Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MIA
Idon’t know what possesses me to say it.
Maybe it’s the way Dylan looks at me like I’m the only thing holding him together.
Maybe it’s the taste of him still on my lips, or the fact that Murphy’s bloody whistling is still ringing in my ears like a warning shot and I’m sick of pretending I don’t want this.
“Come back with me,” I say, quiet but steady.
He blinks, brows pulling together like he wants to make sure I’m serious. I nod. “To mine.”
There’s a beat of silence. And then he nods, wordless.
“I’ll follow you,” he says, his voice low and rough, and my stomach does that weird little flip that has become the norm every time Dylan speaks now.
We walk to our cars without another word. My hands tremble as I grip the steering wheel, and I catch sight of him in my rear-view mirror, engine idling behind me like he’s daring me to change my mind. I don’t.
I can’t.
My heart’s racing like I’ve been running sprints with the team the entire drive back. My lips are still tingling from our kiss. God, the way he touched me, like he was barely holding himself back. Like he was scared to want me too much.
And Murphy. Bloody Murphy. Of course he saw. Of course he made it a whole thing. And now I’m terrified he’ll let slip at work.
But even the fear of Jonno finding out and his smug commentary can’t smother the weight of what just passed between us. Because it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a decision. One we both made without saying it aloud.
When I pull up outside the flat, Dylan parks behind me. He gets out slowly, eyes on me like he’s trying to read me again, check if I’ve come to my senses. But I haven’t. I want this, and once I’ve made my made up about something, I rarely change tack.
We walk to my front door and I unlock it silently. Dylan follows me in without a word. Inside, the air feels different. Thicker. Anticipation crackling in the silence between us as I lock the door behind him.
We don’t talk. We don’t need to. The tension’s been coiled tight for weeks, and now it’s finally snapping free.
I turn toward him, his back still against the door, and he steps into my space like he can’t hold himself back any longer.
“This okay?” he asks, his voice is hoarse.
I nod. “Yes.”
That’s all it takes. His mouth crashes onto mine with a need that makes my knees buckle. His hands find my waist, then slide under the hem of my jumper, skin meeting skin, and I can’t stop the gasp that escapes me. It’s fire. All of it. Him.
I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.
His hands land on my bottom, and he lifts me effortless, my legs spontaneously wrap around his waist. Without breaking our kiss, we’re stumbling down the hallway, bumping into walls, laughing breathlessly between kisses.
I’ve never felt like this, like I need someone so badly it hurts.
By the time we make it to the bedroom, I’m already pulling off my jumper, my heart hammering in my chest. He loosens his grip on me and allows my legs to drop to the floor.
Dylan’s eyes darken as he watches me throw my jumper on the chair, every line of his face caught somewhere between awe and desperation.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathes.
I kiss him to shut him up before he ruins me completely.
Clothes hit the floor in a trail behind us, and then he’s lowering me onto the bed with this maddening tenderness that shouldn’t make my chest ache like it does.
His hands are everywhere; confident, reverent, like he’s learning the shape of me one breath at a time.
His fingertips make a trail slowly down my side from my breast to my hip, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
He lowers his head, bringing his lips to my nipple and sucks gently.
My eyes close as I push my head back into the bed beneath me.
The sensation making me shiver. When I open my eyes again, Dylan is staring at me.
“Eyes on me, Mia.” He’s not cocky, more self-assured.
I allow my hands to roam down his chest, taking in every hard ridge of muscle as he tenses beneath my touch.
He sucks in a sharp breath as I reach the waistband of his boxers and slip my fingers inside.
It’s his turn to close his eyes as I caress his hard length.
“Eyes on me, Dylan.” I throw his words back at him.
With that, his eyes spring open and it’s as though I’ve unleashed a fire within him.
I don’t realise I’m shaking until his hand finds mine, our fingers lacing together. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’m here.” And when he pushes inside of me, it’s like something in me gives way. Like I’ve been holding my breath for weeks and finally, I can exhale.
God help me.
He’s slow and careful with me, almost too careful.
The earlier rush to get to here is now replaced with an unrushed steady pace.
And it’s all consuming. I feel him everywhere, the warmth from his body envelopes me.
Cocooning me in all things Dylan. It’s overwhelming and not enough all at once.
My hands reach around to grasp him tightly as I raise my legs and cross them behind his back.
Opening myself up to him, he sinks deeper into me on a groan that’s so guttural I almost lose it there and then.
The pad of his thumb rubs across my nipple before his tongue darts out to replace it.
He laps the hard bud before drawing it into his mouth and my insides tighten as he sucks hard.
His pace quickens and our breath mingles as we both strive to hold it together.
With one hand beneath me, he alters our angle and hits the spot instantly. And I crash and burn beneath him.
Later, when the storm in my head has quieted and we’re lying tangled beneath the covers, my leg slung over his, I feel reality creeping back in.
Consequences.
Rules.
I’m tracing lazy circles on his chest when I finally say it. “I’m going to lose my job.”
He shifts, glancing down at me. “What?”
I sit up slightly, clutching the sheet to my chest even though he’s already seen all of me. “There’s a no fraternisation rule in the club policy. Relationships with players; it’s an automatic review, usually suspension while they investigate, and most of the time, it ends with termination.”
He frowns, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
He looks away, like he’s absorbing it. “I didn’t think…”
“I know. Neither did I.” I swallow. “But now it’s happened and I don’t regret it. I just… I’m scared.”
“Of losing your job?” he asks.
I nod. “Of losing everything I worked for. My career. My reputation. I fought so hard to be taken seriously in this sport, in that room full of men who see me as a physio first and a woman second. If this gets out…”
He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. “Then we figure it out.”
I look at him, searching for sarcasm or some kind of dismissal. But there’s none. Just Dylan, raw and real and looking at me like he might fight the world if it means keeping me safe.
“You don’t get it,” I whisper. “This isn’t a fling for me.”
His hand tightens on mine. “It’s not for me either.”
I close my eyes for a second and try to breathe around the tangle in my chest. “I just need time,” I murmur.
“You’ve got it,” he says. No hesitation.
Somehow, hearing that and knowing that he means it, is what undoes me most of all.