Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Wild
California feels different.
The air is thinner somehow. Lighter. Or maybe that’s just me.
We’re here for a game against the Cougars, the hotel overlooking palm trees and traffic instead of the skyline I’m used to. The guys are scattered through the lobby. Some grabbing food, some heading out, but I stayed back tonight.
I’m standing at the window of my room, looking out at a city that isn’t mine, and all I can think about is her.
The last few weeks replay in my head like highlights.
Only these aren’t the kind that show up on sports channels.
They’re better.
Sneaking out separately after team meetings so no one notices we leave at the same time. Her walking three steps ahead of me in the parking garage, pretending she doesn’t know me until we’re safely inside my truck. The quiet laughs we share about how ridiculous it all feels.
Late nights at my place with the lights low, cooking together because she refuses to let me always order takeout. She’s still terrible at chopping vegetables. I’m still dramatic about it.
Romantic dinners that started as pizza and turned into actual effort. Candles once. Wine twice. The third time she brought over a playlist and danced barefoot in my kitchen like she forgot how careful she’s supposed to be.
Long talks on my couch that lasted until two in the morning. About her parents. About my mom. About the things that shaped us before we ever met.
And then there were the quiet moments.
Her curled against my chest after everything else faded. The way she traces the ink on my arm absentmindedly while we talk. The way she says my full name like it belongs to her and not the crowd.
I’ve never done this before.
Not like this.
I don’t usually let women see the part of me that isn’t loud or cocky or untouchable. I don’t usually care when they leave in the morning.
But when Amelia slips out before sunrise so no one sees her car outside my building, I feel it.
I miss her before she’s even gone.
I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll through our messages.
Amelia: Did you land?
Me: Yeah. Miss you already.
Amelia: Focus on baseball, Wilder.
Me: I can do both.
That’s the thing.
She doesn’t compete with the game.
She fits beside it.
On the mound tonight, I felt her absence in a way I didn’t expect. Before my first pitch, I glanced toward the stands out of habit. She wasn’t there. Of course, she wasn’t, California’s a long way from home, but my body still looked.
I pitched well. Damn well. Eight strikeouts. One earned run. We took the win.
The guys celebrated. I went through the motions. Interviews. Handshakes. The mask in place.
But now, alone in this room, the quiet is louder than the crowd ever was.
I drop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.
This is what full bloom feels like, I think.
Not fireworks. Not chaos.
Steady.
Intentional.
Real.
I don’t know how we’re going to keep this from Kamden forever. I don’t know how long we can walk that line without getting burned.
But I’m not sneaking around forever.
Because Amelia Bronwyn isn’t a secret.
She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
And I’m done pretending she’s anything less.
New York feels right again the second I walk into my apartment and she’s there.
Shoes kicked off by the door. Her sweater folded over the arm of the couch. The faint scent of her shampoo clinging to the air like she belongs here.
Because she does.
We don’t rush each other when I get back from California. There’s no dramatic kiss at the door. No desperate tearing at clothes.
Instead, we curl up on the couch like we’ve done a hundred times before.
She’s tucked into my side, legs thrown over mine, her cheek resting against my chest. My fingers drift lazily up and down her back, memorizing the shape of her like I’m afraid distance might steal it again.
“I’ve never missed someone like this,” I admit quietly.
The words feel heavy. Honest. Exposed.
She shifts slightly, tilting her head to look at me. Her eyes are soft, searching.
“I know that feeling,” she says.
There’s something deeper in her tone than simple agreement.
I lean down and kiss her lips gently, slow and unhurried. She sighs into my mouth, and before I know it, I’m pulling her to straddle me, her knees settling on either side of my hips.
Her hands rest on my shoulders, and for a moment we just look at each other.
“The very first time I came to your place,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “I told you I was as good at locking things up as you were.”
She smiles faintly. “I replied with I have no idea how right you are.”
“I remember,” I say. “I remember everything when it comes to you.”
Her grin softens into something almost shy. She leans down and kisses my cheek.
“I can’t believe you’d remember something so small.”
“It wasn’t small,” I murmur. “Nothing about you is.”
She wraps her arms around my neck, holding me closer.
“You should let people see this side of you more often,” she whispers.
I tilt my head slightly. “Don’t deflect, Doc. What did you mean by that?”
Her body goes still for just a second.
Then she exhales.
“It was high school,” she begins, her voice quiet but steady. “I was sixteen. I thought I was older than I was. Smarter than I was.”
My hands tighten instinctively at her waist.
“It was a junior varsity baseball player,” she continues. “He’d been flirting with me for weeks. I liked the attention. Liked feeling wanted.”
She swallows.
“We were on the field one night. I thought we were just going to talk. But he wanted more. And when I said no…” Her jaw tightens. “He didn’t listen right away.”
My blood turns to ice. I want to kill someone I’ve never met.
“Kamden heard me screaming,” she says. “He was nearby. Practicing late. He ran out there and pulled him off me.”
I feel something primal rise in my chest, anger, protective and fierce.
“Nothing happened,” she says quickly, like she knows exactly where my mind went. “But I was scared. And it changed something in me. It made me realize how quickly excitement can turn into fear.”
Her fingers press lightly into my shoulders.
“Trust hasn’t been easy since then. Especially not with baseball players.”
That one lands hard.
I rest my forehead against hers, breathing slowly, fighting the urge to break something for something that happened years ago.
“You never have to be scared of me,” I say quietly, every word deliberate. “Not ever.”
Her eyes search mine, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache.
“I swear to you,” I continue, my hands sliding up her back, holding her close but careful, “I will never touch you without you wanting it. I will never make you feel cornered. And I will never let anyone hurt you again if I can stop it.”
Her breath trembles slightly.
“You don’t have to protect me from everything,” she whispers.
“Maybe not,” I reply. “But I want to.”
Silence settles around us, thick but not heavy.
She presses her face into my neck, and I wrap my arms around her fully, holding her like she’s something precious instead of fragile.
Because she’s not fragile.
She’s strong.
But strength doesn’t mean she didn’t get hurt.
And as I sit there with her wrapped around me, I realize with terrifying clarity, this isn’t just desire.
It’s devotion.
And love. I’m in love, and there’s no doubt about it.
There’s no time to reflect on the thought, though.
She kisses along my neck, slow and deliberate, and a groan rips out of me before I can stop it.
But I catch her wrists gently.
“We don’t need to do anything tonight,” I say, still breathing hard. “You told me something big. We can just—”
She pulls back, eyes narrowing.
“Don’t do that, Wilder.”
Her tone isn’t soft. It’s firm.
“Don’t start treating me differently because I told you something about my past. I’ve never treated you differently for anything you’ve shared with me.” Her fingers slide into my hair, holding my gaze. “Everything that happened in my past and your past made us who we are. Right here. Right now.”
She leans in, kissing the line of my jaw, then my neck again. Slow. Intentional.
“I missed you,” she whispers against my skin.
Another kiss.
“I want to be with you.”
Another.
“I need the release that only you can give me.”
That does it.
I stand so fast she lets out a small laugh of surprise, her legs wrapping around my waist automatically as I lift her. I carry her down the hall, kicking my bedroom door closed behind us.
There’s no hesitation now.
She slides down my body slowly, hands gliding over my chest, and I tug my shirt over my head, tossing it aside.
“Now take yours off,” I say, voice rough.
She does, grinning like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
I step back just long enough to strip off my jeans. “Your turn.”
She peels hers off without breaking eye contact.
We stand there for a second, both of us breathing harder than the moment calls for. The rest of the layers fall away between us, and even after every time we’ve been together, she still hits me the same way.
Every. Single. Time.
“You take my breath away,” I admit quietly.
Her expression softens for half a second before that spark returns.
I nod toward the bed.
“Get on the bed,” I say, my voice dropping. “On your hands and knees.”
Her eyes darken.
She likes when I take charge.
And I love that she trusts me enough to let me.
As she moves onto the bed, slow and deliberate, my chest tightens, not just with desire, but with something deeper.
She isn’t fragile.
She isn’t broken.
She’s powerful.
And she chose to be here.
With me.
I crawl onto the bed behind her, one hand sliding up her spine, leaning down to press a kiss between her shoulders.
“You’re safe,” I murmur against her skin.
She looks back at me over her shoulder, eyes dark, breath already uneven.
That look flips something inside me.
I grip her hips and pull her back against me harder this time, not asking. She gasps softly, and I lean down, biting gently at the curve of her shoulder.
“You like when I take control,” I murmur.
She doesn’t deny it.
Her fingers grip the sheets, anticipation vibrating through her body. I slide one hand up her spine and press her lower against the mattress, holding her there, firm and unyielding.
“Stay,” I command.
The word lands heavy between us.
She shivers.
I trail my mouth down her back, slower than she wants, deliberately building the tension until she shifts impatiently beneath me.
“Wilder,” she breathes.
I tighten my grip just slightly.
“Say it,” I tell her.
She turns her head, eyes blazing. “Don’t stop.”
That’s all I need.
I move over her with intention, control threading through every touch. My hands explore her like I own the right to, but I don’t rush it. Rough doesn’t mean careless. It means deliberate. It means knowing exactly how much she can take and giving her just a little more.
I slam into her, stretching her just right as her pussy squeezes me tightly.
I don’t slow my pace. I couldn’t if I tried.
My fingers sink into her hips as I pound into her, pushing both of us toward a release we are in desperate need of.
“Watching my dick slam into your wet pussy is so fucking hot,” I hiss.
“Fuck,” she cries out, loving when I talk to her like that.
I keep one hand tightly on her hip, while I reach up with the other and grab her hair, pulling her head back.
Her moans get louder, less restrained. She presses back against me, matching my rhythm, pushing me closer to the edge of losing control.
“That’s it, Amelia, keep moving your sexy body with mine.”
I pull her up suddenly, bringing her back against my chest, one arm wrapping around her, holding her steady.
“You feel that?” I whisper against her ear. “That’s what you do to me.”
She arches harder, breath stuttering.
The room fills with the sound of skin, breath, and the quiet authority in my voice guiding her through every movement.
When she tries to take over, I flip us without warning, pinning her wrists gently above her head. Not to overpower her, but to remind her.
“You trust me?” I ask, voice low.
Her answer is immediate. “Yes.”
That word hits deeper than anything else.
I lean down and kiss her harder this time. Claiming, consuming. My body pressing into hers with no space left between us.
She isn’t fragile.
She isn’t hesitant.
She’s fierce.
And she wants this just as much as I do.
“Look at me,” I demand. Her eyes collide with mine and I swear I see into her soul. “I know you’re close and I want to watch you come undone.”
I drive into her, feeling my own release right on the edge, but she cries out as her hits moments before mine.
“Wilder!”
Fuck, hearing my name fall from her lips does me in. My release hits hard and fast, both of us moaning in ecstasy.
By the time we finally collapse into each other, breathing ragged, bodies tangled, the dominance has melted into connection, which is just as powerful.
I brush my thumb along her jaw, studying her flushed face.
“You’re mine,” I say quietly.
Not ownership.
Not possession.
Just certainty.
And she smiles like she likes the sound of that.