Just… me.
And I didn’t know how to fucking deal with that.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t breathe right unless she was near.
She wasn’t part of the game anymore.
She was mine.
My fucking wife.
And if anyone looked at her the wrong way, so much as spoke her name without respect, I’d burn the whole damn league down and watch it crack. No one touched what was mine and walked away whole.
“Get out of the car,” I growled, low and tight, barely hanging onto the leash around my control.
Her eyes widened, confusion flickering into something hotter—something that told me she liked when I snapped.
“What?”
“Don’t question me.” My tone cut like a blade. “You heard me. Get. Out. Of. The. Car.”
She didn’t hesitate again. Good. She opened the door and stepped out into the night, her breaths shallow and fast, like she could already feel what was coming.
I moved around the front of the car, closing the space between us until there was nothing left but heat and tension. The night wrapped around us; the shadows playing across her skin as I pressed her back against the hood—cold steel meeting flushed flesh.
“Kennedy…” I breathed her name like a warning, then claimed her mouth like a man starved.
She melted into me, sweet and fierce, her lips parting beneath mine like she belonged there. Her heartbeat hammered against my chest—fast, wild—and I drank in every sound, every gasp, every inch of her surrender.
But kissing her wasn’t enough.
I needed more. Needed her closer. Needed her bare and mine.
My hand slid down her waist, fingers ghosting over the button of her jeans before I flicked it open. The sound felt louder in the dark, like punctuation to my need. I pulled back just enough to steady myself, breathing hard, jaw clenched.
This wasn’t just about hunger anymore. It was worship. A claiming.
I pushed her jeans down slowly, savoring the reveal of skin like it was something sacred. She didn’t look away—not once. Just stood there, heart open, eyes locked on mine like she knew exactly who she belonged to.
“Nick…” she whispered.
I silenced her with another kiss, deeper this time—hungrier. My hands roamed, memorizing every curve, every line, every place that made her gasp. She held onto me like she needed the grounding, like she knew I could wreck her and trusted me to do it right.
And fuck if that didn’t undo me more than anything else.
I could’ve taken her then and there. Could’ve devoured her whole. But I wanted her shaking by the time I did. I wanted her to feel it. All of it.
So I held back—barely. Letting the slow burn rise until it became something unstoppable.
“Look at you,” I whispered against her lips, my voice rough with restraint. My fingers traced the delicate skin just above her hips, slow and reverent, like I was memorizing the shape of her. Every little shiver, every hitch of her breath—I drank it in like oxygen.
She reacted like her body already belonged to me. Like it had been waiting for this, for me. And fuck, I had waited too.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” I said, gravel low in my throat, the heat coiling tight in my gut.
Her breath caught. That flicker crossed her face again—awareness, understanding, submission wrapped in that fierce Kennedy fire. She knew we weren’t playing anymore. We were right on the edge of something dangerous. And neither of us planned to walk away.
“I want you,” she said, voice soft but steady, a challenge and surrender all in one.
