He kissed my neck. “So, is that a yes?”
I squealed with laughter as he bit the column of my throat. Not hard, but just even pressure to send my blood singing. “Definitely not. You are not dragging me into the locker room.”
“Five minutes. Hell, two minutes. That’s all we need.” The stadium behind us started to clear out, but we were oblivious to everyone else but us.
I wrinkled my nose. “How romantic.” I drew him in, no longer resisting the desire to kiss him. He tasted of salt, but I didn’t care. God, I loved this prick.
“You kill me, Mads,” he groaned, his breath teasing my lips.
“Good,” I said, dropping a quick peck on his mouth. “Because we’re going to celebrate your win, and what I have in mind for the rest of the night is going to take a hell of a lot longer than two minutes. That’s how much time you have to shower and get your ass back to the house.” I slapped his backside.
His eyes darkened. “I love you.”
Blinking, I basked in the sudden warmth that flooded through my system. “Say it again,” I demanded.
Gentle fingers brushed at the sides of my face. “I love you, Madeleine Clarke.”
A thrill went through me. “Four minutes,” I declared, taking a step out of his arms, my eyes twinkling.
Brows drew together, confusion descending over his expression before he caught on. His hand went to the back of my neck. “Screw the shower here. We can take one together at home.”
From the heat in his eyes, he was seconds away from kissing me again, and I wanted him to very much. I grinned, curling my fingers into the front of his jersey. “I like that idea better.”
“You were always meant to be mine,” he murmured, claiming my lips just as he had claimed my heart.