Page 82 of It Must Be Fate

I’m so delirious with love for this man that being pressed up against each other isn’t enough.

I want to be able to crawl under his skin and into his body and make myself at home there for the rest of my life.

Gentle hands pull my dress down over my ass, but not before he slaps it once sharply, simply because he can never resist doing so. He turns me around and his hands come down next to my face.

He bends and claims my mouth, sucking my bottom lip between his as he groans erotically.

When he pulls away, his gaze falls to what I know will be a large red mark on my neck, and his eyes darken with fresh lust.

I get up on my toes and close my mouth around the flesh at the base of his neck. I suckle it deeply, feeling his hands come to my ass. For long seconds, I suck at his throat like a vampire andhe lets me, doing nothing except panting and moaning carnally at the contact.

Finally, I release him and come down to my feet, staring smugly up at the matching mark I’ve left on him.

“You’re mine,” I tell him.

He nods without hesitation, the words having barely left my mouth before he agrees.

“Yes.” His throat works as he licks his lips. “Yes, I am. I always have been.”

***

Eleven years after graduation

Chapter Twenty

Rhys

I blow my whistle loudly and the shrill, piercing sound announces the end of play.

“Alright, half time,” I call. “Good job everyone.”

Excited squeals meet my declaration, followed by dozens of tiny feet pounding the grass as a horde of little girls descends on me.

“Did we play well?” seven-year-old Lila asks me.

Considering she shoulder checked a five-year-old on the opposing team and sent her off the pitch and out of the match crying, the question is hard to answer.

Is she effective? Yes.

Would her approach land her a red card and multi-game ejection in a non-children’s league?

Also yes.

“You played phenomenally well.”

I’m met with a chorus of excited cheers from the group of girls now standing before me and staring eagerly up at me. The vast majority of them don’t even reach my navel so theirchaotic display of enthusiasm is reminiscent of a dozen Minions jumping up and down in celebration. Girl chat is as equally indecipherable to me as the Minion language, so the comparison tracks in more ways than one.

We’re down two-nil so my dubbing their performance as “phenomenal” is also debatable, however half of the team’s roster is made up of younger girls who don’t even understand the concept of scoring, so I have to manage my own expectations.

One of the older girls who does understand scoring, and doesn’t enjoy the feeling of losing any more than I do, is marching towards me with a stormy expression on her face.

“Don’t lie to them, Daddy. We’re playing terribly.”

Hayes stalks past me and plops down into one of the chairs on the sideline, a pronounced pout making a home for itself on her lips.

“Go get some snacks,” I say to the girls who are still waiting expectantly for me to give them their next directive. They start to disperse when I call, “And Angie! Next time number eight yanks your braid on the pitch, you kick her in the shin. Heel to your bum first and then you release your foot right into her tibia. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach,” she throws excitedly over her shoulder, running towards where her mother waits for her with orange slices.

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