29. Maddie
Maddie
The air in Dean’s office is thick, smelling of his cologne and the faint, lingering scent of my own shampoo.
Behind the heavy oak door, I can hear the muffled chaos of the team—the rhythmic thud of equipment bags being hauled, the sharp bursts of laughter, the heavy footfalls of the players I have to face in ten minutes.
It should be terrifying. But with Dean’s body pinning me against the wall, his weight a solid, unyielding heat, I’ve never felt more centered.
"Quiet," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against my lips. "Can you do that for me, Baby? Can you stay completely silent for me while they're out there?"
I nod, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his chest. I want this. I want the risk of it, the secret of it, the way he looks at me like he’s about to dismantle every wall I’ve ever built.
"I mean it," he rasps, his hand sliding behind my head, his fingers tangling in my hair to hold me steady. "Not a sound."
He drops to his knees with a fluid, predatory grace. I bite my lip as he bunches my skirt up, his hands—massive and warm—smoothing over my thighs with a possessive intensity that makes my knees go weak.
"Dean," I whisper-hiss, my eyes darting toward the door. "They’re right out there. Someone could—"
"No one is coming in here," he interrupts, his voice low and vibrating against my skin as he hooks his fingers into the lace of my undies. "I’m the Coach, Baby. No one enters without my word. You’re safe. But you are going to be silent."
He peels the lace down and tosses it aside, his eyes widening as he takes me in. He looks at me like I’m a masterpiece he’s about to ruin me.
"God, you’re beautiful," he whispers, his eyes tracking the reveal of my skin with a look of pure, unadulterated worship. "I’ve spent three years sitting across from you in meetings, watching you walk past me in the halls, and I’ve replayed this exact moment in my head a thousand times.
I’ve imagined how you’d look, how you’d smell... "
He leans in, his hot breath ghosting over my inner thigh.
"The reality is so much better," he mutters, his voice thick with a hunger that makes my vision blur. "None of those thoughts did you justice, Maddie. Not even close."
He doesn't wait. His tongue finds me with a rhythmic, demanding pressure that forces a muffled whimper into the back of my throat.
I bury my face in my shoulder, my teeth sinking into my own sweater to stifle the sound.
Every time a locker slams in the hallway or a voice drifts through the door, my internal muscles clamp down, and Dean only pushes harder, his hands anchoring my hips to his face.
"Stay with me," he commands, looking up at me, his face flushed and his eyes dark with a terrifyingly beautiful focus. "Ignore them. There is no one else. Just me and you. Now, take it. Take it all and don't make a sound."
When I’m shaking, right on the edge of breaking, he stands up in one powerful motion. He doesn't give me a chance to catch my breath. He lifts me, my legs instinctively winding around his waist, and he slams his hips into mine, pinning me back against the wall.
"I’m not done," he growls, his mouth finding the sensitive hollow of my throat. "I’m going to make sure you’re thinking about me for the entire flight, Maddie. Every time you look at me on that plane, I want you to remember exactly what’s happening in this office right now."
He frees himself, the friction of his skin against mine sending a jolt of electricity through me. He guides himself to the entrance, his eyes locked onto mine, dark and heavy with obsession.
"You're taking all of this," he commands, his voice dropping to a lethal, low register. "Tell me you want me to fill you up right here. Tell me you want the man who’s been yours since the day you walked into this arena."
"I want you," I breathe, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my head thrashing against the wall. "Dean, please. I want all of it."
He drives in. The air leaves my lungs in a sharp, silent gasp. He’s thick, heavy, and stretches me until I’m sure I’m going to break open. He doesn't move right away; he just stays there, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against mine as he tries to find his own oxygen.
"I didn't think I'd ever get this," he confesses, his voice a pained, beautiful rasp. "I thought I’d spend the rest of my career just watching you from a distance. But you’re here. And you’re mine."
He starts to move—a slow, punishing rhythm that vibrates through my entire body.
I’m lost in him. I’m lost in the way he handles me, the way he looks at me, and the sheer, overwhelming power of his presence.
I can hear the guys laughing right outside that door, but as I wrap my arms tighter around Dean’s neck, I realize I don't care.
I’m already thinking about the hotel. I'm already figuring out how I'm going to sneak into his room tonight, how I'm going to get him behind a locked door where we don't have to be quiet.
"That's it, Baby," he murmurs, his pace getting more frantic as he feels me start to peak. "Give it to me. Take it all. Everything I've been saving for you for four goddamn years."
I collapse against him as the release hits, my body vibrating in a silent, explosive sob. He catches my weight, his arms wrapping around me like a shield, his breath hot against my neck as he finishes inside me, his entire frame shuddering with the force of it.
"I've got you," he whispers, his voice thick with a protective, doting heat. "You're okay. I've got you."
Nashville doesn’t feel like Chicago. The air hits different the second we step out—warmer, softer, carrying something I can’t quite name but feel settle under my skin anyway.
It doesn’t have that sharp edge I’m used to, the bite that keeps everything tight and moving.
This feels… looser. Louder in a quieter way.
Like the city is always humming, even when no one’s speaking.
I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder as we move through the hotel lobby, the noise of the guys blending into the background as my brain starts doing what it always does when we travel—organizing, sorting, lining up everything I need to get done before the night even starts.
Footage. So much of it.
My fingers twitch slightly, already wanting my laptop, already running through clips in my head.
Luka and Grady’s disaster of a dance. Jasper losing it at the boards.
Jake pretending he wasn’t encouraging them when he absolutely was.
I can see the edits before I even sit down, the cuts, the timing, the captions that are going to make it hit just right.
It should ground me. Usually it does. But today—there’s something else sitting just under it.
Something quieter. I couldn’t stop stealing glances of him the whole plane ride.
Just like he said I would. And…just like he said I would, I couldn’t stop thinking about him between my legs.
He smirked a couple times when he saw me trying to get comfortable in my seat after remembering how good he felt.
He’s behind me now. Not close enough for anyone to notice.
Not far enough for me to forget. I don’t look.
I don’t need to. I just…know. Dean stays just enough behind me to keep it from being obvious, but I feel him there anyway.
I always do now. It’s subtle, the way he moves, the way he places himself in the same space without making it something anyone else would question.
The elevator doors open, and we step inside, the space closing in around the four of us. Jake leans back against the wall like he owns it, Luka still half buried in his phone, and I find myself staring at the numbers above the door instead of anywhere else.
Because if I look—I’ll find him. And if I find him—I won’t stop at just looking.
“Walkthrough, then food?” Jake asks, his voice cutting through the quiet.
“Always food,” Luka answers, not even glancing up.
I smile to myself, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder, already running through everything I need to get done once I’m back in my room.
Dean’s shoulder brushes mine. Barely there.
Just enough to make my breath catch before I can stop it.
I don’t move. I don’t look. But everything in me shifts toward it anyway.
The elevator dings too soon. The doors slide open, and the moment breaks, the guys stepping out like nothing happened, like this is just another stop, another floor, another game.
I glance down at my key card as I walk, reading the number—and then I slow. Just slightly. My door. And right next to it—Dean’s. A small smile pulls at my lips before I can stop it, something warm and quiet settling into my chest.
Of course. Of course he made sure of that. I don’t say anything. Don’t make a big deal out of it. But when I slide my key into the door and glance back over my shoulder—he’s already watching me.
And the look in his eyes says he planned it that way.