I could stare at that man’s hands for the rest of my life, and it would still not be long enough.
Those hands, the ones that scored three goals tonight, the ones that held me to him in a crowd of twenty-thousand people, the ones that turned clay into art, that transformed me from hard and guarded to soft and surrendering — they were a drug.
And right now, those hands were holding a photo of me and Livia after her graduation from dental school, his thumb smoothing over the glass as a wide smile spread on his lips.
“I bet you two were hell on wheels,” he said.
“Still are.”
He chuckled, his head bobbing side to side like he knew that all too well. When he set the photograph down, he tucked his hands into his pockets and kept walking, taking in the surroundings.
It was the first time I’d had him in my home, and it felt almost more intimate than when I had him inside me. I stood at the door with my keys clutched in my hands, nervously fidgeting with the rings as I watched him.
My phone was in my pocket, buzzing like crazy with notifications I wasn’t sure I’d want to see. After what happened at the arena, I could only imagine how we were blowing up. Strangers had been making assumptions about us for months, ever since that night Vince posted the photo of us in Baltimore. Now, they had those assumptions proven right.
The only texts I’d read were the ones from my parents, Livia, and my bosses.
Mom was excited, though still a bit wary — which was fair, all things considered.
Dad was demanding a full background check and a one-on-one talk with Vince. Poor guy.
Livia popped a bottle of champagne and sent me a video of her sipping the bubblies in my honor.
And Reya and Camilla sent so many emojis, my phone nearly broke trying to process them all. They were excited, to say the least, and the last text I saw from Camilla stated that Vince and I were all over the Internet.
I decided that, at least for tonight, I just wanted it to be us.
So, I pulled my phone from my pocket and powered it down completely before turning my attention back to Vince.
He was quiet as he studied the surroundings, studied me. He paced my living and dining area before disappearing down the hall, and I followed him back to my bedroom, where his smile doubled. He ran his fingertips over one of the crocheted plant holders I’d made, brushing the leaves of the pothos before he moved over to the bed. He flopped down onto it, the mattress bouncing with his weight as he inhaled a deep breath.
“God, everything smells like you.”
“I hope that’s a good thing,” I said, finally relinquishing my hold on the keys. I placed them on top of my dresser and carefully sat on the corner of the bed.
Vince was sprawled out like a starfish. He crooked a grin at where I sat with an arched brow. “Scared I’ll bite?”
“Maybe.”
I couldn’t explain it, but I was nervous — as if I hadn’t been in a bed with Vince dozens of times before this. My heart was racing, my breaths shallow, head light.
As if he could sense it, he snagged me by the wrists and tugged me into the middle of the bed with him. His legs wrapped around me, his arms holding me to his chest until I was completely enveloped and laughing, the nerves dissipating.
“You love when I bite,” he murmured in my ear, and chills raced from where his breath touched my skin all the way down to my toes.
I rolled as best I could in his vise grip, threading my arms around his neck and tangling my fingers in his hair. I loved that touch, that familiarity of the silky strands still a bit damp from his post-game shower.
“I’m so sorry, Vince,” I breathed, closing my eyes on another zap of pain as it shot through me.
He leaned up on one elbow, enough to brush my hair out of my face. “Okay, I’ll let that one slide, but no more apologies.”
“But—”
“I understand, Maven,” he said, cutting me off. “I get it. I’m not mad. Not even close.” He sighed, pulling me into him. “I’m just so fucking happy you’re giving me the chance to show you I’m not like him, and that I’m not going anywhere.”
He kissed me as anxiety spiked in my chest, but it was quieter now, more subdued. I realized it was okay to be scared, as long as that fear didn’t stand in our way.
“What are we going to do now?”
“I can think of a few things,” he mused, kissing me with more intent.
I pressed a hand to his chest on a laugh. “I mean after tonight.”
Vince balanced his chin in his hands, watching me. “What do you want to happen?”
“I don’t want to give up my job.”
He frowned. “Of course not. Why would you?”
“Well, I just didn’t want you to think I was going to quit and like… follow you around.”
I waved my hand with that, and he caught it before kissing my knuckles.
“That wouldn’t be my girl,” he said, holding my hand there at his chest. His brow furrowed. “But are you going to be okay not traveling with me? Do you trust me?”
I swallowed. “As much as it freaks me out… yes.”
“Good. I swear, I’ll keep it to two bunnies a trip. Maybe three. Just some good luck blowjobs before the game, you know? Nothing too—oof!”
I cut him off with a knee to the gut, and he laughed, wrapping me up in a straitjacket of arms and legs again.
“Don’t even joke like that,” I warned, but it was through a smile, because I knew it was a joke. And that was the most beautiful relief, the most incredible feeling — to know he was mine and no one else was a threat.
“But I like to push your buttons.”
“Find more creative ways to push them.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that game,” he said, and then I was flipped onto my back, and he was pressing me into the sheets, opening my legs with his thighs.
He was still smiling against my lips as we kissed, as I sighed and opened for him. But that smile faded the more we tangled ourselves together, and he pressed his forehead against mine, shaking his head like he didn’t deserve to be there, with me, in my bed.
“I can’t believe what you’ve done to me.” His hands gripped me harder, and I gasped, writhing under his touch. “Everything before you was black and white, a monochromatic existence.”
“And now?”
“Now, it’s a kaleidoscope of color,” he said with a kiss. “Dizzying and maddening and beautiful.”
Words were gone after that, and once again, I found myself paying homage to his hands. His hands that undressed me, piece by piece, that splayed me out in the sheets beneath him as he rid himself of his own clothing next. His hands that pulled me into his lap, that palmed my ass and guided me until I was sinking down and he was filling me. His hands that fucked up my hair and my makeup and my very way of life.
Vince wrapped those hands around my shoulders and pulled me down onto him, flexing his hips like he couldn’t fill me enough. He rocked in and out, holding me to him, kissing and fucking me in an unrelenting rhythm of need. It was just like that night at the pottery wheel, but somehow even more.
He was claiming me, marking me, erasing any trace of anyone who came before him.
It was a sacred union of souls, a burning hot shotgun wedding.
“I love you,” I whispered against his lips.
Vince froze, his hands holding my hips and my weight suspended just above him. He locked his eyes on mine, searching, and then one hand snaked behind my neck to bring me into him.
“I love you,” he echoed.
His next kiss was bruising, and he pressed inside me deep and strong. He held me there, fucking me with small, precise little flexes of his hips as his lips took their time nipping and sucking and kissing mine.
I rocked against him, finding the friction I needed to release. My legs quaked, moans suffocated by his mouth as he devoured every single one.
As he devoured me.
The last of who I was before Vince Tanev vanished in a puff of smoke that night, and I emerged on the other side, a phoenix rising. The past couldn’t control me anymore, and the future couldn’t paralyze me with its claws.
I was free.
Free to choose, free to fall, free to love and to be loved.
My assignment was over. The job was done.
But I knew I’d make a career out of loving that man and his magic hands, and I’d only just begun.
