Page 89 of Hometown Touchdown
Her voice is wrecked, breathy, begging. I don’t stop. Not until she’s falling apart beneath me, thighs shaking around my shoulders, body arching as she cries out my name like it’s the only word she remembers.
And when she comes, it’s not quiet. Pride fills my chest as she screams my name. I slow my movements as she comes down, until she releases my hair. I pull back slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I rise. She’s sprawled on the bed, hair a mess, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded, makeup smudged and filled with so much want it threatens to unmake me.
She grins at me, utterly wrecked. “You still think that jacket was a bad idea?”
I shake my head. “No, Brynn,” I say, voice low and hungry. “That jacket might’ve just changed my religion.”
Chapter forty-five
Brynn
I’mstillfloatingina post-orgasmic haze when Knox rises to stand. He’s gloriously naked, gloriously hard—thick, full, and impossible to ignore.
Instinctively, I reach out and wrap my hand around him.
His eyes flutter shut, a guttural sound slipping from his throat, but then his hand catches my wrist, firm but gentle.
“If you want this to last more than five minutes, Brynn…” His voice is strained, half warning, half plea. “You need to stop.”
I giggle, breathless and smug. “Been a while since you scored, Coach?”
His eyes snap open, locking with mine.
And the laughter dies in my throat.
“Is six years a while?” he asks, low and raw.
“You're serious?” I ask, still breathless, still clinging to the last ripples of my release.
He only nods.
And just like that, my chest tightens with something deeper than arousal. This man…he waited. Whether he knew he was waiting formeor not, I try not to figure it out. Because I don’t want to cry. Not now. Not when I’m laid bare and he's looking at me like I’m a miracle.
“I don't know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Knox murmurs, his lips brushing between my breasts as he shifts us up the bed, cradling my head on a pillow like it’s second nature. “Just tell me you want this as much as I do.”
I reach for his face, cupping his jaw, needing him to feel it as much as hear it. “I want this more than you could even realize.”
His eyes drag over me like he’s imprinting the view onto his soul. Slow. Heavy. The kind of look that makes my skin flush.
“You’re still the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, voice low and dark.
My breath catches, my fingers tugging at the open lapels of the varsity jacket still hanging loose over my bare skin. “Must be the jacket,” I tease, smirking.
He grins, all teeth and trouble. “That jacket is my villain origin story now. If I lose control tonight, blame the nostalgia.”
A short, breathy laugh escapes me, but it’s chased by a shiver. He just had me clinging to my own soul with his tongue, but now…I need him. All of him.
“So what happens now, Coach? Tell me how you’re going to lose control,” I ask, tone sweet and daring.
His hand slides up my thigh, slow and deliberate. The pad of his thumb strokes just beneath the hem of the jacket, and I arch instinctively toward the touch.
“Now,” he growls, “I take what I’ve fantasized about for six damn years.”
He kisses me again, slower this time. Controlled. His mouth tastes like hunger and memory, and it sets every nerve ending I have on fire. His hands roam—steady palms trailing fire across my legs, my waist, the undersides of my breasts through the fabric of the jacket. When he finally cups me fully, my nipples harden under his thumbs, and he hums in approval.
He always notices. Every reaction. Every stutter of breath. Every tremble.
