ELLE
There's a knock on my hotel room door at 2 AM.
I know it's Blake before I open it. I can feel him through the door that specific gravitational pull that's defined my entire adult life.
"What are you doing?" I ask when I see him.
He's still in his street clothes from after the game. His hair is damp. His eyes are dark with something that looks like desperation and need mixed together.
"Finishing what I started," he says.
He doesn't wait for permission. He pushes me back against the wall not aggressively, but with inevitability and he kisses me like he's drowning and I'm the only oxygen left.
It's possessive. It's intense. It's feral.
And I kiss him back.
My hands find his hair. His hands find my waist, pulling me close, pressing me harder against the wall. His mouth moves down
