window like streaks of gold and shadow.
When he turned off the main road, the quiet pressed in.
Trees framed the street like a secret, hiding us from everything but each other.
Then—suddenly—he pulled over, cut the engine, and turned to me.
The heat inside the car didn’t come from the vents.
“You were a distraction tonight,” he said, voice gravel over velvet.
The hum of the engine faded into the background, and for a moment, it felt like time stopped. Just me and him—no noise, no chaos, just the way Nick looked at me like I was the only thing tethering him to earth.
“In a good way?” I asked, my voice soft, breathless. I was already too warm, already anticipating whatever came next.
He leaned in, and the air thickened, dense with everything unsaid.
“You, in my number? Screaming for me like that?” His lips brushed my jaw.
“All I could think about was getting back to you.” A shiver slid down my spine as he pressed a slow kiss to my neck, his breath ghosting across my skin like a promise.
“I couldn’t stop picturing you… on your knees. ”
Heat flared in my cheeks, but I didn’t shrink from it. I leaned into the weight of his words, that deep, possessive edge that always made my heart pound harder. That made me feel wanted in a way I never had before.
Without thinking, I shifted toward him, my hand sliding over to his thigh. His muscles tensed beneath my touch—strong, coiled, and completely mine right now. There was no fear. Only want. Only need.
“Then let me help you focus,” I whispered, fingers trailing slowly upward, teasing. The quiet click of his belt buckle felt deafening in the charged silence.
His breath caught. Just barely. And it made me bold.
He caught my hand, not to stop me, just to pause me. Like he wanted to savor this, wanted me to. “You know this is dangerous,” he murmured, lips brushing my ear.
I smiled, slow and unapologetic. “That’s why it’s fun.”
His eyes darkened, something primal flaring in them. “Fun doesn’t begin to cover it.”
I leaned in again, close enough that our noses nearly touched, our breath mingling. My fingers dipped under the waistband of his pants—testing limits neither of us planned to keep. He exhaled sharply when I touched him, and it sent a thrill through me, knowing I could unravel someone like him.
The windows fogged. The tension wrapped around us like velvet and static. I felt wild. Brave. His.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice low and rough, the command in it softened by the rasp of desire.
I met his gaze, pulse drumming in my throat. “I want you to show me,” I whispered, “exactly what you imagined.”
And then I gave him the kind of smile that said I want it too.
Nick’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile—the kind that made my breath catch and my body tighten in anticipation.
He leaned back slightly, like he was savoring the moment, weighing how far we’d take this.
How far I’d let him. The glow from the streetlights cut through the fogged-up windows in fractured streaks, painting us in gold and shadow.
“God help me,” he muttered, and then his mouth was on mine again—wild, hungry, devastating. The kiss stole everything from me: breath, thought, control. It burned through my veins like fire laced with adrenaline, like I’d just stepped into something I couldn’t come back from.
And I didn’t want to.
His hands were everywhere—claiming, guiding, coaxing more from me with every touch.
All those doubts, those whispers from earlier, the fear of being judged—they vanished.
All I could feel was him—the way he touched me like I was his center of gravity.
Like nothing else existed but this pull between us.
My fingers found the hem of his shirt, sliding underneath to feel the warm, hard lines of his stomach. His kiss deepened, grew sharper, rougher—like he needed this to survive. And God, maybe I did too. Maybe I’d needed something to break me open and put me back together as something braver.
I wasn’t timid now. I was reckless. Wanting. My body pressed closer, my hands more daring, as the heat between us bloomed into something feral.
I wanted him to lose control. I wanted to feel what it meant to be wanted without apology. I wanted to give in, just for once, without looking over my shoulder.
He groaned into my mouth, and it was the kind of sound that curled heat low in my belly. I tugged him closer—wordless permission in the way I kissed him back. I didn’t care about the world beyond this car. Not the whispers. Not the headlines. Not the cost.
Because right here, right now, in the heat of this moment—we were the spark.
And I was ready to burn.
He pulled out his cock, and I watched as he stroked himself—slow, deliberate movements that made my heart race. The air in the car grew heavy with anticipation, and I could feel the heat building between us.
I leaned in, my breath hitching as I wrapped my hand around him, matching his rhythm. He groaned, his eyes darkening with desire. I loved the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing that mattered.
He guided my head down, and I didn't hesitate. I took him into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the tip as I bobbed my head up and down. The taste of him was intoxicating, and I couldn't get enough.
"That's right, baby," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "You're so fucking good."
I moaned in response; the vibrations sending a shiver through him. He tangled his fingers in my hair, guiding me deeper. I could feel him growing harder, his breaths coming faster.
"You going to swallow my come, wife?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded, my eyes locked on his. I wanted this—wanted him to lose control, to know that I could make him feel this way.
"You want it, don't you?" he asked, his voice growing more urgent.
I nodded again, my breath coming in short gasps. I could feel myself growing wetter with every passing second, my body aching for release.
"Say it," he demanded, his grip on my hair tightening. "I want to hear you say it."
He shoved himself even deeper, and I gagged, my eyes watering. But I didn't stop. I wanted this—wanted to please him in every way possible.
"I want it," I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.
He groaned in response, his hips bucking as he thrust deeper. I could feel him growing closer, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.
"That's it," he moaned. "You're such a good girl. Fuck, Kennedy… I'm going to—"
He came in my mouth, and I swallowed every last drop. I collapsed against him, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps as I tried to catch my breath.
He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close as we both came down from the high. I could feel his heart racing, his breath hot against my neck.
He stared at me, jaw tight, breath ragged—like he was still recovering but already wanting more. His gaze pinned me in place, sharp and blazing, like I was the only thing tethering him to earth.
Then he leaned in and kissed me—hard, consuming, like he needed to remind me exactly who I belonged to. Like he needed to taste himself on my tongue.
His voice came low against my lips, rough with heat and something darker. “This isn’t over.”
He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with me, his words a promise and a threat all at once.
“I’m fucking you in my jersey. Right. Fucking. Now.”