Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 11 - Chapitre 19

The kiss lingers, soft and slow, and I feel him smiling against my lips before he pulls back just enough to look at me. His blue eyes catch the city glow filtering through the window, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. The air between us is thick with everything we've done, everything we've said, everything we still haven't said.His fingers are still inside me. I feel them move, a gentle shift that sends a ghost of pleasure through my exhausted nerves, and then they begin to slip out. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he's trying to memorize the feeling of me clenching around him.The loss is a physical ache. Emptiness where he was. My body clenches around nothing, searching for him, and I feel the wetness of his hand as he pulls it free, the cool air replacing the heat of his skin.He starts to roll away. Just a shift of his weight, a turn toward the edge of the bed. His hand reaches down, groping for the floor, and I hear the rustle of fabric as his fingers find his sweatpants."Don'

I wake to darkness and the weight of him against my back, his arm still banded across my waist, his breath warm at the nape of my neck. The city glow filters through the blinds, painting stripes across the ceiling, and for a moment I just lie there, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, the solid heat of his body pressed along the length of mine. His arm tightens, a reflex even in sleep, and I feel it—the hard curve of him against the back of my thigh, unmistakable even through the sheets.I hold still. My pulse flicks at my throat, and my body answers before my mind catches up—a slow, deep ache that spreads through my belly, my thighs pressing together. I don't know when we shifted in the night, but his hips have found the curve of my ass, and the thickness of him, half-hard and insistent, is pressed right there, right where I can feel every inch of what I couldn't take last night."Bella."His voice is gravel, rough with sleep, and I feel the word against my shoulder blades. He sh

The front door swung open and the smell hit me first—turf, sweat, that sharp musky scent of two men who'd spent hours on a football field. I kept my eyes on my phone, thumb scrolling through nothing, pretending I hadn't been counting the minutes."Bella." Callum's voice, tired and familiar. His gym bag hit the floor with a thud. "You're still awake.""Barely." I stretched, letting the jersey ride up just enough to show a sliver of skin. "You guys smell like a locker room.""Feel like one too." Callum pulled his hoodie over his head, revealing the sweat-soaked compression shirt underneath. "Long practice."Behind him, Caleb stepped into the light. His hair was damp, dark strands clinging to his forehead, and his blue eyes found me before his lips found their smile. He was still in his practice jersey—same number as the one I was wearing. My stomach flipped."Hey, Bella." His voice was casual, but his gaze lingered a beat too long on my legs. "Didn't expect you to still be up."I shrugg

The party had finally bled out, the last of Callum's teammates stumbling toward the door with slaps on backs and promises to crush it tomorrow. I'd stayed in the kitchen, nursing the same glass of champagne until it went warm and flat, listening to the voices fade, the front door closing, the lock clicking into place.Footsteps. Not Callum's—heavier, slower. Deliberate.I set the glass down. Turned. And there he was, filling the doorway between the kitchen and the hall, his dark hair still damp from the shower he'd taken after everyone else had gone. He'd changed out of his game-day clothes into a gray t-shirt that clung to his chest like it was afraid to let go. His eyes found mine and held."Hey," he said. Low. Quiet. Like the word was just for us."Hey." My voice came out smaller than I meant it to.He crossed the kitchen in three strides, his hand finding mine, his fingers lacing through them. He didn't speak. Just tugged, gentle, leading me out of the kitchen and into the dark ha