Cian’s POV

  It wasn’t something I planned. Aoife and I had been together for months by then, and it just happened.

  Our relationship was intense—fiery, passionate, and, at times, exhausting. She loved the thrill of being the girlfriend of the star soccer player, and I... well, I enjoyed the chase. Aoife had a way of getting under my skin, of teasing and testing my patience, and I think that’s what drew me to her in the first place.

  The night it happened, we were at a party. One of our teammates had thrown it after a big win, and everyone was buzzing with adrenaline. Aoife had been glued to my side the whole night, her fingers constantly trailing along my arm, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered things that made it very clear where the night was heading.

  By the time we made it to her house, my head was spinning—not from alcohol, but from the way she looked at me.

  "About time, Byrne," she teased, tugging me into her room.

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  "Impatient, Gallagher?" I shot back, smirking.

  She rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of something softer underneath the bravado. We’d talked about it before. She wasn’t the kind of girl to wait forever, and I wasn’t the kind of guy to rush something important. But tonight, we both knew where we stood.

  The moment my lips met hers, it was a battle—teeth grazing, hands gripping, a fight for control. Aoife didn’t do soft and sweet, and honestly, neither did I.

  "Are you sure?" I asked, pausing just long enough to see the answer in her eyes.

  "Shut up, Cian," she murmured, pulling me down to her.

  It was fast, messy, and full of unspoken challenges. She left scratches down my back; I left bruises on her hips. Neither of us were gentle, but that was never what we were about.

  Afterward, she curled into my side, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my chest.

  "Well," she breathed, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. "That was worth the wait."

  I chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You say that like it’s the last time."

  Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Not a chance."

  Aoife and I were never about love. We were about desire, about the thrill of pushing each other’s limits. But lying there, tangled together in the dim glow of her bedroom, I realized something.

  For the first time, I wasn’t just Cian Byrne, the soccer star. I was just Cian. And maybe, just maybe, I liked that more than I wanted to admit.