Page 125 of False Catch

"Because wanting something and being able to have it are two different things."

She pulls back, eyes blazing. "That's bullshit and you know it."

"Is it? You saw how they looked at you. At us. They have my whole future planned out, and you're not part of it."

"So change the plan."

"Change the plan?" I stare at her. "They control everything. My position on the team, my future career, all of it depends on playing by their rules."

"No." She shakes her head. "That's what they've made you believe. What about what you want?"

"I want you." The words tear out of me. "But I can't lose everything else in the process."

She steps back, and the loss of her touch feels like losing a piece of myself. "You mean you won't."

"Reese."

"No, I understand. Really, I do." She moves toward the couch, then stops, looking back at me. "But can we just... not talk about it? Just for now?"

I watch her sink onto the couch, pulling her knees to her chest. The lamp light casts shadows across her face, making her look small, vulnerable in a way she never allows herself to be.

I cross to her, sit close enough that our bodies touch. "What do you need?"

"I need to not think for a while." She uncurls, shifts to face me. "I need to pretend that tomorrow doesn't exist."

My hand finds her face again, thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "We can do that."

She leans into my touch, eyes fluttering closed. When she opens them again, there's something different there. A decision, maybe. Or a goodbye.

She leans into my touch, and the tension I’ve been carrying snaps loose. Her mouth covers mine, the kiss unhurried, deliberate. Not frantic. She kisses me like she wants to know every angle, every contour, like she’s committing me to memory.

Her hands go to my shirt, fingers deft as she works the buttons open one by one. The fabric slides off my shoulders, and her palms spread across my chest, warm and steady, as if she’s testing that I’m really here.

She strips Bo’s hoodie without hesitation, the tank beneath tugging up in the same motion. There’s no teasing, no pause for effect — just bare skin revealed, inch by inch, until I see the line of her sternum, the swell of her breasts, the faint shadow of the place I ache to mark. She isn’t asking permission. She’s giving herself to me outright, and the weight of that hits harder than it should.

She climbs into my lap, straddling me, knees braced against my thighs. We’re chest to chest, breath mingling, her eyes blown wide and dark. Her hands slide down my torso again, nails dragging lightly over muscle, grounding herself in the feel of me.

She kisses me once more, deeper this time, tongue parting my lips, pulling me under. My hands find their way beneath her tank, cupping, squeezing, testing her weight in my palms. I roll her nipples between my fingers and she moans into my mouth, hips shifting instinctively.

She grinds against me, slow but firm, heat pressing through the thin barrier of cotton. The friction is sharp, immediate, and my hands drop to her waist to guide her movements. She hooks one leg tighter around me, angling closer, and the damp heat of her seeps through to my skin.

I reach down and shove at her leggings, pushing the fabric past her hips. She lifts just enough for me to drag them down, and they pool at her calves before she kicks them aside. She’s bare now, spread over my lap, and the sight of her—wet, trembling, open to me—hits deeper than any threat or demand my family could ever make.

She shifts in my lap, but instead of taking me into her like I expect, she slides down to her knees between mine. My breath catches.

“Reese—”

“Let me,” she whispers, voice low, sure.

Her fingers trace the line of my stomach, slow enough that I feel every brush of her nails. She undoes my belt, then my fly, tugging fabric down with steady hands until I’m bare and hard in front of her. The sight of her kneeling there, eyes dark, mouth parted—it’s almost enough to undo me without her even touching me.

Then she leans in and runs her tongue up the length of me, from base to tip, savoring like she’s tasting something sacred. My head drops back against the couch with a groan I can’t hold back.

She doesn’t rush. She takes me into her mouth inch by inch, wet heat surrounding me, tongue stroking the underside until I’m gripping the cushions just to stay grounded. Every movement is deliberate. She pulls back to lick me from root to crown, then swallows me down again, hollowing her cheeks, sucking slow and deep.

“Christ, Reese,” I choke out. My thighs tense under her hands.

She hums around me, and the vibration nearly makes me lose it. Her eyes flick up, locking with mine, and the look there guts me. Not playful. Not coy. Worshipful. Like this is as much for her as it is for me.