16. Dakota
DAKOTA
The Monday morning light through Oath’s high windows hits differently.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s the way my body still hums from Saturday night, every muscle reminding me of hands and mouths and weight.
I rolled out of bed at six with a bruise on my hip in the shape of Eli’s fingers and a smile I couldn’t shake loose.
I push through the doors and the first thing I notice is Eli.
His shoulders sit lower. The crease that usually carves between his brows is gone. He’s leaning on the corner of the mat with a coffee in his hand, watching Cruz wrap his hands at the bench, and there’s a softness on his face I’ve never seen before.
Cruz catches me looking and grins. “Morning, sweetheart.”
“Morning.”
He stands and stretches, then walks past Eli toward the water cooler. His shoulder clips Eli’s on the way. Light. Deliberate.
Eli’s mouth twitches. “Watch it, Bennett.”
“Sorry, Coach. Big body. Hard to steer.”
Dante laughs from where he’s stretching against the wall, one leg up on a folding chair. He catches my eye and tips his chin.
I cross the mat to drop my bag, and my chest feels full enough that it almost hurts. Three days ago Eli wouldn’t look any of us in the eye for longer than a heartbeat. Now Cruz is brushing past him like it’s nothing and Eli’s letting him.
Then I see Brady.
He’s on the far side of the gym by the heavy bags, wrapping his hands. His head is down. He’s not warming up so much as going through motions, hands moving on autopilot. He glances up at Cruz and Eli, then away fast.
My stomach drops.
I’ve seen that face before. In bathroom mirrors. On bus windows. The look of someone trying very hard to take up no space at all.
“Dakota.” Eli’s voice. “Grappling rounds. Pair up.”
Cruz already has Dante by the elbow. “Dibs.”
“You always have dibs,” Dante breathes.
“Brady.” I walk over to the heavy bag. He looks up and his blue eyes are doing that thing where they try to land anywhere but on me. “Roll with me.”
His throat bobs. “Cruz usually—”
“Cruz has Dante. Come on.”
He hesitates a second too long. Then he nods and follows me to an open square of mat near the back wall.
We bow in. Slap and bump. The second my hand touches his, I feel it—he’s wound tight.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he replies, but it lacks any conviction.
“Mmhmm.”
I duck under his next attempt, secure an underhook, drive him backward until his shoulders hit the mat. He lets me take the top position. His chest is rising and falling too fast for the work we’ve actually done.
“Hands up. Defend.”
He frames against my collarbones. My thighs settle high around his ribs, and I plant my hands on his shoulders.
He’s not breathing.
“Brady,” I say his name.
His face is already flushed, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he’s memorizing the pattern of the rafters.
I bridge into him for the drill, hips rolling forward. Standard mount maintenance. Nothing I haven’t done a hundred times.
Except this time I feel him—hard, thick, unmistakable—pressed against my ass through our shorts.
His whole body goes rigid. The flush climbs from his neck to his hairline in seconds.
“Shit. Shit. Dakota, I—get off, I’m sorry—” He tries to buck me off, panicking, and I shift my weight to ride it out.
My hips roll with the movement and I feel every inch of him underneath me. Heat floods between my thighs so fast it makes me dizzy. I lean forward, palms pressing his shoulders into the mat, and grind down deliberately.
He makes a noise—half-groan, half-whimper—and his hands fly to my hips like he can’t decide if he wants to push me away or pull me closer.
“Dakota—” His voice cracks.
“Shh.” I roll my hips again, slower this time. Testing. His cock is right there, hard ridge pressing exactly where I’m already wet and aching. I bite my lip to keep from moaning. “Bodies do this, Brady. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I can’t—people are—” He’s trembling underneath me with his eyes squeezed shut and breathing ragged.
“No one’s watching us.” I lean down until my mouth is next to his ear, close enough that my breath ghosts across his skin. “But I am. And you should feel how fucking wet you’ve made me.”
His hips jerk up involuntarily and I gasp—quiet, but he hears it. His eyes fly open and lock on mine.
“You—” He can’t finish the sentence.
I shift my weight forward again, just slightly, and his grip on my hips tightens. “Yeah, I’m turned on too.” My voice comes out rougher than I expect. “So maybe stop apologizing and just breathe through it.”
“I don’t—I can’t think when you’re—” Another helpless grind of his hips, and this time I don’t hide my reaction. My mouth parts on a soft sound and his pupils expand.
“Dakota.” My name sounds like a prayer and a curse. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“I don’t know.” He’s shaking harder now. “Just—something. Anything.”
I want to kiss him. Want to rock on him until we’re both coming in our gym clothes with Cruz and Dante twenty feet away. Want to drag him to the locker room and let him fuck me against the wall until neither of us can stand.
Instead, I drag my nails lightly down his chest, watching goosebumps chase the path. “We’re going to finish this round. Then you’re going to go home and think about this. About me on top of you. About how hard you are. About what you want to do about it.”
He makes that sound again—wrecked, desperate.
“And tomorrow,” I murmur, grinding down one more time just to watch his eyes roll back, “we’re going to do this drill again. And the next day. Until you stop running from what you want.”
His jaw works. “I’m not—”
“You are. And that’s okay.” I sit back up, hands still on his shoulders, weight still pinning him. Let him feel all of me. “I’ll wait.”
His hands are still on my hips, thumbs pressing into the bone there like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me.
“Now,” I say, voice steady even though I know I’m soaked through my underwear and aching for him, “roll us. Sweep me. Show me you can still function.”
He blinks, dazed. The command cuts through the haze. His hand finds my wrist, hips bridge, and he rolls us with more force than necessary—like he needs to prove something to himself. I land on my back and he’s in my guard, breathing hard, the worst of the panic replaced by something hungrier.
“Good,” I tell him. “Again.”
We drill for another ten minutes. Every time I end up on top of him, I make sure he feels it.
Every bridge of my hips, every shift of weight, every time I lean forward to adjust position and my chest brushes his.
He’s hard the entire time. I’m wet and throbbing and trying very hard to look like I’m just training.
By the time Eli calls switch, Brady looks like he’s been through the wringer. His shirt is soaked, his hands are shaking, and he won’t meet my eyes.
But when he stands, he doesn’t bother hiding the obvious tent in his shorts anymore. He just grabs his water bottle and walks to Cruz with his head high.
Progress.
Dante meets me with a knowing look. “You good, baby?”
“Just peachy.”
He doesn’t believe me. His eyes drop briefly to where I’m pressing my thighs together, then back up. One eyebrow rises.
“Later,” I mouth.
He grins. “Yeah. Later.”
We start drilling. Half guard passes. Dante’s hands settle on my hip to adjust the angle, fingers warm through my leggings, and across the mat I hear Brady’s breath catch.
I look.
He’s facing Cruz, framing up for the bow. But his eyes are on Dante’s hand on my hip. Just for a second. Then they jump to Eli, who’s walked over to spot Cruz’s posture, his hand resting briefly between Cruz’s shoulder blades. Brady’s eyes track that hand too.
He sees me watching. Looks away fast.
The rest of the session, I watch him watching.
I watch the way his gaze finds Cruz’s hands when Cruz wraps his arm around Eli’s shoulder during a water break, Cruz saying something that makes Eli shake his head and almost smile. Brady’s jaw works.
I watch him when Dante laughs at something I’ve said and tilts his head toward me, that easy public claim. Brady’s eyes flick away like he’s been burned.
I watch him when Cruz pulls his shirt off between rounds because he’s overheated, tattoos rolling across his chest, and Brady stares for one beat too long before he forces his gaze down to his wraps.
I watch him swallow. I watch the line of his throat. I watch his hands shake when he tries to retape his knuckles.
He wants us.
All of us.
I knew Cruz, suspected the rest. But this morning, I see it plain as day.
Brady doesn’t just want Cruz. He wants the way Cruz looks at Eli.
He wants the way Dante’s hand sits on my hip without apology.
He wants the whole picture, and he is so afraid of what that means about him that he can’t even let himself look for more than a second.
My chest goes tight and strange.
We cool down in a loose circle on the mat, all of us pulling on hoodies against the sweat going cold.
Cruz is sprawled with his head in Dante’s lap, which is new and Dante allows with a tiny smirk.
Eli is sitting cross-legged like a coach is supposed to, except his knee is touching Cruz’s calf and neither of them is moving.
Brady sits a foot further away than the rest of us. He pulls his knees up and rests his arms across them and stares at the floor.
“Same time tomorrow,” Eli says. “Brady, your cardio looked clean today. Stay on the program through Wednesday, then we taper.”
“Yeah, Coach.”
“Dakota, my office before you go. Numbers.”
“Got it.”
Cruz cracks an eye open. “You sure that’s all you want her in your office for?”
“Cruz.”
“Coach.”
Eli’s ears go pink. He stands and walks toward his office. Cruz laughs into Dante’s thigh and Dante swats the top of his head. The whole time I’m watching Brady’s face.
He smiles. Small. Polite. Like he’s watching a family through a restaurant window.
Then he stands and heads for the locker room without saying goodbye.
“Brady—”
“Gonna grab a shower. See you tomorrow.”
Dante’s head turns. He watches Brady go. Then he looks at me.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Dakota.”
I meet his eyes. Cruz is still half-asleep on his lap, Eli is in his office, and it’s just us for a heartbeat.
“He needs more time than we’re giving him.”
Dante’s expression shifts. Cruz opens both eyes now, attention sharpening.
“What’s going on with Brady?”
“Nothing.” I push to my feet. “Yet.”
I walk toward Eli’s office, feeling two sets of eyes on my back, and I make a promise to Brady in my head.
You’re not alone in this. I’m going to make sure you know that you belong with us.