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“I’m not sure,” I admit. “But we’ve been a fucking mess since she went missing. All of us. I can’t even imagine what she’s been through or how this is going to play out. If we have a chance to get her back and make this right, we need to take it.”
“Now you have a choice. You can let me be—let me cope with the fallout of this ordeal and do what I need to do to convince myself she’s okay, too—or you can try to control the situation. ‘Try’ is the operative word in that sentence, because I’m done doing things your way when it comes to my girl.”
“You’re mine, Jo,” he pants, strong hands gripping the hair at the back of my head as he moves me where he wants me. “You don’t get to leave. Anyone who tries to fucking take you—”
He catches my chin with one hand, thumbing over the tender flesh of my bottom lip. “That’s not what I want to hear from this mouth when you’re in my arms.” The words and the low intonation make my core clench, and without my permission, my tongue darts out to lick the tip of his thumb. In response, he tracks the movement, his hazel irises igniting in twin amber flames. “Nicky,” I whisper.
“Let me make good on my promise from last night. Make me feel good. Make me forget.” Kylian squints in consideration. “With Nicky here?” “With Nicky inside me,” she sasses, catching Kylian’s wrist. Without another word, she pushes his thumb deeper into her mouth.
“About to thrust up into and potentially tear apart my girl.” Kylian’s voice is so serious I have to hold in a laugh.
Tipping my head back to look up at Kylian, I lick my lips. “Trust me, Daddy. It’ll fit.” “Daddy?” Locke gibes. “You’re a philosophy major, Nicky. Don’t tell me you’re not familiar with the teachings of Pascal. Daddy is a state of mind.”
“Don’t worry about riding him, baby. We’ll make you feel good.” Then, tilting his head to the side, he regards Locke. “You’re good with this? I’m not interested in licking dick, but you’re inevitably going to feel it while I’m working.”
My heart drops back into its rightful place and beats double time while my dick springs to life the second I register what I’m looking at. Josephine. Standing proud. Wearing the number that’s been mine since I was ten years old. “Kylian,” I croak into the headset. “What number’s on that jersey next to you?”
Her grin matches mine, and in that moment, as my team rallies around me and the Sharks continue to circle, as the band erupts into the fight song in the stands and the crowd chants “Crusade,” all I see, all I want—my entire purpose in this life—is her. Josephine. In Crusaders’ red.
“You’re okay,” he assures me, keeping me close. He sets me on my feet and wraps one arm around my shoulders, keeping my body pressed to his. “We’re okay,” he grunts again, shouldering past the overbearing media and shielding me from view as best he can. “I won’t be taking questions until the presser,” he informs the crowd. “And I won’t be calling on anyone out here harassing me or trying to capture a private moment,” he adds.
“We’d be happy to create a master schedule,” Kylian chimes in. “I could send out calendar invites if you prefer.” Locke chortles into my hair, not-so-subtly grinding me against his cock as Kylian lets his fingertips linger in the hole of my jeans. “Joey does what she wants, man. You’re just big mad she doesn’t want you,” Locke offers.
“Say it,” he growls, echoing his demand from earlier, his eyes still trained on the lake. Peering up, I muster my courage and finish that sentence. “You’re really good at taking care of the people you love.”
“You are the person, Josephine. The one and only.”
“I need to memorize exactly what it looks like to see my name where it belongs before we get back to the isle and one of my brothers rips this jersey off your body.”
He gives me one of those dazzling Nicky smiles and winks. “True. But I know just what to lick if I’m craving something sweet later.”
“Bro,” Locke calls to Kylian as Kendrick takes the bowls and napkins. “Get the damn sprinkles. She’s not being direct enough,” he explains. “But with the way she’s looking at you right now, I bet she’ll lick them off you. All of them. Anywhere you put
“I love you. Do you know that?” he asks, pulling back just enough that I can see his eyes behind his glasses.
“The ducks. The prank. All this mess?” I wave one hand toward the G-Wagon, then allow myself to exhale—truly exhale—for the first time in weeks. “She’s back, K. Our girl is back.”
“I don’t know where you got those pictures or why you felt compelled to put them in a slideshow presentation, considering you’re propagating photos of a minor without consent.”
