I told myself the after-hours locker room was off limits for anything but work, but Dalton Rutherford has a way of making rules feel optional. His dominance shows up in the way he looks at me, like he knows the assertive front I put on is just waiting to crack under his hand.

I verify every detail for the team, yet here I am craving the punishment only he can give in the same space that could ruin us both. The bench where our shoulders brush stays in my mind long after I should have walked away, and the metal bars of the cage seem to call for my grip when he gets too close.

His palm hits the wall beside my head and the door clicks shut behind us. I have everything to lose if this continues, but stopping him now feels impossible when my body already knows what comes next.