Page 115 of Pieces

“I don’t…” I stammer, my cheeks blazing hotter than ever, though I’m not sure if I’m denying him or myself.

I’m not sure what I want to say. Help me explore that kink, please? God, that sounds insane. Right? Then as though he’s read my mind he leans in, nipping my ear with his teeth, and I fold like a stack of cards. “Want to know what I think?”

My subtle nod is the only answer I can give.

“I think you want to ask me to spank you,” he murmurs into my skin. “But you’re too shy to say it out loud.”

My breathing falters, and he feels it. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

His hand slides down my spine, slow and teasing, fingers ghosting the curve of my ass. “Bet you’ve been thinking about how it’d feel,” he continues. “My hand on your skin. The sting, the heat. How you’d beg for me.”

My thighs press together.

“You’d like it, wouldn’t you?” he drawls, his palm soothing over me possessively. “For me to remind you who you belong to? And then after…” He pauses, lips curving wickedly against my neck. “I’d soothe you. The ache that you’d feel. Make you feel so good after. My handprint, my mouth”—his teeth scrape my pulse—“and my cock, until you’re begging for more.”

A wave of heat rushes through me, my body reacting faster than my mind can process. I’m in so much trouble with him. Sensations I’ve never felt with anyone else race through me at a speed I can’t control until I’m left panting, every nerve ending jolted alive. He owns me in ways I’m not even sure I fully understand. He sees me in ways I’m not sure I see myself. And I kind of like that he’s the only one.

“You know you’re the only guy I’ve ever…” my voice trails off, the weight of what I’m not saying hanging between us. “I mean, anything we do, I’m not that experienced.”

“Daphne, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?” His eyes bore into me as he talks.

I fidget under his stare, the intensity of it sending a warm, tingling rush through me. “I just don’t want you to feel like I’m not enough for you.”

He takes my hand, holding my gaze and softening. “You’re enough for me. You’re more than enough.”

My breath stutters.

He pauses for a second, those greens and golds swirling in a way that’s mesmerizing. “I’m in love with you, Daphne, have been for a while now. You are incredibly strong and beautiful and I’m the luckiest guy in the fucking world.”

His words carve themselves into the walls of my chest, leaving a mark that feels impossible to erase. It’s not just the words themselves; it’s the way he says them, like he’s not just talking about sex, but about me, about us. Like he’s claiming something deeper, something I didn’t even know I was searching for.

“I love you too, Hudson, and believe me, I’m the lucky one,” I whisper.

His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over my jaw with a smile that breaks over his whole face. “Now listen to me, princess. You want to explore a kink? I’m your guy. You need to act out a fantasy? Hi, it’s me. You want me to make love to you? Say the word, and I’m yours. But there’s never, ever, going to be another man touching what’s mine.”

His hand drops, gripping my waist firmly, and his eyes lock onto mine with a fire that burns. “Now, turn over,” he growls, his voice dripping with dark intent. “I’m going to make you scream my name as I mark every inch of your ass.”

Chapter forty-nine

Hudson

33 weeks

“Move your asses! We might be in the offseason, but some of you are getting jobs this year, and that means I still get to bust your asses!” Coach bellows, his voice sharp enough to slice through the morning fog.

I push harder, legs burning as I finish another sprint. Sweat makes my shirt stick to my body and my lungs feel like they’re on fire, but I won’t be the one who slows down. Not today.

During a water break, Seb leans over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. “Party at Benny’s tonight?” he calls out, glancing around to gauge the interest.

Miles is already nodding, that stupid grin on his face. “Hell yeah, Benny’s place never disappoints.”

I grab a bottle and pour water over my head, shaking it off before answering. “Eh, I don’t know, man. Daphne’s been wrecked lately. She’s thirty-three weeks now, and it’s really starting to hit her. I don’t think I can swing a party, especially when I’m trying to keep her off her feet.”

Seb whistles low. “Man, thirty-three weeks. She’s almost there. Doc’s still saying baby is looking good?”

“Getting there,” I say, “Still seeing Dr. Carter weekly but there’s less risk now. Placenta has moved enough that she’s happy and says baby is looking good.”

Seb chuckles. “I never thought I’d hear you talking about placenta, dude.” He slaps my shoulder. “Well, if you don’t make it tonight, you still coming to the Draft Party in a few weeks?”

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