Chapter Fourteen #2
I nod. “He saw me this morning. Said I wouldn’t be the only one wearing your number today.”
Kane’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. “I don’t care what he says. I care that he said it to you.”
“I didn’t believe him,” I say quickly. “I just… hated that he knew I was wearing your number. And I know you have a crazy amount of fans, so of course I won’t be the only one wearing it.”
Kane exhales, slow and sharp. “You’re not just wearing it. You are it.”
I blink. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re mine,” he says. “And this is one of my actual jerseys. No one will be wearing it but you.” He brushes the hair out of my face, slow and deliberate, then drags his knuckles along my cheek.
The touch is featherlight, but it anchors me.
Like he’s tracing proof that I’m real. That we’re real.
Without thinking, I lean up on my toes and kiss him.
It’s not careful. It’s not rehearsed. It’s instinct—pure and immediate. His hands find my waist, steadying me, pulling me closer. The concrete wall presses cool against my back, but his body is all heat and tension and restraint.
He kisses me like he’s been waiting all day.
All week.
Maybe longer.
And I kiss him like I’m not afraid. Like the crowd doesn’t exist. Like the noise and the jersey and the risk don’t matter.
Because right now, it’s just us.
The kiss deepens, becomes less about impulse and more about…
need. A desperate, unspoken need that I hadn’t dared to acknowledge until this very moment.
His lips are firm, demanding, and I meet his urgency with a fervor of my own.
My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently, urging him closer still.
He groans softly, a low rumble that vibrates against my lips, and the sound sends shivers down my spine.
The world tilts, spins, and for a glorious, dizzying moment, I forget everything but the feel of his mouth on mine.
Then, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his football glove.
The leather is worn and softened with use, molded to the shape of his hand.
He slowly, deliberately, pulls it on, the action strangely intimate.
Then, he does something that completely throws me.
He raises his gloved hand and slowly, deliberately, glides it down the side of my leggings, from my hip to my knee.
The touch is light, almost fleeting, but the impact is electric.
My breath hitches in my throat. He watches my reaction, a knowing glint in his eyes.
“So I can smell you when I’m playing football later,” he whispers, his voice a low, suggestive purr as he presses his fingers between my legs.
“K-Kane, someone could see.” My voice trembles slightly as my legs open involuntarily.
“I need you to mark me, sunflower. I can’t keep sane if I don’t have a part of you with me. Do you trust me?”
Even with the war waging in my mind, I answer, “Yes.” I wouldn’t be in a secluded place with anyone else right now.
“I’m going to make you come all over my glove. And then I’m going to wear it for my game. Do you know why?”
My eyes flutter shut, head lolling back.
He leans close, his breath warm against my ear. “Because when I’m out on that field, I’ll be thinking of you. Of this. Of how you felt when I made you fall apart.”
His words are a brand against my skin. He wants to own every piece of me—my thoughts, my body, my pleasure. And the terrifying part? I want to give it to him. I want to be consumed by him.
He starts with his mouth, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, lower. His hands grip my waist, holding me steady as he works his way down my body. Every touch is a declaration. Every kiss is a promise.
When his mouth reaches the waistband of my leggings, he looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire. “I want to taste you, Blair. All of you.”
My breath hitches. My heart hammers. And then I nod.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and tugs them down, taking my panties with them. The cool air hits my skin, but it’s quickly replaced by the heat of his mouth. He’s not gentle. He’s not hesitant. He’s ravenous.
His tongue flicks against my clit, and I cry out, my back arching off the concrete wall. He’s not just tasting me. He’s devouring me. My hands fly to his hair, my fingers tangling in the soft strands as I pull him closer.
“Kane,” I gasp. “Oh, God, Kane.”
He doesn’t stop. He’s relentless. He’s determined. He’s going to wring every last drop of pleasure from my body until there’s nothing left but him. Until there’s nothing left but us.
My hips buck against his face as the pressure builds, a tidal wave of sensation threatening to pull me under. He’s playing me like an instrument, his tongue and teeth and lips working in perfect harmony to bring me to the brink of oblivion.
And then I’m there. Falling. Flying. Drowning in a sea of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. My scream echoes through the tunnel, a raw, primal sound of release. It’s not just an orgasm. It’s a surrender. A complete and total capitulation to the man who’s claiming me, body and soul.
He continues to lick me through the aftershocks, his glove tracing lazy circles on my inner thigh, collecting the evidence of my pleasure.
When I finally come back down to earth, he pulls back, his face glistening with my arousal.
He slowly, deliberately, brings his gloved hand to his mouth, and his tongue darts out to taste me.
A low growl rumbles in his chest. “Mine.”
He pushes himself up, his body hovering over mine, his eyes burning with an intensity that steals my breath. He brings the glove to his nose and inhales deeply, a look of pure satisfaction on his face.
“Now you’ll be with me when I play,” he says, his voice a low, possessive rumble. “Every tackle. Every throw. Every fucking breath I take on that field, I’ll taste you. I’ll feel you. I’ll know you’re watching.”
He leans in, his lips brushing against mine, a ghost of a kiss that promises so much more.
“And when I win… I’m coming for you. And you’re going to wear nothing but my jersey while I show you what victory tastes like.
” He stands, adjusting himself with a grimace of discomfort, and then he looks down at me, a predator admiring his prey.
“Don’t forget, sunflower. You’re mine now.
In every way that matters.” He winks, a sudden flash of charm that is completely at odds with the darkness I just experienced.
He pulls my pants up, meticulously making sure they are perfect from all directions.
We hear the whistle blow and Kane checks his watch.
“I’ve got to go get dressed. Can’t wait to see you shining in the stands. ”
And then he’s gone. Leaving me breathless, trembling, and more lost than I’ve ever been.
The scent of him, of us, hangs heavy in the air, a heady, intoxicating perfume that fills my lungs and clouds my mind.
My body hums with a residual pleasure, a deep, aching satisfaction that is both terrifying and exhilarating.
I take some deep breaths and follow the tunnel to the stands. On shaky legs, I climb the stairs until I get to Kinsley. She’s wearing school colors but not a jersey.
Kinsley spots me before I reach her, her eyes flicking to the jersey, then to my face. She doesn’t say anything right away. Just scoots over on the bleacher and pats the space beside her.
I sit, legs still trembling, heart still somewhere between the tunnel and his mouth.
“You okay?” she asks, voice low.
I nod, but it’s shaky. “I think so.”
She studies me for a second, then leans in. “You look like you just walked through a storm.”
“I did,” I whisper. “And I don’t know if I survived it or became part of it.”
Kinsley doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tease. Just reaches into her bag and hands me a water bottle. “Drink. Breathe. You’re here. That’s enough.”
I take it, fingers brushing hers. “You’re not wearing a jersey.”
She shrugs. “Didn’t feel right. I’m here for the team, but I’m not claiming anyone.”
I glance down at mine. Kane’s number. His scent. His words are still echoing in my head.
“Don’t forget, sunflower. You’re mine now.”
I press the bottle to my lips, the cold grounding me. The crowd is swelling, the energy rising, but I stay still. Stay quiet. Stay his.
Kinsley nudges me gently. “You’re glowing, by the way. Like… post-apocalyptic goddess meets football fever dream.”
I laugh, startled. “That’s horrifying.”
She grins. “It’s a compliment.”
And for the first time since I stepped out of that tunnel, I let myself smile.