Page 93 of The Hearts We Fumble
Her lips part on a sharp inhale before she whispers, “I’m yours.”
Jesus.
“Fuck, baby. Say it again.”
She bites her lip, her smile growing. “This pussy, my cum, all of me. It’s yours. I’m yours.”
A deep growl rumbles through my chest.
I pull her onto my lap, kissing her hard, devouring her.
I can taste both of us on her tongue, and it unleashes something primal inside me.
I drag my hands down her body, gripping her ass, pressing her flush against me, already growing hard again.
“I’m yours too, firecracker.” My lips brush over hers as I whisper, “I always have been.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wyatt
Zane drops me off at home after class so I can change.
I meet him outside fifteen minutes later. He hasn’t told me what we’re doing, only that we’re going on a date. But before we leave, he wants to check in on Myla.
When I step outside, he’s standing in the driveway, his face buried in his phone. His jaw is tight, brows furrowed, his fingers gripping the device like he’s one text away from crushing it. Whatever he’s reading has his entire body wound up like a coil about to snap.
I hesitate for a beat before stepping closer. “Everything okay?”
For a second, I brace myself, worried he’s about to change his mind about our plans. With everything happening—the fight, the looming decision about his suspension, the pressure of their season hanging in the balance—it wouldn’t surprise me if he wasn’t in the mood for whatever he had planned.
His phone vibrates again. His jaw ticks.
“My dad,” he mutters, the weight behind those two words saying everything.
I don’t need to ask to know exactly what kind of messages are coming through.
James Kinnick has always had impossibly high expectations for his kids. I’ve seen him at countless games, shouting from the sidelines and barking orders like he’s the one wearing a headset. I know how he gets when things don’t go according to his plan. And if I had to guess, he’s been in Zane’s ear all morning, picking apart every bad decision that led him here.
I swallow, watching as Zane pockets his phone like he’s trying to shove away everything his father just said.
“Is he coming back to Braysen soon?” I ask, careful with my tone.
Zane shakes his head. “No, I’m pretty sure he’s staying in Charlotte for work.” A humorless chuckle escapes his throat, but it’s laced with frustration. “Not that it’ll stop him from handling things from a distance. I have no doubt he’s already been on the phone with Coach, trying to clean up my mess before I’ve even had a chance to handle it myself.”
I press my lips together, unsure how to respond. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved at the thought of him pulling some strings to lessen Zane’s punishment, but at the same time, his dad doesn’t do anything without expecting something in return.
The tension rolling off Zane’s body is thick enough to drown in. But when his eyes finally lift to meet mine, something shifts. The tightness in his shoulders loosens as his gaze slowly drags down the length of my body, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
It’s the kind of look that makes my pulse quicken and my stomach twist in anticipation.
For a second, I think he’s about to scrap our plans entirely—pull me inside, press me against the nearest surface, and lose himself in something that isn’t expectations and consequences.
He must see the same thought flicker across my face because he smirks, shaking his head like he knows exactly where my mind is going.
“Let’s go,” he murmurs, reaching for my hand.
And just like that, the weight of his father, the fight, and the uncertainty of what comes next all fall away. At least for now.
