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He’s still got that look in his eyes. The same one he wore on the field, under the stadium lights. The one that said this is mine to protect. Mine to fight for.

Only now, there’s no ball, no scoreboard, no crowd. Just us. And what he’s about to do.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the inside of my thigh. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

A shiver bolts down my spine, settles low in my belly. My fingers tangle in his hair, and when he looks up at me, his expression turns dark, unyielding.

“This okay?” he asks, voice hoarse. Rough.

I nod, but it’s not enough. I need him. Need this. “Yes,” I whisper. “God, yes.”

And then his mouth is on me—hot, hungry, holy hell.

I arch off the bed with a gasp, one hand flying to his shoulder, the other buried in his hair. His tongue moves with purpose, slow at first, then teasing, circling my clit like he’s learning every inch of me by heart. Like he’s not just trying to make me come—he’s trying to unravel me. Thread by thread. Breath by breath.

“Kingston—” I choke out his name, a warning and a prayer all wrapped in one, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even hesitate.

He groans against me, the sound vibrating through my core like a fault line splitting wide open.

And I’m gone.

He grips my hips, holding me down as my thighs tremble and my spine curves like a bowstring pulled taut. My body ignites, wave after wave crashing over me as his tongue coaxes every last flicker of sensation from my skin.

When I finally start to come down, he presses one last kiss to the inside of my thigh—soft, reverent—and rises to his feet. His chest is heaving, jaw tight, eyes dark and full of everything I’ve never let myself want. Need. Hope for.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice all gravel and tension, like he’s barely holding himself together.

I nod, still breathless. “Better than okay.”

Kingston brushes his knuckles down my cheek, then leans in and kisses me—slow and deep and filthy. Like he wants me to taste what he just did to me.

And damn it, I moan into his mouth, gripping the nape of his neck as he moves us backwards, guiding me further up the bed until I’m beneath him.

He braces one arm beside my head and reaches between us with the other, lining himself up⁠—

But he stops. Just like that.

His forehead drops to mine, and his voice is low, rough. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

My heart kicks.

“Tell me you don’t want this, Mya,” he says, his gaze searching mine. “Because once I start, I’m not holding back. Not tonight.”

I stare up at him, every inch of my skin flushed and buzzing, every nerve-ending aching for him.

I curl my legs around his waist, my voice a whisper against his lips.

“Then don’t hold back.”

He peppers my mouth with kisses, slowly stoking the fire inside me. I drop my legs from around his waist, and he positions me on my side, straddling one leg while holding the other bent towards my chest. My body jolts when his fingers slide through the lips of my sex and finds me wet and wanting. He brushes his thumb over my already sensitive clit and my body jolts.

My thighs shake. My breath hitches.

And then he parts the lips of my sex and presses the head of his erection to my entrance, teasing me until I’m a squirming mess. Before I can beg him to fuck me, he slides his thick, veiny cock inside me. Completely bare.

And for a beat—just one breathless second—the world stands still.

My back arches. His name rips from my throat. And everything else falls away.