I sit up slowly, forcing her to adjust, straddling me even tighter now. My hands slide up her spine, slow and firm, until I’m holding her the way you hold something breakable. She doesn’t pull away. Just lets me hold her, clinging to a lifeline she’s too stubborn to ask for.
“I don’t care if you hate me,” I say against her throat. “As long as you don’t lie about wanting me.” She shivers. “Tell me the truth, Candace.”
Her breath fans hot across my collarbone, and her fingers twitch against my shoulders, bracing for impact. Her mouth trembles. Then she kisses me. Hard. Desperate. It isn’t soft. It’s a collision. A detonation.
No finesse, no lead-up. Just the raw heat of two people trying to set fire to the thing eating them alive. Her lips crush mine, all teeth and need. Andstill, it’s not enough.
Her fingers fist in my shirt as I grip her hips and pull her tighter against me. Her tongue slides against mine, frantic and messy, then she moans—she fucking moans—making me lose whatever thread of patience I have left. The sound wrecks me. Not because it’s sexy. Because it’s real.
We hit the mat again. I roll her underneath me, and this time, she doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t run. The air pulses hot between us. Our bodies already know the steps. We just haven’t named the music.
She arches up, biting my lip, breathing into my mouth with the desperation of someone who needs it more than air. Her legs wrap around my waist, and we aren’t sparring anymore.
This is surrender. War. It’s both.
Getting here? That was war. And she’s surrendering in the most dangerous way. I want every second of it. Every heartbeat. Every breath. Her nails drag down my back. Short, sharp,claiming. My skin stings where she touches me, and I want her to mark me deeper.
Her mouth tastes of heat and fury, her breath catching in those tiny, choked-off sounds that drive me fucking insane. Every breath a lyric she doesn’t know she’s singing.
She moves against me without hesitation. Hips grinding, legs wrapped tight, trying to get closer, deeper, more. I give her more. All of it. Every ounce I’ve been holding back. And I want to give it to her. Right there. On the mat. In the middle of the fucking gym. Right where she took control. Right where she let me have it.
My hand slips under her sports bra, finger swirling around her puckered nipple, and she gasps against my mouth. Then bites down on my lower lip in punishment. A warning. The sting is electric. I fucking welcome it.
I don’t care. I need to feel her. Need her wrecked and desperate. Mine in a way she can’t deny or walk away from. Because I’ve already given her every piece of me. Even the ones I don’t show anyone else.
Suddenly, a door slams in the back. Voices. Coach Tompkins laughing with someone. My body goes still. Cold rushes in, water down my spine. Reality cuts in.
Candace blinks up at me, dazed and flushed, lips kiss-bruised and eyes heavy-lidded with lust. I mutter a curse, half growl, half plea.
“Get up.”
“What—”
I grab her hand, yank her to her feet before she can argue. The press of her palm in mine sends a jolt up my arm. I don’t let go.
She stumbles, breathless. “Malachi—”
“Locker room.” My voice is gravel. “Now.” I’m barely holding it together. I need her more than air.
Her eyes darken—half challenge, half thrill. But she doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even hesitate. She wants this. Maybe more than I do. And that’s saying something.
We move fast, half-dressed and wrecked, shoving through the hallway, hunted by something we can’t name. The air hums with adrenaline and sweat. Her scent clings to me, smoke and sin wrapped in heat.
I push open the locker room door and drag her inside, slamming it shut behind us before twisting the lock. No interruptions. Not this time.
She stands in the middle of the room, breathless, chest rising fast, lips parted. She looks wrecked already—hair a mess, skin flushed, pupils blown wide with something feral.
I stalk toward her. “Take it off.” My voice sounds scorched, scraped raw by fire.
She holds my stare, defiantly silent. Then slowly, issuing a challenge, she peels off her sports bra and lets it fall to the floor. Her nipples pebble in the cool air, but her eyes burn hotter than hell.
Her skin gleams, dotted with sweat and power, and I fucking swear under my breath.
“You’re gonna kill me,” I mutter.
She tilts her head. “You going soft on me now?”
I let out a dark laugh, and drop to my knees, a man ready to worship. Fuck, it feels holy. She’s a hymn I’ve been aching to sing.
