Page 128 of The Hearts We Fumble
“I’m so wet,” she murmurs. “My clit is swollen… so sensitive. I wish you were here—wish it was your tongue on me. I need you to suck on my clit while you fuck me with those long fingers.”
I groan, my hips lifting off the mattress at the visual playing out in my head.
“Fuck, baby. I’d have my head buried between your thighs, sucking and fucking you until you’re begging me to stop—then I’d flip you over and slam my cock deep into your tight pussy.”
Her breath hitches. “Yessss. Please. Zane, please.”
I watch the way her body moves, the way her breaths turn desperate.
“Keep going, baby. Keep fucking yourself for me. Imagine my fingers are inside you, stretching you, owning you. Tell me it’s my pussy, Wyatt.”
“Oh my God,” she cries out, her back arching.
The slick sound of her fingers working herself has me right on the edge.
I can’t hold back anymore. My grip tightens, my strokes growing erratic, and then I’m falling—spiraling over the edge, pleasure crashing through me.
“Tell me,” I growl, my abs flexing, my body strung tight. “Tell me who owns that sweet pussy.”
“You do, Zane!” she gasps, her body trembling, thighs clenching as her orgasm rips through her. “You do.”
Pleasure detonates inside me, thick ribbons spilling across my chest and stomach. My head tips back, jaw clenched as I ride it out, chasing every last drop of bliss.
When I finally come down, Wyatt’s looking at me with a soft, lazy smile. Sated. Beautiful. Mine.
A grin tugs at my lips, and something warm, deep, and unshakable expands inside my chest.
She’s my firecracker, and the love I feel for her is like a slow burn and a wildfire all at once.
And I’ll spend forever making sure she knows it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Wyatt
“The next time any of us are in Texas, it could be when the guys play their first NFL game,” Everly muses in both awe and excitement.
Tatum grins, nudging her elbow against Everly’s. “Or when they sign with a team.”
She has a point. Dallas is one of the teams Zane mentioned as a real possibility. My mind starts spinning, racing ahead to a future where one of us is in South Carolina and the other in Texas, trying to make a long-distance relationship work.
Before I can spiral too far, the pilot’s voice crackles through the overhead speaker, announcing that we’ll be taking off in five minutes.
“It’s going to be so weird not watching them play at the Gridiron anymore,” I whisper, my words barely audible over the hum of the cabin.
I glance at Tatum and Everly, both nodding in agreement. Seated between them, we instinctively reach for each other’s hands, gripping tight as the plane lifts off the ground. It’s a ritual—one we’ve done countless times in the stands, holding hands when the guys take the field, like somehow, through sheer will, we can keep them safe.
This season has flown by. Every game, every late-night celebration, every gut-wrenching moment has led to this, and I’m just grateful I get to experience it asZane’sgirlfriend, not just Colter’s little sister.
The flight is less than three hours—perfect for a nap, though sleep has been impossible lately. Anxiety has gnawed at me since the moment Zane left, but at least I’ll be with him soon.
When we land, we have a few hours before heading to the stadium. Thanks to Everly’s family connections, we booked our room at the same hotel the team is staying at, which makes things easier. After checking in and freshening up, we grab lunch and catch a shuttle to the stadium, avoiding the hassle of a ride-share.
“This place is insane,” Everly murmurs as we step onto the stadium grounds.
“No kidding,” Tatum adds, tilting her head back to take in the massive structure. “Didn’t you say this is the same stadium they’d play in if they got drafted to Dallas?”
I nod, my stomach twisting. This field—this very place—could be where Zane ends up in just a few months. The thought is exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
