Let me love you, p.22
Let Me Love You, page 22
Unable to handle the torture, I grab my dick and line it up with her entrance, pushing into her with one long thrust. And fuck, she feels good. Stretching around me. Letting me in. Physically. Emotionally. Like the last of our barriers—my career and all it entails—is finally gone, leaving us closer than ever. I quicken my pace, and she takes it all. Every grunt. Every thrust. Every breath. Every fucking flaw of mine she takes in stride, accommodating it. Accommodating me. Loving me. Claiming me.
Slipping my hand between us, I thumb her clit, playing with it in soft, small circles. Her breath hitches, and her teeth sink into the crook of my neck. Biting. Licking. Sucking.
“I’m gonna come,” she whimpers. “Colt, I’m gonna—”
Her pussy clenches around me, and I gasp, coming inside of her as my vision blurs.
Fuck.
Perfect. So fucking perfect.
When I’m finished, I grab a towel from the bathroom and help her clean up, and we both climb into the bed. Her breath is warm on my bare chest as she snuggles against me, letting a hum of contentment vibrate up her throat. The sound makes me feel like the Grinch, my heart swelling in my chest until I’m pretty sure it could burst at any second.
But I’m happy.
So damn happy.
And it’s all because of Ash.
“Gonna marry you one day, Sunshine,” I promise her.
“Gonna say yes one day, Colt,” she quips.
One day.
As the words slip past her lips, I realize how desperate I am to reach it. One day. How anxious I am to take the next step instead of only talking about it like we have been for months. And after tonight? After Jaxon and Eleanor and all the outside drama and hockey contracts, I’ve never been more ready to seal the deal. To make one day reachable. To make it final. To make it real.
Rolling onto my side, I dig in the nightstand for the box I’ve kept hidden for months. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to bring it out without realizing how many opportunities I’ve let slip by in the process. Opportunities like this one. That are perfect in their own ways. Without the flash or the spotlight. Just me and Ash. The way we were always meant to be.
When I turn back around, I rub my thumb along the edge of the little black box and take a deep breath. Because even though I’ve known I’ve wanted her for over a year now, taking this step—making it official—is scary as shit, and I don’t want to screw it up.
Ash is already half-asleep and curled on her side, her long blonde hair sprawled across her pillow. She looks gorgeous like this. Carefree. Satiated. Perfect.
“Hey, Ash?” I murmur.
Her eyelids are heavy, but she pulls them open. “Yes?”
“I love you.”
She smiles. “I love you too.”
“I love the way you steal my clothes.” I push her hair away from her face. “I love the way you treat Jax like he’s your own.” My thumb skates across her cheek. “I love the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re nervous and how you mother everyone around you, making sure they’re taken care of.” Bending down, I kiss the tip of her nose. “I love the freckles along your nose and the way you kiss me. I love how you have my back and how you aren’t afraid to claim me in front of everyone, especially people you hate.” Her light laugh makes my heart skip a beat. “I love the life we’ve started building and the one we’ve dreamt of creating together.”
“Me too,” she whispers.
“I’m ready to chase those dreams. I’m ready to grab hold with both hands.” I sit back and open the black velvet box in my hand. “Because as long as you’re by my side, I have everything I could ever ask for, Sunshine. Will you marry me?”
Her eyes turn glassy as she sits up and looks down at the engagement ring I’d picked for her. Dazed. Surprised. In awe. Her emotions flicker in her green gaze, but she doesn’t whisper a single syllable, leaving me on pins and needles as I wait. With her fingers pressed against her barely parted lips, she tears her attention from the rose gold band and teardrop diamond I knew she’d love, letting her eyes meet mine.
“Are you serious, Colt?” she whispers.
“Marry me,” I repeat.
“You are serious,” she decides, her voice filled with awe.
“Marry me,” I push.
A soft smile toys at the edge of her lips. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll marry you.”
I laugh and thread my fingers through her hair, pulling her against me. “Thank fuck.”
Then, I kiss the shit out of her.
Because the curveballs life throws our way don’t matter. The dreams we both want are worth fighting for. And we’re in this for the long haul. We’re in this together.
“Thank you,” I whisper against her swollen lips.
“For what?”
“For letting me love you.”
And fuck, it’s the truth.
COLT AND ASHLYN’S FAMILY TREE
THEO AND BLAKELY’S FAMILY TREE
MACKLIN AND KATE’S FAMILY TREE
HENRY AND MIA’S FAMILY TREE
EPILOGUE
JAXON
Ten years later
“Oh, come on!” the twins yell as Griffin, my little brother, slaps the puck into the top corner of the net. Ophelia’s glove barely misses it by an inch. It’s a cheap shot. Ophelia’s so short, she would’ve had to jump to catch it, but my little brother isn’t afraid of playing dirty to get what he wants. It doesn’t help that Ophelia’s a couple of years younger than Griffin, Everett, Archer, and Maverick, either. But despite missing the catch, she still knows how to hold her own. I give it a week, and she’ll figure out how to block the shot the next time Griff tries to pull something like it again.
“Yes!” Everett, Uncle Mack and Aunt Kate’s oldest kid, cheers as he skates toward his best friend and gives Griffin a high five.
Archer and Maverick shake their heads, calling the play a cheap shot as their goalie, Ophelia, flips them off.
“Watch it, Lia!” Aunt Blakely warns from the sidelines, rocking Aunt Mia’s youngest daughter, Rory, on her hip.
Ophelia’s shoulders fall.
“Yeah, watch it, Opie,” Arch and Mav tease as they skate toward her.
“My name isn’t Opie,” she growls. Her dark eyes follow their movements as they skate around her, taunting her. “It’s Ophelia,” she clarifies. “Or Lia. But it isn’t Opie.” Her gloves skitter across the ice as she chucks them at the twins like she’s ready to brawl, and her eyes never leave them as they circle her like a couple of sharks.
“Come on, Jax,” Archer calls to me, not stopping the stare-down between him and Ophelia. “Put Opie on your team. We want Griff.”
Yeah, like I’m gonna give them my best teammate.
“No deal.” I cross my arms. “We already decided on the teams. Griff, me, Everett, and Tatum against you, Mav, Dylan, and Lia. We’re not gonna trade just ‘cause you’re losing.”
“How come we get the babies?” Maverick argues.
“I’m not a baby!” Ophelia launches herself at Mav and takes him to the ice as Aunt Blake yells at Uncle Theo to break them apart. Shaking his head, Uncle Theo skates toward them, grabbing the back of Maverick’s and Archer’s jerseys, separating the fight. He hauls them up and drags them to the penalty box, tossing them inside while Ophelia wipes beneath her nose with the back of her hand as she watches them go. Her long pigtails are slightly skewed beneath her helmet, and she glares at the twins like she’s wishing laser beams could shoot from her eyes and hit them right where they’re sitting.
Gotta give the girl credit.
She’s like an alley cat.
Feisty. And with sharpened claws she isn’t afraid to use. Dad says she gets it from her mom, who is his little sister, Blake. But I’m still not convinced. ‘Cause I know Aunt Blakely. And Opie? She’s somethin’ else.
She might be the same age as my little sister, Dylan, and Aunt Kate’s daughter, Finley, but Opie’s crazy. Probably because she’s the oldest kid in her family and likes following the older kids around, but what do I know?
“Ophelia Grace Taylor!” Aunt Blakely yells from the board. “Get your butt over here right now.”
Opie’s head snaps to the benches. “But, Mom—”
“No, buts!”
With her chin to her chest, Opie skates toward the sideline, but not without a final glare at the twins, who look like they wanna strangle her. Archer and Maverick have always had it out for Opie. Dad says it’s because she doesn’t let them push her around, but I think it’s because they’re intimidated she might wind up a better player than them. It’s gotta hurt since Uncle Theo played in the NHL for years, and Uncle Henry, Mav’s and Archer’s dad, doesn’t even know how to skate.
Yeah, the twins might have some solid raw talent, but Dad and Uncle Theo have been coaching Opie ever since she could skate.
“Well, what do we do now?” Griffin throws his hands in the air like it’s my fault Arch, Mav, and Opie are all in trouble. “Their entire team is in the penalty box.”
“Split the teams again,” our dad, Colt, suggests. “Griffin and Tatum against Everett and Dylan.” His voice cuts through the crying baby. He pinches the bridge of his nose and turns to me. “Jax, why don’t you calm Rory down while Aunt Blake takes care of Opie.”
“I’m not Opie!” Ophelia snaps, overhearing him.
Aunt Blake rolls her eyes and turns Ophelia’s back to us. She bends down and continues her lecture.
“But I wanna play,” I argue, ignoring Rory’s wails from the benches.
Dad gives me a pointed look. “Please? Just until Aunt Mia or Uncle Henry get here?”
I know his look. It isn’t a question. It’s an order.
“Fine,” I grumble, skating to the half wall and collapsing onto the bench closest to Rory’s car seat. Finley, Uncle Mack and Aunt’s Kate daughter, is rocking the car seat back and forth with her foot. She’s only half paying attention to the little monster, which upsets Rory even more. Her face is red, and she’s flailing her little arms around, pissed as always.
“She’s mad,” Finley informs me.
“Duh,” I reply. “Scoot over. I got it.”
Finley scoots further down the bench, giving me some room. Rory’s still little, and Aunt Mia swears she'll grow out of throwing tantrums soon, but I kind of doubt it. She hasn’t even hit her terrible twos yet. In fact, we celebrated Rory’s first birthday a few weeks ago, and even covered in cake and ice cream, she was still crying. For some reason I don’t understand, she hates everyone. Well, everyone but me. She loves me.
“Hey, Squeaks,” I mutter, squatting in front of the car seat while balancing myself on my skates. I stick out my tongue and make a weird face before puffing out my cheeks and crossing my eyeballs. Her crying stops almost instantly. It’s replaced by a toothy smile. I roll my eyes and pull her out of the car seat, bouncing her on my knee as Griffin steals the puck from our little sister, Dylan.
“Come on, Dylan!” I shout. “You can take Griff!”
“Yeah, come on, Dylan!” Finley shouts beside me. They’re both seven and are best friends, but they couldn’t be more opposite if they tried. They do agree on one thing: girls rule. Boys drool.
And I couldn’t agree with them more, especially after my dad gave me “the talk” and reminded me it’s my responsibility to look after the girls and make sure they don’t do anything stupid. Yeah. The less I have to worry about them and boys, the better.
“Hey,” Aunt Mia says. She slides onto our opposite side on the bench along with Aunt Blakely as Ophelia skates back onto the ice.
“Hey.” I tear my attention from the rink and glance at both of them.
Aunt Mia’s looking at me and Squeaks with a smile. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her. She loves you, ya know.”
“Eh.” I shrug. “All the ladies love me.”
With a laugh, Mia ruffles my dark wavy hair. “Now, that, I believe. You got your daddy’s looks.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
I turn back to the game, but Aunt Blake adds, “Thanks for looking after Rory while I dealt with Lia.”
“I’m always looking after Rory,” I remind her.
“And everyone else,” Aunt Mia agrees, bumping her shoulder against mine. “What would we do without you, Jaxon?”
I shrug again.
It’s a good question. I’m always holding someone, helping someone, or playing with someone. As the oldest kid in the group, the pressure’s always there. To make sure everyone’s okay. To make sure everyone’s taken care of. It’s just the way it is. I’m used to it by now.
“You’re always going to look out for her, right?” Aunt Mia prods.
I look down at the blue-eyed baby on my knee, finding her already staring up at me. Her little hand reaches for my nose, and I dodge it, grabbing her hand and giving Aunt Mia another shrug. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”
“That’s my man.” Aunt Mia gives me a side hug, then catches Opie, Maverick, and Archer shoving each other near the net. Again.
“What’d the twins do this time?” she demands.
“You know how they are with Lia,” Aunt Blake grumbles. “I swear. I knew I was a spitfire as a kid, but I’m pretty sure my girl is gonna be the death of me.”
“Or the death of my boys,” Aunt Mia quips. “Come on.”
They both stand and head toward the ice as Dad intervenes for the hundredth time. I can’t help but laugh. Because this? The chaos? The yelling and fighting and laughing and crying?
Well, it’s just another day in the life of Jaxon Thorne, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Don’t Let Me Down
Chapter One
Mia
The band is killing it on the stage. They’re not my uncle’s band, Broken Vows, but they’re pretty good. Alternative rock with a dash of blues. My head bobs up and down with the beat as I wipe out a freshly-washed glass with a clean towel behind the bar.
Over the past couple of years since I started working at SeaBird, it’s slowly become my home away from home. I love the atmosphere. The smell of coconut and salt lingering in the air. The lights that can go from dimmed to flashing in an instant. The customers. Well, most of them, anyway. Some are assholes, but I’ve had a habit of attracting them since I was a kid, so I’m not sure if the problem is SeaBird or if it’s just me. Regardless, if being a bartender paid better, I’d almost consider sticking around and working here for the rest of my life since my initial plan to become a nurse hasn’t exactly panned out the way I’d been hoping.
Not yet anyway.
I shove the familiar little black reminder aside, and set the clean glass next to the others when someone approaches me at the bar.
If it isn’t the devil himself.
Henry Buchanan. The suave billionaire from new money, who’s not only the son of a governor, but a recently retired LAU professor, and the new owner of the NHL Lions Organization.
I took a couple classes with him before graduation, but even if I hadn’t, I’d still know him. Everyone knows Henry Buchanan. Or at least, they know of him. He’s got this air about him. The way he demands attention without uttering a single word. Hell, he enters a room and people can feel his presence. At this point, I’m not even sure if it’s because of his family name and the weight it holds, or if it’s just…Henry.
I force myself to not take in his strong jawline, and pick up the same freshly cleaned glass instead, hoping it’ll distract me enough to stop checking the guy out as he strides toward me.
“Hello again, Professor,” I greet him. “Two trips to SeaBird in one week?”
“It’s been a tough week,” he grumbles.
The man was basically born with a silver spoon in his mouth and isn’t exactly a consistent customer at SeaBird, but he was here earlier this week. Probably because he wanted to talk to the new Center and Left Wing for the Lions, who happen to be dating my friends, Ashlyn and Blakely. Yeah, Colt Thorne and Theodore Taylor are hockey gods, and they definitely know it. Thankfully, they’re good dudes and treat my friends like gold. If they didn’t, I’d neuter them, and they both know it.
However, they aren’t here tonight. Which leaves me to question, why is Henry Buchanan?
“You know, if you lost the suit, you might not stick out like a sore thumb around here,” I add, as he takes a seat on the barstool in front of me.
“Yeah.” He looks down at his dark, fitted suit as if just realizing how little he blends in while wearing it. Not going to lie, it makes him look like a GQ model surrounded by peasants. As he smooths down the rich fabric, light reflects off the Rolex wrapped around his sexy wrist and catches my attention. I didn’t know wrists could be sexy, but with the dapple of dark hair and veins popping along the top of his hand, I stand corrected. Not that I’m surprised. The man’s even been voted sexiest bachelor alive before his girlfriend took him off the market. If that isn’t an accomplishment, I don’t know what is.
“Guess I forget I don’t look like a student anymore,” he adds, dryly, assessing his odd choice of clothes compared to everyone else around him.
Yeah, no. Not even close. The guy’s at least thirty-three, and has aged like a fine fucking wine. I started paying attention to the Buchanan name when I found out Evelyn Buchanan, Henry’s little sister, was dating my father’s killer. Well, technically two men were arrested for my dad’s murder, but still.
Man, it feels like a lifetime ago.
Thankfully, the Buchanan’s weren’t involved in my father’s disappearance, but their names were still dragged through the dirt thanks to Buchanan’s dad running for governor at the time.
After the police made the connection, the Buchanan name hit the newspapers for weeks before Henry’s dad could squash the rumors and distract the media with a new story.
