I wrapped my legs around him, hauling him deeper, greedy for every inch. He was mine. Only mine. Nobody else got to feel Jordan Taylor spill inside them, nobody else got this version of him. My arms tightened around his neck as his mouth closed hot around my nipple, teeth catching just enough to send me over. I shattered, crying out his name.
“That’s it, babe,” he rasped, his voice rough as gravel. “That’s who you come for. Me. Only me.”
His rhythm broke as he chased his own orgasm, hips grinding deeper until I could feel him harden further as he came with a raw, hoarse sound, spilling inside me and burying his face against my shoulder like he needed to feel something solid to hold onto.
After, he didn’t let go. He kissed my face. My lips. My collarbone. His hand settled over my heart like he needed to feel it beating.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, his breath catching. “Fuck anyone who tries to make you feel less than that.”
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t just hear it. I believed him.
Chapter Forty
Jordan
Cincinnati—August 6th
The plane hummedlow around us. This time the sponsors had let us use a private plane which still felt a little surreal to me. Truthfully, it was a welcome moment of quiet, away from the circling media and prying eyes that had rattled us both lately. We’d been going non-stop: Washington, Montreal, the courts, the cameras, the constant pull of everything. But here, in the stillness between places, I noticed how tired she looked. Not just the faint shadows under her eyes or the way her shoulders curled in a little more. It was deeper than that. The kind of tired that seeps in when you’ve kept going too long. She was curled up against me, knees tucked under herself, one hand draped across my chest, her cheek resting just over my heart where it rightfully belonged.
She shifted slightly, and I pulled her in tighter. Hoping my touch would relieve some of the pressure. She let out a soft sigh in her half-sleep, and I felt a pang of guilt that made my chest hurt.
She hadn’t asked for this. The flights, the noise, the paparazzi. The sponsor dinners where insecure hangers-on whispered petty shit to feel important. Fuck, if I ever heard talk like that toward her again, I’d burn the whole room down. And she hadn’t complained. Not once.Even when I could see it eating at her. Her lashes fluttered against my shirt like she was finally drifting.
Then she bolted upright.
“Shit.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I left my toiletry bag at the hotel.” She raked a hand through her hair, already flustered. “With, like, all my stuff. Face wash. Toothbrush. My…”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, shit…my pill.”
She was out of the haze now, fully upright, scrambling like it was a code-red emergency.
“I’ve been all over the place with time zones and…ugh. I’m not good at this.”
I caught her wrist gently before she could fully spiral out, rubbing my thumb over her pulse. willing it to slow down. I let out a low laugh, tugging her gently back into my side. “Hey, relax babe. We’ll replace whatever you need when we land.”
She softened a little at that. “Yeah.” She rubbed at her temples. “Okay…I’ll find a pharmacy or something.”
But her voice was tight. She was blaming herself. I could hear it, and I hated that she was still trying to carry the whole damn world on her shoulders.
I kissed the top of her head. “You’re doing fine. Seriously, you’ve been incredible.”
She didn’t answer, just curled into me again, quieter now. But I felt the shift, the tension in her shoulders where she’d been half asleep and loose a moment ago.
And all I could think about was last night.
The look on her face when she told me what those girls had said. The way she’d tried to laugh, but couldn’t quite manage it.
That crack in her voice when she said she wasn’t as pretty as the last one. It fucking burned in my chest. I fucking hated anyone had made her feel like she didn’t belong, when she was the only thing in this whole circus that made sense. If anything, I was the one punching above my weight.
But God, I wanted to belong with her.
Wanted it more than anything.
I looked down. Her fingers were curled in the bottom of my T-shirt now, anchoring herself to me like I was the only solid ground she could stand on.
