Page 164 of Make the Play

“Look at that,” he whispers. “That’s mine, too.”

I shiver under his gaze, so hungry and possessive.

He grabs a towel and gently wipes between my thighs, pressing a kiss to the back of my knee as he does.

Then he straightens, wraps me in his arms again, and rests his chin on my shoulder, both of us watching our reflection.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

I nod, but this time there’s a crack in it. My chest aches, and my throat’s tight.

“You fucked the anxiety out of me,” I joke, but it’s brittle. I swallow. “Made me feel safe.”

His eyes soften, and he kisses my temple on instinct. We make it back to bed without saying much, and he pulls me down with him, curling around me with one arm thrown over my waist like he needs to keep me close. His breath is uneven, skin still damp, his heart hammering against my spine.

I let myself sink into him, without any tension or sass.

“Still okay?” he murmurs again, voice rough against the back of my neck.

I nod slowly. “Yeah.”

“That was…”

“Yeah,” I echo, smiling into the pillow. “I don’t think there’s a word for what that was.”

He presses a kiss to my shoulder and lets his lips linger there.

“Too much?” he asks, quieter now.

I twist just enough to glance over my shoulder. “Chase.”

His eyes meet mine, bleary and gentle.

“If it was too much, I’d tell you,” I say, voice soft. “I’d ruin your life with safe words if I had to.”

He huffs a laugh, but the relief behind it makes my chest tighten. I turn back into him, pulling his arm tighter around me.

“And for the record,” I murmur, “if I die, that’s how I wanna go.”

He groans, burying his face in my hair.

“Don’t say that,” he mumbles. “I’m still recovering.”

“You’re the one who spanked my pussy into another dimension.”

“I blacked out somewhere around the second slap.”

“Youkeptslapping.”

“I couldn’t stop.” He kisses the back of my neck again. “You were too perfect.”

My heart flips. I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing. I just reach down, tangle my fingers with his, and hold them there against my stomach. His thumb strokes across my skin.

“Zo, I… I…” he whispers, so quietly I almost don’t hear it.

But I feel it in every inch of my body. It terrifies me, and there’s no way I’m going to ask him to finish his words when I know I can’t say them back, not yet.

So instead, I press his hand tighter to me in answer, and he pulls me closer, like he already knows.

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