I didn’t want to tell her that for a split second, a thin, invisible line of a thought ran through me.
She’s done this before.
Gone to games. Waited in tunnels. Cheered from the stands.
WithWill.
I hated that. Hated that I even thought it. That I cared.
Because this—this—wasn’t about the past. She was here withme.
She slid down from my arms, her top riding high enough to flash a sliver of skin, curls bouncing as she adjusted herself.
“Tell me... ” she purred, brushing her fingers against the lapel of my suit, “is there a corner somewhere around here? Maybe a dark hallway? Or, I don’t know... a janitor’s closet?”
I blinked. “A what?”
She smirked and leaned up, grazing her lips against the shell of my ear. “You knowexactlywhat. So go be my good boy and find us a door that locks or a wall that doesn’t shake.”
Fuck.
My pulse kicked hard.
“Yes, Madame,” I murmured as I scanned the chaos around us.
Everyone was distracted, teammates tangled up with families, girlfriends pulling them in for photos, coaches wrapped in their own postgame debriefs. No one was watching.
My hand found hers instinctively, lacing our fingers tight as I pulled her back down the tunnel—away from the lights, the noise, the crowd.
She followed without hesitation, heels clicking confidently beside me, her thumb teasing the inside of my palm as we moved.
We didn’t run so much as moved...fast, like we were afraid we’d change our minds if we slowed down.
I still couldn’t find a damn closet. Somewhere near the weight room? Whatever. It didn’t matter.
Right before the tunnel opened to the stands, I spotted it.
A small corner tucked between a concrete pillar and the wall, out of direct view. It wasn’t a private closet or perfect, but it would do. Because I needed her.
Because I’d been needing her for years.
I turned, pressing her back against the wall with more control than I felt. She looked up at me with a grin that told meshe already knewhow far gone I was.
She toyed with my jacket. “Couldn’t wait, huh?” she murmured, lips brushing mine, teasing.
I shook my head. “Couldn’t fucking breathe.”
She kissed me. Slow at first—like she wanted to savor it—but then I deepened it, chasing her mouth, tasting her lip gloss and need and everything I’d been holding back since the second she came back into my life.
We hadn’t crossed this line since she got back. Everything but. Hands, mouths, messy late-night teasing that left us both wrecked.
The way she moved against me—grinding, lips hot and urgent, one hand already working at my belt—I knew there was no going back.
She kissed me hard, biting my bottom lip and making me grunt. My cock was straining against my zipper, and when she palmed me through my pants, I nearly lost it right there.
“You’re so fucking hard,” she murmured. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”
I grabbed the hem of her cropped Ravens top, but she slapped my hands away and did it herself, peeling it off slowly, giving me a show.
