20. Dean
Dean
She’s still standing in front of me when she says it, her voice quieter now, softer than it was a few minutes ago, but there’s something steady underneath it that wasn’t there before.
“I just… I need a minute before it becomes something everyone else gets to see.”
I study her for a second, really look at her, not just what she’s saying but what’s sitting behind it. The way she’s holding herself. The way she’s asking without pulling away. There’s no fear in it. No hesitation about us.
Just… caution. And I get that.
I exhale slowly, letting the tension settle instead of pushing against it, my hand still resting at the back of her neck, my thumb moving once in a slow, grounding pass before I let it drop.
“You will not be a secret, Maddie.” My voice stays even, not sharp, not pushing—just certain. That part isn’t something I’m willing to bend on. Not for her. Not for anyone. “You deserve more than that.”
She shakes her head almost immediately, stepping in just enough that I know she’s not pulling away from me, just from the idea of it.
“That’s not what I mean,” she says, her voice a little stronger now, like she’s trying to make sure I actually hear her this time. “I don’t want to be your secret. I just… I don’t want the media or the guys getting into it before we’ve had a chance to see where this goes.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, holding there, searching, like she’s waiting to see if I’m going to push back again, if I’m going to decide this for her the way I did earlier.
“I just want us to have a minute,” she adds, quieter now.
That shifts it. Not away from what I want. Just… enough for me to meet her there.
“Fine.” The word comes out slower than usual, but there’s no frustration in it. Just adjustment. “We won’t tell everyone.” Her shoulders ease just slightly at that, and I catch it, even if she doesn’t realize she showed it. “But we’re telling Mark.”
That part can't change. I hold her gaze when I say it, making sure she understands I’m not backing off that line.
“I’m not putting you or your job in jeopardy because it looks like we’re hiding something,” I continue, my voice steady, grounded in something that has nothing to do with control and everything to do with protecting what she’s built.
“You’re too good at what you do to have that questioned because of me. ”
She watches me for a second, weighing it, and then she nods. “Okay.”
The agreement settles between us easily enough, but I can already see there’s something else coming. It’s in the way she shifts, the way her fingers curl slightly like she’s bracing for it.
“You have to promise me something.” My jaw tightens before she even finishes, because I already know where this is going.
“Don’t go after Tyler,” she says, her voice quieter now, but firm in a way that tells me this matters more than anything else she’s asked for.
“He’s leaving. He’ll be gone soon. I just… I want to forget about it.”
The red flickers. Sharp. Immediate. It doesn’t take over.
But it’s there. Everything in me is still wired to go back and handle it the way I know how, to make sure he never even thinks about touching her again, let alone putting his hands on her the way he already has.
But this—this is hers. Her call. And I meant what I said. I’m in this with her. All the way.
I exhale slowly, forcing it down, forcing it into something I can control instead of something that controls me.
“I don’t like it,” I admit, my voice lower now, honest in a way I don’t usually let myself be.
“Not even a little.” Her eyes flicker slightly at that, like she expected me to fight harder.
“But I’ll support whatever you decide,” I continue, holding her gaze, making sure she hears that part just as clearly.
“If you want it left alone, it’s left alone. ”
The words don’t come easy. But they come solid.
Because if I’m going to do this with her—I’m doing it right.
I don’t give her too much time to think about it.
Not the conversation. Not the tension that followed it.
Not the way her mind is already trying to run ahead of something we haven’t even had the chance to build yet.
Instead, I reach for her hand. She lets me take it without hesitation, her fingers sliding into mine like they’ve already learned where they belong, and I use it to guide her back toward the bed.
“Now you stole my cuddle time,” I tell her, my tone lighter now, something teasing threading through it as I pull the sheets back. “I want it back.”
That gets her attention. She looks at me, something softer still sitting in her expression from everything we just worked through—and then I see the exact moment it shifts.
Because she realizes. I didn’t get dressed.
Her eyes drop. Slow. Unintentional at first…
and then very intentional. I don’t move.
Don’t rush it. I just watch her watch me, the way her gaze traces down my chest, over my stomach, and then—stops.
Her focus locks there, her head tilting just slightly, curiosity taking over before anything else has the chance to.
I can’t help the smirk that pulls at my mouth.
Her hand lifts before she even seems to realize she’s doing it, her fingers brushing along the tip of my cock with a kind of cautious curiosity that makes my chest tighten for a completely different reason than anything earlier.
“What is that?” she asks softly. Her touch is light. Barely there. But it’s enough. I let out a short laugh under my breath when I feel the immediate reaction, the way my body responds without permission, and my cock jumps.
She jerks her hand back like it surprised her. “Does it hurt?” she asks quickly, her eyes flicking back up to mine.
I shake my head, still half laughing. “No. It’s a piercing.”
That earns me a small glare, her nose scrunching slightly as she processes it, her curiosity not even close to gone. “Obviously.” She reaches for it again but stops. “How come I didn’t notice?” she asks, glancing back down again before catching herself.
“It’s an apadravya,” I explain, watching her face as she tries to follow along. “I can change the ends to different sizes. I usually keep the smaller ones on.”
Her brows pull together, clearly trying to picture what that means, and I can’t help the quiet chuckle that slips out again.
“Trust me,” I add, my voice dropping just slightly, something more intentional threading through it now. “I’ll be switching them out now that I have you.”
That gets a reaction. A real one. Her eyes snap back up to mine, something flustered and curious and completely unguarded flickering across her face all at once.
I don’t push it further. Not yet. Instead, I slide back into the bed, pulling the sheets up as I settle in, reaching for her again before she has the chance to overthink herself out of the moment.
“But right now,” I say, my hand wrapping around her wrist, guiding her down with me, “we cuddle.”
She comes easily this time. No hesitation. No resistance. She falls asleep faster than I expect.
One minute she’s shifting slightly against me, her fingers absentmindedly tracing along my chest like she’s trying to stay present, and the next—she’s gone. Her breathing evens out, her body softening in a way that tells me she finally let go of everything she’s been holding onto.
I don’t move. I don’t want to risk it. Because she’s tucked into me like she belongs there, her head resting right over my heart, her arm draped across my stomach, her leg barely brushing mine under the sheets.
Every part of her fits without effort, like this position was made for us and we just hadn’t found it yet.
I’ve never done this before. Not like this. Not taking the middle of the day and letting it slow down into nothing. Not staying in bed with someone without an agenda, without a plan, without needing to be somewhere else or do something more important.
This should feel like wasted time. It doesn’t. It feels like the first time I’ve actually stopped moving in a long time.
My hand moves slowly along her back, the same path over and over, not because I’m thinking about it—because I’m not—but because I don’t want to stop touching her. I don’t want to break whatever this is, whatever calm settled into me the second she stopped fighting it.
I normally would be itching to do something. Knowing I have a never ending to do list always has my brain going. But, I did get some work in earlier.
I watched tape and broke down the next team we’re facing.
They’re fast, aggressive, not afraid to push the pace early and force mistakes.
It’s going to be a fight. Good. I don’t mind a fight.
But I don’t like losing. Not at home. Not in front of our crowd.
I’ll push the guys tomorrow. Harder than I usually do.
They’ll hate me for it in the moment, but they’ll show up ready when it matters.
That part of me doesn’t turn off. It never does.
But right now—it’s quieter. Because every time my focus tries to drift back to it, I feel her shift slightly against me, her breath brushing my chest, her body reacting even in her sleep like she knows I’m here.
I tighten my arm around her without thinking, pulling her just a little closer.
She responds immediately, a soft sound leaving her as she nuzzles into me, her hand curling slightly against my skin like she’s anchoring herself without waking up.
Something in my chest tightens at that. Not sharp.
Not painful. Just…full. I glance down at her, taking in the way her face has completely softened, the tension that was there earlier gone now, replaced with something peaceful in a way I didn’t know she could look.
I can’t believe I finally have her here.
Not just in my bed. In my arms. Like this.
Her head resting against my chest does something to me I don’t have a name for.
It settles me in a way that feels too similar to the way that stupid hair tie has been grounding me for months, like having a piece of her close was enough to keep something in me steady.
This—this is more than that. This is the real thing.
And I don’t think I could go back to not having it now that I know what it feels like.
My hand moves up, brushing lightly through her hair, careful not to wake her, just needing to feel it, to reassure myself that she’s still here and not something I’m going to wake up from.
I let my head fall back against the headboard, my eyes drifting closed for a second, not fully asleep, just… resting in it.
Hoping I don’t have to give this up. Because I won’t. Not without a fight.