Page 60 of The Hearts We Fumble
Zane catches my gaze, the corner of his mouth curving into a knowing smirk.
“I love seeing you like this,” he murmurs, his voice full of satisfaction as he leans down to brush a slow, teasing kiss against my lips.
“Like what?” I challenge, tilting my head. “Well fucked?”
His smirk deepens. “Yes,” he admits, “but also this.”
Before I can ask what he means, he drags his fingers between my legs, gathering the slickness there before lifting them to my mouth.
Heat pools low in my belly.
I don’t know what takes over me—what happened to the old Wyatt who might’ve hesitated—but I grab his wrist, my fingers wrapping around his, and without breaking eye contact, I suck his finger into my mouth.
Zane swears under his breath.
His hips jerk forward, his cock pressing against me, already thickening again.
“What am I going to do with you?” he mutters, almost to himself.
I barely get the chance to smirk before he reaches around me, delivering a sharp smack to my ass that makes me yelp. Then—just like that—he’s lifting me over his shoulder, carrying me into the shower.
The warm spray hits my skin as he sets me down, his hands lingering on my hips before sliding up my sides. I barely have time to catch my breath before I tip my chin up, meeting his gaze.
“I don’t know,” I tease, pressing my body against his, my hands trailing over his damp skin. Then, rising onto my tiptoes, I kiss him—slow and deep, drawing him in. “But I can think of a few things.”
Chapter Fourteen
Wyatt
The bass of Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” pulses through the speakers as I step inside, slipping off my shoes and shrugging out of my jacket. Zane must have passed out early last night, which was a good thing ahead of today’s game against Keaton.
When he texted me good morning earlier, letting me know he was awake, I figured I had just enough time to sneak over and surprise him with breakfast before he left for the stadium.
We’ve spent almost every day together since the night of the bonfire. This is his first away game since then, which means I won’t see him until late tonight—if he even comes over after the team gets back. I don’t want to waste the chance to see him now.
“Zane?” I call out, draping my jacket over the back of the chair.
No answer.
I glance toward his room, only to find his bed empty and still rumpled from sleep. Then I hear his voice, loud and off-key, echoing from the bathroom as he sings along to the music, completely unaware of my presence.
Smirking, I shake my head and make my way into the kitchen, pulling out eggs, sausage links, and butter. Spotting a bunch of ripe bananas on the counter, I grab the bread from the cabinet.
I move on autopilot, flipping sausage links in the skillet while whisking the eggs with one hand, the scent of butter browning in the pan filling the small space. I barely register the footsteps approaching down the hall until Zane’s voice breaks through the kitchen.
“Wyatt?” His tone is groggy, laced with surprise. “If it’s not you, I think someone just broke into my house to use my kitchen.”
A grin tugs at my lips just as he rounds the corner, and my breath catches for a fraction of a second.
He’s wearing black dress slacks and a teal button-up shirt, the fabric straining slightly across his broad chest, two buttons undone at the collar, revealing the dark ink stretching across his golden skin. He looks… insanely good.
Zane’s gaze flickers between me and the breakfast bar, where I’ve already plated his eggs and toast—two slices slathered in peanut butter, topped with banana slices. His brows twitch, his expression unreadable for a beat.
“You remembered?” His voice is quiet, almost as if he’s in disbelief.
I glance over my shoulder, flipping the last of the sausage links onto his plate. “Of course, I remembered,” I say, laughing lightly. “I only made it for you and Colter a million times.”
He just stands there for a second, watching me like I’ve done something monumental. Like this small act of remembering means more to him than he’s willing to admit.
