Chapter 16
KENDALL
The door clicks shut behind him, and I don’t move.
I’m lying in the wreckage of my sheets, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe because my body doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
Every muscle is loose and trembling, and between my legs, I’m swollen and still pulsing with aftershocks from where he was.
The sheets beneath me are soaked, and I should probably be embarrassed, but I can’t feel anything except the ghost of his hands on my hips and his voice in my ear, telling me I belonged to him.
Patterson fucked me senseless, which had never happened to me before. I’m out of my body, existing on a different planet.
Every time I close my eyes, I feel him inside me again.
By the time morning light floods my bedroom, I’ve accepted something I don’t want to admit.
Last night, Patterson didn’t just fuck me. He ruined me for any other man. No one will ever live up to the queen treatment he delivered.
I want him again, but this time, he has to ask me.
The week crawls by in a haze of paint and anticipation, and I finish five more portraits without really remembering painting them.
Patterson and I don’t text, and we don’t talk.
When we pass each other at the facility, we look straight through each other like we’re ghosts.
Like he wasn’t buried deep inside me five days ago, making me scream his name as I crumbled around him.
A few times, I catch him staring at me in the weight room.
The look in his eyes makes me leave before I do something stupid and pull him back into the storage closet with me.
On Thursday night, when I’m packing my bag, I see the vibrator in my nightstand drawer.
I bought it two years ago and barely used it because it never quite did what I needed it to do.
I hesitate for a moment before shoving it into my bag beneath my camera equipment because maybe Patterson can show me a thing or two.
I also pack the champagne silk shirt, the one that matches the robe I was wearing when Patterson came over. I want him to see it and remember exactly what I looked like before he destroyed me.
Friday morning comes, and I board the private charter, trying to look like a professional photographer and not a woman who’s been counting down the hours until she can get Patterson Cross alone again. Thankfully, I’m now completely caught up with my paintings.
Patterson boards last and doesn’t look at me once during the flight. I spend the hour hyperaware of his presence three rows ahead while I track every movement of his in my peripheral vision.
We land, and buses take us to the hotel. It’s a luxury hotel downtown, called the W. It’s expensive, a place where celebrities and movie stars stay, but the owner is a sponsor of the team. Only the best for his New York Angels.
I glance up at the gigantic chandelier in the lobby. The team files toward the front desk, and I hang back, watching Patterson get his key and walk past me without a glance.
I wait until the lobby clears before approaching the desk with my warmest smile.
“Hi there. I’m Kendall Hart, traveling with the Angels.”
The woman looks tired, but not unfriendly. “What can I help you with?”
“This is going to sound weird, but can you tell me what room Patterson Cross is in?”
Her eyebrows rise slightly. “I’m not really supposed to—”
“I’m Coach Hart’s daughter.” I lean against the counter and lower my voice. “And Patterson Cross has been a thorn in my side. Total nightmare.”
Something shifts in her expression, a flicker of understanding. “I’ve checked in a lot of athletes, and I know the type.”
“Right? So, here’s the thing: I want to be on the same floor as him, close enough that if I hear anything like girls or partying or whatever, I can report it straight back to my father. I’m supposed to be keeping tabs on him.” I shrug innocently. “I’m supposed to keep him in line.”
A knowing smile spreads across her face. “He’s in 1748, and I can put you in 1747. Same floor, right next door.”
“That would be amazing. Is there any way you can add a note to my other reservations? We’re staying at the W in Chicago and DC,” I tell her.
“Of course, Ms. Hart.” She prints the new key card and slides it across the counter, and we exchange a look.
“Good luck,” she whispers. “He has quite the fan club.”
“Yes, he does,” I tell her, needing all the luck I can get.
I take the elevator to the seventeenth floor with my heart pounding and find my room, immediately checking for the connecting door. It’s on the right wall, and when I press my ear against it, I hear nothing.
My phone vibrates.
Chef
Kendall
Chef
Kendall
“Later,” I whisper, checking the time, knowing we both have to be downstairs for a team dinner within the hour. It’s a good call because I don’t want to rush with him, not tonight.
I shower and take my time getting ready, blow-drying my hair and applying minimal makeup before I pull out the champagne silk shirt.
The fabric slides over my skin, and I think about the last time I wore this color.
I pair it with dark jeans and simple jewelry, professional enough for a team dinner but designed to remind him of exactly what he did to me.
No bra because I want him to see what he does to me.
When I glance in the mirror, I look like a woman on a mission. I press my tinted lips together, knowing I look irresistible. Only problem is, I’ll be around thirty other men.
The team dinner is in a private room off the restaurant, and I end up directly across from Patterson.
He’s changed into a button-down that fits too well.
The sleeves are rolled up to show off his delicious tattoos.
When I sit down, his eyes shift down my body.
His jaw tightens, and his grip flexes around his water glass before he looks away. The attraction is undeniable.
He doesn’t look at me while he talks to Callan, who’s sitting right beside me, about tomorrow’s game.
Then I feel his foot press against mine under the table.
I nearly choke on my water as his toe traces up my ankle, nudging my legs apart under the tablecloth. He’s still talking to Callan about defensive coverage with his expression completely neutral while his foot slides higher up my thigh.
Wyatt is sitting to my left and asks me something about photography. I’m so distracted by Patterson’s touch that I have to make him repeat it twice.
Dinner lasts forty-five minutes, and Patterson tortures me through every single one of them with his foot resting between my thighs. With one flick of his eyes, I lose concentration.
“Sorry, I’m exhausted from working so much,” I tell Wyatt. “It distracts me in real-life settings.”
By the time plates are cleared, I’m so wound up that I can barely form sentences.
“I’m heading out. Good night, everyone,” I announce.
I give my dad a side hug as he chats with his assistant coaches.
“Already leaving?”
“It’s time for me to be an introvert,” I tell him with a laugh. “Good night, Dad.”
“Night, sweetheart. Breakfast at eight.”
“Sure thing,” I tell him.
Patterson doesn’t acknowledge me as I leave, but he notices.
I take the elevator alone and swipe into my room. As soon as the door closes, I lean against it, trying to catch my breath. All it takes is a simple look from him across the table, and my body buzzes. It’s like I am addicted.
A knock on the connecting door makes me jump.
I cross the room and pause. “Is that you?” I whisper.
I take a risk and yank it open. Before I can say a word, Patterson’s hot mouth is on mine.
We crash into each other like we’ve been starving for a week.
His hands are in my hair, and mine are clawing at his shirt.
A minute later, we’re stumbling backward into my room, knocking into the desk and sending the lamp wobbling.
He tastes like whiskey and desperation, and I bite his lip hard enough to draw blood because I need him to feel what this week has done to me.
“This fucking shirt,” he growls against my mouth, fisting the silk in his hand. “You wore this on purpose.”
“I wanted you to remember.”
“I haven’t forgotten a single second.” He pops the buttons open on my shirt before kissing down my neck and tweaking my nipple. “I’ve been hard since you sat down at dinner.”
“Good.” I’m yanking at his belt.
“I can’t get you out of my head, and I’ve tried, but I can’t fucking do it.”
“Shut up.” Buttons scatter across the floor because neither of us has the patience for careful. “Fuck me.”
He shoves my jeans down, and I kick them off while he fights with his own.
“Be careful what you wish for.”
We’re both frantic now with hands everywhere, mouths clashing in kisses that feel more like combat. Within a minute, we’re both naked and panting. Our lips don’t break apart as he walks me backward to the glass window.
He grabs my hips and spins me, shoving me forward until my palms hit the window.
I gasp when my nipples touch the cold glass.
His hands grip my waist. “Look at you, naked in front of a window, waiting to get fucked by someone you hate. What would Daddy think?”
I turn around and face him. “He’d never approve of you.”
A sly smirk graces his perfect lips. “Well, darling, luckily, I don’t need his permission.”
He goes to grab a condom, and I pull him back to me.
“I want to feel you.”
His brow pops up, and he swallows hard.
“I’m on birth control.”
Without saying a word, Patterson presses my palms against the glass and then moves behind me. A second later, he slams into me, and I cry out before I can stop myself.
His hand clamps over my mouth. “Do that again, and I’m leaving you dripping and desperate,” he warns.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” He starts moving, allowing my body to relax as I brace myself against the glass.
“There are people down there,” I moan out, wondering if they can see us. The thought has me stifling my moans while he pounds into me.
“You like this, the thought of people watching, of getting caught.”
“I like it when you shut the fuck up.”
He laughs, then slows down his pace when my body tenses. “Your mouth says one thing, but your pussy says another.”
His hand snakes around to find my clit. “You’re dripping down my cock, Ken Doll, absolutely soaked.”
“Are you going to make me come?” I ask, leaving the snark in my tone.
He continues working my clit, and I jerk forward, forehead hitting the glass.
“Keep it up, and maybe I’ll decide you don’t deserve any orgasms tonight.”
“Yeah, right. Or maybe you won’t be able to get me off to—”
He changes his angle and hits something so deep that I see white.
My knees buckle completely, legs giving out as the orgasm tears through me with no warning.
I start sliding down the glass, but his arm wraps around my waist and hauls me back up, pinning me in place with his body while I shake and clench around him.
“You were saying,” he mutters against my ear, and then his voice hardens. “Ass up, babe. Show me how you’re dripping for me.”
He pulls out and spins me around, lifting me onto the narrow window ledge. The cold glass shocks my skin, but then he’s back inside me, and I’m too far gone to care.
“What are you doing to me?” I gasp.
“Hating you so fucking much.” He thrusts deeper.
“Hate me harder.” I lose the words when he hits that spot again. “Mm-hmm. Right there. The warmth …”
My eyes roll into the back of my head as he slams his cock into me.
“Patterson.” His name comes out like a curse. “I—”
The orgasm doesn’t build; it detonates.
My vision goes black at the edges, and my entire body seizes around him, every muscle locking up as pleasure rips through me in waves I can’t control. I can’t breathe, and I can’t think, and I can’t do anything except cling to his shoulders while my world narrows down to this single moment.
This feeling is what I’ve been chasing my entire life. Everything about him completely unravels me, and I forget where I end and he begins. I’ve had orgasms before, but nothing like this, nothing that makes me feel like I’m dying and being reborn at the same time.
He follows with a groan, and his hips jerk against mine as he empties himself inside of me. I’m filled with warmth, with him. We kiss and stay connected with our foreheads pressed together.
“What have we done?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says.
For a second, something passes between us that feels dangerous, something that has nothing to do with hate.
“We can never be anything other than this,” Patterson says to me, and I feel like it’s for his own good. Not mine.
“I know,” I whisper.
“But—”
A knock on the door interrupts the next words he was going to say.
We both freeze, and his eyes widen.
“Kendall?”
When I hear my father’s voice, that’s when all hell breaks loose.