Just us.
I knew I had the rest of my road trip to attend. I knew I would have to get on another plane in the morning. I knew Coach was going to be pissed.
But I didn’t care.
I had to see her.
I slipped into the penthouse just as the city began to yawn. The door clicked softly behind me, and the silence hit—thick and still, like the world had paused for a breath. My body ached with the weight of the game, every bruise throbbing in time with my heartbeat, but it wasn’t pain I felt. It was purpose. I’d fought like hell tonight. For the win. For her.
I didn’t have time to shed my coat before I saw her.
Mina came out of the shadows like lightning—barefoot, eyes bright, a blur of warmth and motion. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She launched herself into me, arms winding tight around my neck, mouth crashing into mine like she’d been waiting hours to breathe.
I caught her—always would—and kissed her back with everything I had left in me. The adrenaline, the hunger, the relief. I could feel her trembling just slightly, could feel my own restraint snap as her fingers found their way under the collar of my shirt. Everything else faded—the pain in my ribs, the echo of the crowd, the noise of the world.
She tugged me backwards into the living room, laughing breathlessly between kisses. That sound—God, that sound—lit something in me. She was fire and gravity and every damn reason I needed to keep fighting.
Her hands were everywhere—tracing over bruises, cupping my jaw, running through my sweat-damp hair like she didn’t know where to touch first. I couldn’t stop looking at her, even as she pulled off my shirt and tossed it aside. Her shirt followed with zero ceremony, hitting the floor like it owed her something.
“Slow down,” I said against her neck, chuckling as I caught her waist to keep her from darting down the hall.
But she shook her head, eyes wild, mouth already back on mine. “I can’t. I don’t want to. Not right now.”
And neither did I.
We stumbled our way toward the bedroom, limbs tangling and bumping into walls, laughing between kisses that grew deeper, messier. Clothes fell away until there was nothing between us but skin and heat and the kind of closeness that couldn’t be undone.
She pushed me down onto the bed like she’d won a dare, straddling me with a wicked glint in her eye that made my pulse spike all over again. Her hands roamed, not gently but like she needed to memorize everything—like I might disappear if she didn’t.
“Mina,” I whispered, voice hoarse with something deeper than lust.
She leaned down, brushing her lips against mine—soft now, intimate. “I know,” she said.
And in that moment, I knew this wasn’t just release. This was the exhale after holding my breath all season. This was home.
Our kisses deepened—hungry, frenzied, laced with something wild that burned just under the surface. She tasted like need and hope and everything I didn’t know I’d been starving for until this exact moment.
Mina moved against me with purpose, with fire, and I met every movement with my own, fingers gliding across her skin like it was sacred. Every sigh from her lips felt like a prayer I was desperate to answer.
“God,” I breathed into her mouth, dizzy from her warmth, her grip, the way she looked at me like I was the only man in the universe, “you’re intoxicating.”
She laughed then—light and breathless and impossibly beautiful—and pulled me closer like she couldn’t get enough either. Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging slightly, and I groaned, grounding myself in the feel of her, in the rhythm we were building between gasps and whispers.
Every inch of her skin under my hands felt like a victory. Every sound she made lit me up from the inside out. This wasn’t just sex—it was something deeper, rawer. It was trust. It was coming home.
We moved like waves crashing, then receding, then rushing forward again—urgent and clumsy in the best way. The room filled with the sounds of us: soft moans, ragged breaths, our names falling from lips like promises too big for words.
The air was thick with steam, like even the universe had decided to step back and let us have this one night uninterrupted. Just her and me. No ice, no games, no press, no threats—just the two of us, wrapped in sheets and certainty.
I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want the world outside this room to exist. Not while she looked at me like that. Not while she whispered my name like it was sacred.
Right now, I wasn’t the Reaper.
Right now, I was hers.
Breathless, I collapsed back onto the bed, the sheets still tangled from our chaos. Mina curled beside me, her skin warm against mine, her hair a halo fanned out over the pillow. For a moment, I just watched her—lips parted in that smug little post-victory smile, eyes glowing with mischief. My body ached in all the best ways, but it was the weight of her next to me that grounded everything.
She propped herself up on one elbow, eyes glittering. “If you lose the next game,” she said, her voice teasing and deadly serious all at once, “you owe me a week of baking lessons.”
