18. Dean
Dean
The second her hands find my neck, it’s over.
The three years I spent convincing myself I was too old, too professional, too calculated for her?
They vanish. The leash I’ve kept on my own throat since the day she started working for the team doesn’t just fray—it disintegrates.
I’ve spent every practice and every late-night meeting cataloging the way she breathes, and now that I finally have her mouth under mine, I’m done being the bigger man.
I break the kiss just an inch, my forehead resting against hers, my breath coming in jagged, shallow hits. I can feel her heart hammering against my chest—a frantic, beautiful rhythm that I intend to own by the time the sun comes up.
"Look at me, Maddie," I rasp.
She opens her eyes, and they’re glassy, dark with a hunger that matches my own. It wrecks me. It makes the possessive, territorial beast I’ve kept caged roar to life.
"You have no idea what you just started," I whisper, my thumbs tracing the line of her jaw, tilting her face up. "I’ve stood by for three years and watched you become the most incredible woman I’ve ever known, and I didn't touch. I told myself you were off-limits. But that's over now."
I slide my hands down, fisting them in the hem of her shirt, and I don't ask. I pull it over her head in one fluid motion, my eyes roaming over her like I’m seeing the sun for the first time.
"Beautiful," I breathe, the word a vow. "So goddamn beautiful, Baby."
I move her back against the cushions of the couch, my frame eclipsing the light in the room until I’m the only thing she can see. I’m not just kissing her now; I’m claiming her. I’m an expert at reading people, at knowing exactly where their breaking point is, and I’m going to find hers tonight.
"You’re shaking," I note, my voice dropping into that low, coaching register—the one that demands focus. "Is it because you’re cold, or is it because you’ve been thinking about my hands on you as much as I’ve been thinking about yours?"
I don't wait for an answer. I lean down, my mouth trailing a path of fire from her ear to the hollow of her throat, where I can feel her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird.
"I’m going to give you everything you’ve been dreaming of," I promise, my hand sliding down to the button of her jeans, my thumb applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. "But you’re going to do exactly what I tell you. You’re going to take every bit of the pleasure I’m about to give you, and you’re going to tell me how much you like it. Understood?"
I look up, my gaze locking onto hers, letting her see the man behind the whistle. The man who is absolutely, terrifyingly obsessed with her.
"Say it, Baby. Tell me you understand that you’re mine tonight."
I don't wait for her to answer with words. Her eyes are wide, her chest heaving, and the small, shattered sound she makes when my thumb brushes over the seam of her jeans is all the confirmation I need.
"That's my girl," I murmur, my voice dropping an octave as I lean in, my nose brushing hers. "I want to hear everything, Maddie. Every breath, every moan. If I’m doing something you like, you let me know. You don't hide a single thing from me tonight."
"Dean..." she whimpers, her head falling back against the cushion as I finally pop the button of her denim. "I've... I've thought about this for so long."
"I know you have, Baby. But your imagination didn't do me justice. Let me show you."
I don't rush. I’m a coach; I know that the best plays are built on a solid foundation.
I slide my hand inside the denim, my palm flat against her stomach first, feeling the way she trembles under my touch.
When I finally slide lower, finding her slick and scorching hot, I let out a low, rough growl of pure satisfaction.
"God, you're so ready for me," I rasp, my fingers beginning a slow, rhythmic exploration that has her back arching off the couch. "Tell me, Maddie. Tell me how that feels."
"It’s... it's too much," she gasps, I start to pull out some but her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. Her voice is thick, breathy, and completely undone. "Please... don't stop. It feels... perfect."
"Perfect is just the start," I promise, picking up the pace, my eyes locked on her face so I don't miss a single flicker of her expression. I want to memorize this—the way her lips part, the way her eyes go glassy. I’m not just getting her off; I’m marking her. I’m making sure that from this second on, no one else will ever be enough.
She's sobbing my name now, her hips stuttering against my hand in a frantic, beautiful rhythm. I can feel the tension winding up in her, the way her internal muscles are starting to clamp down.
"That's it, Baby. Give it to me. Show me how much you want this."
When she finally breaks, her body shuddering under mine, I catch her scream with my mouth, kissing her deeply as she comes apart. I don't give her time to recover. Before she can even catch her breath, I’m sliding my arms under her knees and her back, hauling her up into my chest.
"Dean?" she murmurs, her voice dazed and sweet.
"I've got you," I say, my voice a dark, steady vow. I start toward the bedroom, my grip on her possessive and unyielding. "The couch was just the warm-up, Maddie. We’re going to my bed now, and I’m going to show you exactly what 'forever' looks like."
She doesn't know it yet. She thinks this is a night she’s finally allowed herself to have. She doesn't realize that I’ve already decided. I’m not just crossing the line tonight—I’m moving the line so far she’ll never find her way back to a life without me in it.
"I'm never letting you go, Baby," I whisper against her temple as I lay her down on the silk of my sheets. "You're mine now. You just haven't realized it's permanent yet."
I lay her back against my pillows, and for a heartbeat, I just stand there, taking her in.
The light from the hallway catches the curves I’ve spent three years trying not to look at, and the sight of her—messy-haired, flushed, and looking at me like I’m her entire world—nearly brings me to my knees.
"Dean?" she whispers, her voice a soft, shaky question.
"I'm here, Baby." I reach for my belt, the leather creaking in the quiet room. "And I’m not going anywhere. But like I told you on the couch... tonight, you do exactly what I say."
I don't just take the belt off; I wrap it once around my palm, letting her hear the snap of the leather. Her eyes widen, her breath hitching in a way that tells me she’s not scared—she’s excited.
"Hands above your head," I command, my voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that brook no argument. "Both of them. Now."
She obeys instantly, her arms stretching up, exposing the vulnerable line of her ribs and the frantic beat of her heart.
I move onto the bed, looming over her, and use the soft leather of the belt to loosely secure her wrists to the headboard.
I’m not hurting her—I’m just taking away her ability to hide from how much I’m about to make her feel.
"There," I murmur, my thumb dragging over her bottom lip. "Now you’re right where I want you."
I lean down, my hand sliding around the back of her neck, my thumb and forefinger applying a gentle, steady pressure. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her who’s in charge—to make the world narrow down to the air we’re sharing.
"Breathe for me, Maddie," I rasp against her lips. "Deep breaths, Baby. I want you to feel every second of this."
I move down her body, my mouth following the path I’ve been mapping out in my head for three years. When I get to her thighs, I don't just move them; I manhandle them, forcing them wide so she’s completely open to me.
"You're so beautiful like this," I praise, my voice thick with heat as I look at her. "So open. So mine."
I don't go slow this time. I want her to know the weight of the man she’s been circling. I move back up, my hand flat against her stomach, and then—with a sudden, sharp crack—I let my palm meet the soft skin of her outer thigh.
She gasps, a high, shocked sound that turns into a long, low moan as the sting turns to heat.
"That's it," I growl, watching the way her hips stutter against the mattress. "Give me those sounds, Baby. I want to hear how much you like being handled. I want to hear you admit that you’ve wanted me to take control since the day you walked into my office."
"I have," she sobs, her head thrashing against the pillows, her wrists straining against the leather. "Dean... please. I want you inside. I need to feel you."
"Not yet," I murmur, my hand sliding back to her throat, my thumb resting over her pulse. I watch her eyes go glassy as I hold her there, right on the edge of the abyss. "We’re going to take our time. I’ve waited three years for this, Maddie. I’m going to make sure you remember the first time I claimed you for the rest of your life. "
I look down at her, my heart hammering a territorial rhythm. She thinks this is just a night of finally crossing the line. She doesn't see the way I’m looking at her—like she’s the only trophy I’ve ever cared about winning.
"You're mine, Baby. Every moan, every tear, every inch of this skin. It all belongs to me now."
"Dean..." she gasps, her voice breaking as I trail my teeth along the sensitive line where her shoulder meets her neck. "Please... I’m going to lose it."
"Then lose it, Baby," I mutter, my hand tightening just a fraction on her throat, my thumb feeling the frantic, erratic skip of her pulse. "I’ve got you. I’m the only one who's ever going to have you like this. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she whimpers, her body arching off the silk sheets, her wrists still anchored by my belt.
I shift, the weight of my frame settling between her legs.
I’m a big man—built for a sport that rewards grit and power—and I want her to feel every bit of it.
I guide myself to her, the friction of her heat nearly snapping the last of my coaching restraint.
I don't just slide in. I press—slow, heavy, and deliberate—watching her face as I stretch her, inch by agonizing inch.
"Look at me, Maddie. Open those eyes."
She does, and they’re glassy, blown wide with the shock of finally being filled.
"That's it," I growl, my breath hitching as I finally bottom out, burying myself to the hilt. The air leaves her in a beautiful, broken sob, and I stay there for a heartbeat, just feeling the way her body clamps down on me like she’s trying to memorize the shape of me. "You’re so tight, Baby. Like you were built just to hold me. Tell me how that feels. Tell me you’ve been waiting for this as much as I have. "
"I have," she cries out, her hips stuttering upward, trying to find a rhythm. "It’s... it’s everything. You're everything, Dean."
I start to move—a deep, punishing rhythm that echoes the way I used to hit the boards. Unforgiving. Relentless. But my voice is all worship.
"Good girl," I praise, my hand leaving her neck to cup her jaw, my thumb dragging hard over her lower lip. "Take all of it. Show me how well you can handle me. Because I’m not stopping until I’ve marked every part of you."
I pick up the pace, the bed creaking under the force of my drive. I’m not being gentle anymore. I’m being possessive. Every thrust is me telling her that she’s staying. That there is no world where she goes back to being just the social media manager who works for my team.
"You’re mine," I rasp, my vision blurring as the pressure in my blood reaches the breaking point. "You hear me, Maddie? From this second on, you don't breathe without my permission. You don't look at another man without remembering exactly how I'm filling you up right now."
She’s sobbing now, a high, needy sound that has my heart hammering against my ribs. Her release hits her like a wave, her internal muscles pulsing around me in a frantic, rhythmic squeeze that has me seeing red.
"That's it, Baby," the "Baby" sounding like a vow as I surge into her one last time. "Give it all to me. Give me forever."
I collapse into her, my head buried in the crook of her neck, my chest heaving as I try to find my oxygen. I’m spent. I’m leveled. And as I feel her small hands—finally free of the belt—come up to cradle my head, I realize I’ve finally won the only game that ever mattered.