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The permission breaks whatever last shred of restraint I’m holding onto.

A sharp gasp rips from my throat as the tension suddenly shatters.

A wave of intense, blinding heat cascades through my entire body, starting deep in my stomach and rushing down to my toes.

My hips flutter involuntarily, my inner muscles clenching in tight, sweet pulses around the sensation.

I hide my face in the crook of his neck, a helpless, breathy sound escaping me against his skin as the ripples wash over me again and again.

Wyatt’s arm locks around me, holding me tightly against him through every wave. He buries his face in my hair, letting out a long, ragged exhale. “Fuck, Quinn... that's it. Good girl.”

My hand goes still, my fingers trembling as I slowly pull back, my body feeling completely weightless, liquefied, and utterly exhausted.

The air in the room feels cool against my flushed skin, but the heat radiating off Wyatt keeps me warm.

I lie there, resting my heavy head on his chest, listening to the frantic, rapid thudding of his heart matching the wild rhythm of my own.

Wyatt presses a soft, lingering kiss to the top of my head, his hand gently stroking my arm in long, soothing strokes.

“How was that?” he whispers, his voice laced with a quiet, triumphant warmth.

I let out a soft, breathy laugh that’s half relief and half pure awe, burying my face deeper into his neck. “I... wow. Okay. I get it now.”

Wyatt rumbles with a low laugh, his arms tightening around me. “Told you we'd figure it out.”

16

WYATT

Don’t Fuck It Up

I’m having a really fucking good day.

There’s no reason anyone else needs to know why.

Which is why I probably shouldn’t be grinning at my phone in the locker room like an asshole.

I lock the screen and shove it facedown onto the bench.

Too late.

“What’s with you?”

I look up.

Cole is standing three stalls down, pulling a shirt over his head and watching me with the kind of suspicion normally reserved for unattended bags at airports.

“What’s with me?”

“You’re smiling.”

“I smile.”

“No.” He points at me. “You do that shit-eating thing where you look like you’re about to make someone regret speaking to you. That was different.”

Jordan snorts from somewhere behind me.

I flip them both off and reach for my practice jersey.