Fall With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 4)

I miss him.

Three words. Three words I wasn’t meant to hear, whispered in confidence to her family.

Three words that knocked me on my ass.

Never in my life have I felt important enough to be missed. If I was, surely Bryce’s parents wouldn’t have walked away. At the very least, they would have reached out, checked in on me. Right?

If I was important enough to be missed, the teammates I left behind after each trade, the ones I’d considered family, would’ve kept in touch. Instead, when I reach out at Christmas, wish them a happy new year, ask them how the family’s doing, their responses—if I get one—cut me to the bone.

Who’s this?

The only person to say those three words, to tell me they miss me, is my gran.

Until today. Until Lennon.

“What do you think it means?”

Cara blinks at me. Her eyebrows rise, slow and unimpressed, which is her usual expression. Holding up a finger, she pulls her phone from her pocket. “Hold on, let me dial a friend.” She presses at her phone screen, making beeping noises that have me rolling my eyes. “Hi, yes, I have a very important question. My friend’s crush said she misses him. What does that mean?” She pretends to listen, nodding along. “Mhmm. Oh, yeah. Okay, thanks.” She tucks her phone away. “It means she misses you, dipshit.”

I cross my arms over my chest, turning my attention to the stage. Big mistake, but then there’s nowhere else to look; staring at Lennon isn’t an option. “You’re a jerk,” I mutter, watching as Carter and Jennie parade across the karaoke stage, using every single fucking inch of it like they called ahead and asked for its dimensions, and then choreographed a dance routine to fit it perfectly. They’re currently putting on what feels like a live-action remake of Aladdin, based on their performance of “A Whole New World,” and this is their third duet of the night, because it’s Jennie’s night, and she deserves to celebrate. Each of them has gone solo too.

We’ve only been here an hour.

“And I never said I have a crush on her,” I shoot out.

“Oh, good. Then you won’t mind if she has company over tonight, right?”

My pulse thunders. “What?”

Cara checks her nails. “You know, in case she feels like entertaining that guy who’s talking to her right now.”

My head whips so fast, my neck screams out in pain. Lennon is seated at the large table our group is occupying, and there’s some twat-waffle with a stupid man bun hanging over her, flexing his stupid biceps as he talks, and the worst part of it all? She’s fucking smiling.

My feet move before my brain can catch up, marching me straight across the bar.

Nobody takes my crush home but me.

Lennon’s eyes flick to mine as I approach her and her new friend in a totally calm, levelheaded manner.

Cara’s eyes shine with delight as she slides back into her spot, and she nudges Emmett, who then nudges Olivia, who nudges Rosie, who nudges Adam, who nudges Garrett. Garrett goes to nudge Lennon, then stops himself, frowning at his elbow.

Man Bun looks up at me as I stop at the chair beside Lennon, the one he’s got his hand braced on.

I grab the back of it, yanking it out, flopping down in it. I do the man spread, legs wide until my knee rests against the skin-tight red leather pants Lennon’s destroying the entire world with tonight. I look up at Man Bun as he staggers to the right. “Sorry, was I interrupting something?”

“The pretty woman was telling me what she likes to do in her spare time. She said stargazing, and I was just about to ask if she’d like to get out of here and go see some stars right now.”

“Ha!” I snort, and Lennon’s brown eyes narrow, burning into me. I narrow mine right back, sending her a telepathic message.

You’ll need your telescope to find me, honey, because I’ll be in outer fucking space before you go stargazing with anyone who isn’t me.

She must have Do Not Disturb turned on, because I don’t think she’s getting my message. She grins at me, one of those scary, evil kinds that turns extra sultry as she looks up at this turtle dick between us. “My telescope is at home. Do you mind taking me there to get it?”

As fucking if.

His mouth dips to her ear, as close to it as I am from making sure he can never reproduce. “You’re not gonna need a telescope to see the stars I’m gonna put in your sky.”

I gasp; everyone else snickers. They must not have heard properly.

“So poetic,” Cara murmurs, head tilting. “Don’t you think so, Jax?”

“Hey, guys.” Carter swipes the sweat from his forehead as he and Jennie rejoin the table, chests heaving, hands on their hips. “What’s going on? We just finished rocking the stage, and none of you even clapped.”

“We clapped the first four times,” Olivia mutters.

“Lennon was about to answer—” Cara looks to Man Bun. “Sorry, what was your name?”

He winks. “Bart.”

Bart? I send Lennon another message with my eyes. It rhymes with fart, honey. Are you sure about this?

“Bart, yes, right. Such a strong, handsome name. Anyway, Bart asked Lennon out, and she was about to give him an answer.” She threads her fingers together, resting her chin there, eyes on me. “We’re on the edge of our seats to see what she’ll say.”

“But—oh! Oh!” Garrett claps, pointing to Lennon. “Didn’t you say you really wanted to see Jaxon on stage tonight? You’d hate to miss that.” He holds his hand up between himself and Lennon, winking at me. I got you, bud, he mouths.

“That’s never gonna hap—” Carter pauses, squinting as he clues into Garrett’s plan. “Oh. Oh, yeeeah.” He winks at me, forgoing the hand shield. “Yeah, and you were so excited to bust out your moves.” He starts back toward the stage, gesturing for me to follow. “C’mon, Jaxon.”

Emmett stands, and Garrett and Adam follow suit. “Yeah, c’mon. We’ll do it together.”

I pin my arms across my chest. “Like hell. I don’t sing, or dance.”

Lennon snorts a laugh, but before I can appreciate it, she sighs. “Well, I guess if I’m not going to see the only thing I wanted to tonight . . .” She stands, slinging her purse over her shoulder, and I rocket to my feet, tripping over them as I scramble after the guys.

“I’m coming!”

Five minutes later, I’m standing in line on stage, beneath the glare of the spotlight, which seems to be centered entirely on me, a microphone wrapped tightly in my trembling fist, while, like, a hundred people aim their phones at us. But Bart is gone, and despite the irritation etched in the arch of her brow, the flick of her wrist as she stirs her drink, Lennon’s smiling.

At me.

Lennon is smiling at me, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to regret this decision.

“Okay, Britney’s Bitches, we’re up.” Carter paces before us before stopping in front of me. “This is serious.” He points at his bugged eyes. “Do you see this? That’s how serious this is. Jaxon’s romantic life depends entirely on this performance, so that means⁠—”

“Um, I wouldn’t say⁠—”

“I need everyone to give a hundred and ten percent. Got it? A hundred and ten.” He claps my shoulder. “Jaxon, I chose this song for you. It’s powerful, passionate, and moving, and I want to feel that energy emanating from every pore on your body.”

“Okay, well, Bart’s already gone, so⁠—”

He grips the back of my shirt, hauling me back in line the moment I step out of it. “Emanating.”

I gulp. Nod. “Emanating.”

He squeezes in beside me, closing his eyes, breathing deeply. “Showtime, Bitches.”

Hey, remember a minute ago when I said there was no way in hell I’d regret this decision?

Yeah, that was before the screen before us lights up, and the lyrics to “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield start rolling up it.

I got a standing ovation.

“Hey, Len, did you see my standing ovation?” I reach over the center console, poking her thigh as we race through the dark night to home. “When everyone screamed and clapped for me? Did you see?”

She flicks my hand away. “Mhmm.”

“Okay, ’cause you don’t seem impressed.”

“People scream and clap for you every day of your life, Jaxon.”

“I—” frown. “Oh, yeah. You’re right. But you weren’t screaming and clapping.”

“Hmm.” She checks her nails. “Must’ve missed it.”

Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Her eyes were glued to me, and that incredible smile was stuck on her face. I know, because mine were glued to her too.

Well, after the first thirty seconds. The first thirty seconds I almost vomited my dinner all over the stage. Then I watched Garrett shake his ass and knew with certainty there was no way in hell I could be worse than him.

But as we finish the drive home in silence, ride the elevator in silence, and enter the apartment in silence, one thing is clear: Lennon’s not going to make this easy for me, and that’s okay. She deserves better.

She deserves to know that nothing about this past week was a reflection of her, and only a reflection of me and my fucked-up sense of self-worth, which has prevented me from ever attempting to form some sort of meaningful connection with a woman.

And I’m scared. Terrified, really. Nothing is more obvious than that as I stand in my kitchen and watch Lennon walk away from me without a word.

I didn’t know what I was missing before her. Not really. It’d been so long since I felt like I really belonged anywhere. Since I’d really, truly allowed myself to be happy. There was no choice when she came along. All that happiness? It just . . . was. It existed, and I lived in it.

The problem with feeling that kind of happiness is that when it’s gone, the absence of it is staggering. The silence is earsplitting. And I can’t go another day without Lennon and everything I made her take with her when I pushed her away.

That’s why I’m in the middle of typing out a plea for help to the girls while Mittens eats his midnight snack at my feet when her bedroom door opens. I look up, watching as Lennon struts down the hall in nothing but those booty shorts I love/hate, one of my Vipers T-shirts that she’s cropped to sit right below her tits, and oh Jesus fuck she’s not wearing a bra. I stand here like a jackass, fixated as she gathers her spirals and secures them on top of her head, several slipping free, tumbling down her slender neck. It’s when she uncorks a bottle of red wine—specifically, an eight-hundred-dollar vintage that she dumps into a glass while looking me dead in the eye—that I find my balls.

Without a second thought, I navigate to my music app, heading to Recently Played. It’s a bunch of love songs, all Lennon’s, because she uses my account. I choose my favorite one, the one with her nickname in the title, and watch as her eyes flicker when the song seeps from my speakers, drowning us in the soft acoustics. When I turn on the small light projector I picked up the other day and constellations fill the room, splashing across the walls and ceiling, her lips part with wonder.

“What is this?” Flecks of gold shine with uncertainty in her brown eyes as I slowly move toward her, take her wine from her. “What are you doing?”

I twine my fingers through hers, hauling her into me. “Dance with me, honey.”

“W-why?”

“Because everyone else got a chance to spin you around today. Because I wanted to, but until right now, I didn’t have the courage to ask. Because I missed having you in my arms.” I loop her arms around my neck, my hands gliding down her sides, finding the soft dip of her waist. “Because I missed you.”

Her breath fans across my neck. “And the lights? The stars?”

“You deserve to have the things you love most at the tips of your fingers, honey.” My gaze follows hers, watching the stars dance around us. “This is for the cloudy days. The rainy days and the cold days. The lazy days better spent in bed, and the days I keep you there, if you’ll let me.”

I’ve never thought of Lennon as small or meek. She’s been a force to be reckoned with since the day I found her in Cabo. That she spent years feeling like she had to make herself smaller to be the person Ryne was comfortable with her being is devastating.

So when she looks up at me, gaze drowning in apprehension, when she swipes her wine off the counter and tips a third of it back because she doesn’t know what to say, what she’s supposed to say, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Never have I ever worn swimming goggles to keep onion fumes out of my eyes.”

Her brows jump, and she rolls her eyes, burying her snort in the sip of wine she takes. The glass dangles from her fingers as she wraps her arms back around my neck, softening against me. “Never have I ever sung ‘Unwritten’ by Natasha Bedingfield in front of a hundred people, while also gyrating.”

“Cheap shot, Len. Just say you’re jealous of my moves.” I take a sip of her wine as she brings it to my lips. “All right, let’s see . . . Oh, I know. Never have I ever felt bad about ruining someone’s chances with a man named Bart.”

Another snort. Fuck, I love it. This one says she knows I didn’t give a fuck.

“You have to drink if you’re sad you missed your chance with him.”

She gives me a look, and I give her one right back until she relents. “His name rhymed with fart, Jaxon.”

“That’s what I said!”

She also doesn’t drink, and my chest swells with pride.

“Never have I ever bought a bouquet of pink tulips every week because I know they’re my roommate’s favorite flowers only to pretend it wasn’t me.”

“Damn it,” I mutter, stopping to take a drink.

“And never have I ever put so much thought into making an instruction guide for a coffee machine, even including a recipe guide and cereal pairings.”

“Hey, it’s my turn. You can’t just⁠—”

“Drink.” She forces the glass to my lips. “And never have I ever secretly thrown out all my nut and tree nut products and disinfected my kitchen for a girl I didn’t even like and who was only supposed to stay one night.” Another slosh of wine she tips down my throat. “And never have I ever got a girl the one thing she wanted more than anything in the world, something someone else made her feel silly for wanting, and thought it was no big deal, even though that girl cried herself to sleep that night because it was, in fact, a huge fucking deal.”

I grip her wrist, stopping her from lifting the wine to my lips. “You cried yourself to sleep?”

Lennon stares up at me, nostrils flaring, the slightest tremor in her chin.

The song has ended, leaving me with only the sound of my heart thrashing against my chest, begging to get out, to offer itself up to this woman before me.

“Never have I ever been afraid to tell someone how I feel about them,” I whisper, a quiver in my hand as I slide my fingers over hers, gripping the wine glass, bringing it to my lips.

The crease in her forehead smooths out, lips parting with surprise. Surprise that I have feelings for her. Surprise that I’m telling her. Or surprise that I’m admitting I’ve been afraid. Fuck, I’ve been so afraid. To let go, let someone in, give them that kind of power over me. The kind of power where you walk knowingly to the edge of the cliff, stare down at all the possibilities waiting below, a chance at a future, a home, or another person who changes their mind. Both scary, and yet you look over the edge, and something tells you to do it, to give it a chance, so you do. You take a deep breath, let go, and fall.

But I don’t want to fall alone. I want her to fall with me.

And if I hit the ground at full speed, splitting apart at the seams, I want to trust that she’s going to be there, tucking her hand in mine, helping me to my feet. I’m tired of getting up all on my own.

I set the wineglass on the counter. Running my hand down her side, I find her waist, squeezing softly, feeling that she’s here with me. I press my forehead to hers, sweeping my thumb along that trembling lower lip.

And I let go.

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry that when I got in my own head, I asked you to leave my room instead of asking you to talk. I’m sorry I haven’t been around the way I’ve always been. I don’t … I don’t know how to communicate. Not about this kind of stuff.”

“What kind of stuff is this?”

“You. Me.” I swallow. “Us.”

“And do you wanna do that now? Communicate?”

I nod. Lick my lips. “I got scared. I am scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared, Jaxon. Can you tell me why, though?”

“Because you’re . . . you’re everywhere. My kitchen, my couch, my bed. My head. Fuck, honey, you’re running around up there all damn day, and I can’t think straight.”

The corner of her mouth quirks, and she bites her bottom lip to keep that smile from shining. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“I thought so. Getting attached to anything has never ended well for me. The last thing I ever wanted to do was get attached to a person.”

“And now?”

“Now? Now I like having you everywhere. I like your hair products spread out on my bathroom counter. I like your books on my shelf, your telescope on my balcony. I like every piece of you that you’ve added to this house, and I like that my bedsheets smell like you. And, honey? I like me a whole lot better with you here too.”

The rest of her hesitation dissipates, melting the edges of her gaze. Her hand brushes my jaw, cupping my cheek, and I sink into the warmth.

“I don’t know if I liked being alone before you, but it was comfortable. I got used to the quiet. Felt like I belonged in it. But now, without you . . . I fucking hate the silence, Lennon.”

Her fingers slide into my hair, gently twirling my waves. Slowly, she tilts her face, touching her lips to mine, a feather-soft kiss I haven’t been able to stop thinking about all week. “I’m scared, too, you know? I came here to escape a ruined relationship, and to find myself. Instead, I found you. I thought you’d just be my rebound. That we’d have amazing sex while I was here, I’d ride your cock and your face into oblivion, and then we’d both go our own way when I moved out.”

I chuckle, but the thought of us parting ways, of never feeling her skin slide against mine again, the scrape of her nails raking down my shoulders, never hearing her singing in the shower, makes me feel sick to my stomach. “I don’t think you need to find yourself. I think you know exactly who you are, and you’re confident being that person.”

“You’re right. I do know who I am, and I am confident being myself. But a big part of that is you, Jaxon. I can be myself here because you make me comfortable enough to do so. I’m not worried about censoring myself, or asking for the things I want, because I know you’re going to accept me no matter what. You’re not judging me.”

“Just your onion goggles,” I whisper against her lips, capturing her laugh with a kiss.

“So you have feelings for me?” She fiddles with the collar of my shirt, peering up at me with a smile, half shy, half smug. “What kind of feelings?”

I mean to be vague. To say something like a lot of feelings or big feelings, because I’ve never been good at giving my thoughts a voice, and especially my fears. Instead, I look in her eyes, warm and smooth like whiskey on a summer patio, sunshine streaking through the crystal glass, lighting it with breathtaking shards of amber. And I blurt out, “Looking at you, knowing you exist in my world, that you could be mine one day and gone the next, is the most overwhelming thing I’ve ever felt.”

I know what loss feels like. I know what it feels like when your world is so intertwined with someone else’s that you become two halves of a whole.

And I know what it feels like to lose it.

“Since Bryce died, it’s felt easier to not try at all than to try and lose it all in the end anyway.”

Lennon brushes her thumb over my cheekbone. “That’s a sad way to live, Jaxon. Anticipating the worst. Bryce wouldn’t want that for you.”

Gran’s always said the same, but I can’t help it. Logic rarely ever wins when shattered hearts are involved.

“I’m happy with you, Jaxon.”

“Even though I annoy you?”

“This relationship is built on annoyance.”

Relationship. Fuck. Never been in one of those before.

“So . . . I’m not your rebound? You . . . you feel the same?”

“Why else would I come out here without a bra or panties and in your favorite booty shorts if I wasn’t hoping to lure you into telling me you have feelings for me?”

“Mmm. Sneaky girl.” I drag the tip of my nose along her jaw, up to her ear, and then freeze there, eyes wide. “You’re not wearing any panties?”

She takes my hand, sliding it down her torso. “Why don’t you stick your hand down here and find out?”

With my hand on her stomach, I ease her backward, until her elbows rest on the countertop as my hand slips beneath her shorts. I drag my middle finger through her slit, humming my approval when I find her soaked. I drag that wetness up to her clit, watching as her head falls over her shoulders while she moans, hips lifting, chasing my touch.

Bending over her, I drag my mouth up her throat, licking my way to her ear. “You’re wet, honey. We’re having a serious discussion, and you’re over here, soaked and ready for my cock?” I push three fingers inside without warning, proof that she’s ready, as desperate for me as I am for her.

“I can’t help it.” She moans, grinding against my palm as I finger her tight pussy. “Jaxon Riley, tattooed grump who thinks he’s only good for fighting, talking about feelings, pouring his heart out to me . . .” She shudders, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she takes her lower lip between her teeth. “Turns me on.”

“Hmm.” I drag my thumb over that lush lip, tugging it free. “Such a pretty mouth. Wanna know my favorite thing about it, honey?” I press the whispered words against her ear. “The only way to shut it up is with my cock.”

She grins up at me. “They say big mouths need big cocks to keep them satisfied.” Slowly, she sucks my thumb into her mouth, and when my breath hitches, she pushes me backward, walking past me and down the hall. “You’re not gonna fuck me like that tonight, though.” Pausing at my bedroom door, she pulls her T-shirt over her head. Drops those booty shorts to her feet. Bats those thick lashes. “You’re gonna fuck me like you’ve missed me for a week because you were too scared to talk to me. Groveling will bode well for you, honey.”

I don’t know how it happens. Superhuman speed or something. ’Cause one moment I’m standing in my kitchen with my balls in my hand, and the next thing I know I’m through my bedroom door, winding an arm around her waist, flipping her around, pinning her to the wall.

We’ve been in this position before. Her wrists on either side of her head while I held her to the wall in my bedroom, my cock begging to be inside her. Then, I’d told her not to let Ryne have any type of power over her, the kind that has him second-guessing her worth. And she didn’t. She’s been in control this whole time, put one foot in front of the other without looking back. And I admire her for that. It’s the one thing I’ve never figured out how to do.

Something changes as we stand here, pressed against each other, chests heaving. My hand trembles as I glide it along her jaw, gripping the nape of her neck. The clip in her hair dislodges, and all those incredible spirals tumble down around her shoulders, scattered across her glowing copper skin, kissing her dusky nipples, leaving me feeling the way I always do when I look at her: utterly fucking overwhelmed.

“Fuck, honey.” I press my forehead to hers as we fight to breathe. “Who made you so beautiful?”

“I wonder the same thing about you. When you carry me to bed each night, tuck me in, and kiss my forehead because you think I’m asleep.”

Fuck. Yeah. That’ll do it. I grip her knees, yanking her legs up and around my waist, and then my mouth collides with hers. It’s hot and wet, hungry and new, exploring a new side of me while I explore her. Her tongue glides against mine, and when she rocks herself against my cock, she swallows my groan.

I carry her to the bed, laying her down way gentler than I ever have. Her eyes track my movements as I strip my shirt off, let my pants fall to the floor, and the hunger in her eyes is different. Reverent, somehow. Like she feels as lucky to be here with me as I do with her.

When I sink to my knees, she stops me.

“I changed my mind,” she murmurs, and my heart stops.

I bury my hand in my hair, gaze bouncing around the room. “Okay. Yeah. I get it.”

“No, Jaxon. Not like that.” Her hand slips down to mine, twining our fingers, and she guides me up on the bed beside her. “I don’t need you to grovel. I just need you to be with me.”

She lies back, tugging me toward her, until I’m looming above her, unable to comprehend why I was ever afraid of this. Of us.

I hike her leg up, scrubbing my hand over my mouth, because fucking Christ, she’s perfection, her rich brown skin a stunning contrast to the cream silk sheets I finally put on my bed this morning, beautiful pussy swollen and weeping for me. She doesn’t want groveling, but I still need a taste, and the only thing I want to accomplish by the end of this night is her knowing, without a doubt, that she has a place in my life for as long as she wants it. I’ll spend all of that time worshiping this body.

I press my lips to her ankle, working my way up her lean legs, trading kisses for nips, until I’m lapping at the dampness at the juncture of her thighs. That clit is begging for attention, so I flick the tip of my tongue over it, enjoying the way she moans, buries her hands in my hair. Then I press my tongue flat to her center, drag it up achingly slow, and suck that clit into my mouth.

“God, Jaxon. Mouth. Love. Tongue. Oooh fuuuck.”

I love when she does this, makes no fucking sense. It’s like hearing my thoughts when they’re all about her.

I keep up my path, painting her hips with marks from my mouth, dragging kisses up her torso, twirling my tongue around her nipples while she whimpers and squirms. Sinking my fingers in her hair, I pull her head taut, showering her throat with attention while I hook one leg over my forearm, spreading her wide. My cock slides against her, nudging at her entrance, and she pulls my lips to hers. I squeeze my eyes shut as our mouths move together, unhurried, appreciating the slowness. And then, when Lennon lifts her hips, I push inside her, inch by aching inch, swallowing her sigh.

“You fill me so good,” she murmurs, breathy and hushed as her hips roll against mine. “Like you were made just for me.”

“Been thinkin’ that for a while,” I admit, pulling out, sinking back inside until my balls slap against her ass. I do it over and over, addicted to the way she reacts when I move faster, slower, deeper, when I roll my pelvis against her clit.

She’s a beautiful, breathless mess, cheeks stained a deep crimson, lips swollen and glistening, begging for my mouth again. I give it to her, kissing her deeply, pulling away with a gasp as I pick up speed. With my forehead pressed to hers, she takes every inch of me, welcomes me deeper, squeezes me tighter as she whimpers my name.

I reach between us, stroking her clit as she trembles, rakes her fingernails down my shoulders. She’s ready, right on the edge, and so am I. On instinct, I start planning where I want to come. I’m not picky; me on any part of her is a masterpiece, and Lennon particularly loves when I finish in her mouth. Says she loves the taste of her pussy on my cock, which usually has me immediately ready for round two.

But as we race up to that peak together, as we teeter on the edge, her wide eyes staring into mine, I’m struggling. Because the thought of my cum dripping from her freshly fucked pussy? Jesus Christ, that’s a sight I’m feral to see. And the look in her eyes? The look in her eyes says she fucking knows it.

“Ask nicely,” she barely manages, licking her lips as her eyes fall shut, her walls clenching around me. “Ask nicely, Jaxon, and I might let you come in my pussy.”

A smirk tugs at my mouth. “Please, honey. Your pussy is the only place I wanna come.” I dip my mouth to her ear. “Wanna watch it drip out of you, then push it back inside, so you’re always full of me. And then I’ll lick you clean, and when I’m done and you ask to taste yourself on my tongue, I’ll say yes, because no is the last thing I’d ever say to you. So please, honey. Let me come in your pussy.”

Her eyes come to mine, playful and beautiful. “No need to beg, Jaxon. A simple please would’ve sufficed.”

I huff a laugh, but it quickly dies as our gazes collide. Her lips part as she struggles to breathe, her whole body trembling in my grasp. Mine is too. I grip her throat in my shaky hand, pressing my lips to hers, and when she lets go, shattering around me, crying out my name, I bury mine in her hair, filling her with my cum.

And I do exactly as I promised: watch it drip from her pussy, push it back inside with two fingers. Lick her clean, give her a taste, and then start all over again.

It’s nearly three in the morning when we finally collapse, breathless and sated.

Lennon curls into my side, tucking herself around me. “Jaxon?”

“Mmm?”

“I missed you, too, you know.”

I smile down at her, moonlight sliding against her flawless skin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Fingertips dance along my jaw. She pulls my mouth to hers, a tender kiss that settles my racing pulse. “You are worth every heartache.”

Funny thing is, for the first time ever, with her in my arms, I believe it.

Pulling the sheets over us, I hug her against me.

“Jaxon? One more thing.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, honey.”

“Did you put these silk sheets on your bed for me?”

I press my lips below her ear. “Nah, honey. Put ’em on for Magic Mike. They treat him so gentle.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters, reaching back to pinch me. I catch her hand, gripping it in my fist as I fold her into my arms, burying my laugh in her neck.

Truthfully?

“I put these sheets on for me. Because now you have no reason to get out of this bed, and I get to spend the whole night with you right here.” I press my hand over her heart, feeling the way it dances and patters, just like mine. “The best thing I’ve ever gifted to myself is, by far, the way I feel with you in my arms.”