Page 103 of Hometown Touchdown
I reach for the shampoo without thinking.
“Turn around,” I tell her, and she does, slowly, tucking her wet hair over one shoulder as I lather the shampoo in my palms.
Her head tips back, and I gently rake my fingers through her scalp, massaging slow circles. Her soft sigh makes something in my chest catch.
There’s nothing rushed in this. No agenda. Just her in front of me and my hands in her hair, and the sudden, fierce realization that I never want to stop taking care of her.
Not just in moments like this, but always. In small, quiet ways. Rubbing her back when she’s sick. Picking up her favorite coffee. Holding her when she needs grounding. I want to be her rock. Her peace. Her person.
She leans back into me slightly, and I trail my hands down her neck, rinsing the suds away. Her skin is warm beneath my palms, slick with water. I kiss the spot just behind her ear, and she makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, like she’s unraveling already.
“Knox…” she whispers.
I don’t answer. I just turn her toward me and kneel.
She braces her hand on the wall, hips arching slightly as I press a kiss to her stomach, then lower. The water cascades over both of us, but I’m grounded in the heat of her, the way she gasps when I first touch her with my mouth. There’s nothing hurried in the way I move—no need to race toward anything. I know her now. The way her breath hitches when she’s close, the tremble in her thighs when she’s trying to hold on.
She’s everything. And I want her undone.
When she finally cries out my name, soft and sharp and aching all at once, I hold her steady, pressing kisses to her hip as she comes down. There’s no victory like this—making her fall apart and knowing I was the one who will build her back up.
After, she looks in my eyes, dazed and breathless, and threads her fingers through my hair. “That was…very not about shampoo.”
I grin, water streaming between us. “You started it.”
We step out into the steam-heavy air, drying off slowly. She pulls on her pajamas, her skin still flushed. I toss on sweats and a hoodie, running a towel through my hair as we head downstairs.
She settles onto the couch first, curling her legs beneath her, eyes bright and lazy from contentment. I flip on the TV and queue up game film—because, well, old habits—and she gives me a look that says she knows I’m pretending to focus.
“Are you watching plays?” she teases, curling into my side.
“Trying to. You’re very distracting.”
Her hand skims under the hem of my hoodie. “You started it upstairs…”
I raise a brow. “Thinking of evening the score?”
“Thinking,” she says, eyes dark with mischief, “that you like it when I tease.”
“Not wrong,” I say as I lean back against the cushions.
Brynn moves, pulling my sweats down, and I lift my hips to help. Then she straddles my lap, warm thighs bracketing mine,her core pressed right against the hard line of my cock. My hands grip her hips—firm, reverent, but barely holding on.
She leans in, her lips brushing my ear, voice low and teasing. “Just sit back. Let me take care of you.”
I’d burn cities for her. “You have no idea what those words do to me.”
She shifts, one hand curling around me to guide me to her entrance. No teasing. No warning. Just slow, sure confidence. Her panties are still pushed aside, and when she sinks down on me—inch by inch—my head hits the back of the couch like I’ve been knocked out.
“Fucking hell,” I growl, jaw clenched, arms locking around her as I try to stay still. “You’re so fucking tight.”
She takes all of me and then stops. No movement. No grind. Just stillness.
It’s insanity.
I grip her hips harder, fighting every instinct I’ve got. “Brynn.”
“Mmm?” She settles against me, arms wrapping around my neck, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Just want to sit like this for a while. You can still watch film if you want to.” Her smile is downright sinful. “This is my new favorite thing.”
