The Finish Line

by Stewart , Kate

  “Good morning, Mr. King,”

  I can’t help the return lift of my lips. “It is.”

  She claws my thighs, taking me to the back of her throat, and I drop back on my pillow, denying myself the buck of my hips, doing my best to restrain myself.

  “Putain.” Fuck.

  She dives again, and I grip her head and gaze down at her. The sight alone has me close. She’s completely naked, straddling one of my thighs, her perfect tits in view, nipples peaked as I run a hand over them before tracing the stretch of her lips.

  “Tellement sexy.” So fucking sexy.

  We’re back sexually, and I won’t last long this way. She sucks me to the tip before releasing me and again pumps me in her hand, her eyes expectant.

  “Something on your mind, Mon Trésor?”

  “Fuck me,” she says, her voice raw with desire. I run my fingers through her silky hair, unable to hide my smirk. “Collecting more dividends?”

  “Precisely, and I’m not in the mood for conversation, King.” Chuckling, I lift her to my chest and claim her hungry mouth. A growl escapes my throat as I get lost in our kiss, in the feel of her tongue as it brushes against mine.

  Any kiss we exchange has never been short of perfect, no matter the emotion behind it. She feeds me exactly how I need her to, without instruction or prompt. We’ve mapped each other’s bodies on an expert level, and reacquainting them fully the last two days has been nothing short of fucking paradise. The look in her eyes lets me know I left her hungry for far too long, a need I’m all too happy to remedy. Lifting her atop me, I stroke her wings as she runs her slit along the ridge of my cock before she guides me inside, sinking slowly until we lock.

  Dominant need pulses through my veins, but it’s control I hand over as she bucks on top of me with the perfect amount of friction, just enough so if I thrust up, I’m rewarded in the best way.

  “Tobias,” she licks her lips, placing her hands on my chest as she picks up her pace, long hair tickling my thighs when she throws her head back, the arch giving me the best imaginable view. Gripping her hips, I succumb to her tight, wet heat as we work together until I can’t take another second.

  Flipping her, I see the satisfied spark in her eyes for getting the best of me as I hitch her thigh around my waist.

  But she always has.

  Life, as I knew it, was over the second I laid eyes on her. All former versions of me were erased when I exchanged hate for love. It would have been so much easier to hate her. At one point I did, and at times I still do because of what she’s capable of doing to me. But it’s the surrender that changed my life, changed me as a man, eased my mind, and filled my soul.

  Loving her has ruined me, wounded me beyond comprehension.

  Loving her has also changed my perception of what matters, of gravity, of my own personal truth, and for better or worse, aided in creating the man I’ve become.

  End of.

  Slowly I begin to burn through her, her moans fueling me, her lips worshiping, her eyes void of fear as her heart pounds beneath the flesh I cover with my kiss.

  There’s not a breath of separation between us anymore. I don’t feel any space, just whole and fucking thankful. Thankful for my undoing, for the heart that pounds beneath me that makes breathing easier, eases the tension, and releases me from the trap of my mind. Chests together, I drive into her as she gasps out my name, pulling my hair with her fingers as her eyes stay locked with mine. My heart knocks back against hers just as steady, but it’s no longer begging for readmittance. The door is already open. With another call of my name, I grunt out my release inside her, pressing my jaw to her heaving chest, as I come down, and I feel it, the recognition of a destination I never thought I would be again, home.

  Beau whines from where he lays at my feet, just as an icy gust of air slaps my face. Palming the mattress next to me, I come up empty as the cold wind whispers throughout the room, fully rousing me. It’s when I open my eyes and see the source—the bedroom window wide open—that I jerk to sit at the edge of the bed, my feet hitting the freezing hardwood as I reach for my Glock. In the next second I’m struck, the sting lingering on my jaw as I realize by what.

  Snow.

  Relief covers me as I release my gun back in the drawer and narrow my eyes as a mittened glove appears briefly on the ledge. A second later another ball sails through the window, smacking me in the chest—the malicious act followed by my Trésor’s maniacal laughter.

  “You scared the fuck out of me, thanks for that. Your ass is mine.”

  “Sorry,” she calls from just outside the window.

  “Not sorry enough.”

  I glare down at Beau, who begins lapping up the ice from the floor.

  “You’re useless,” I scold, “go eat her!”

  Her laughter echoes through the bedroom as I walk over to the window, just as glittering dark blue eyes clear the bottom of the frame. She smiles up at me from where she stands just below it, and I do the same just before I slam the window in her face and lock it, cutting off her, “Heeeey,” protest before I make my way back to bed.

  And wait.

  Not long after, I hear the telltale creak of the back door before soft booted footsteps pad through the house. Beau gives her away fully when he joins her where she lingers at the bedroom door, no doubt locked and loaded.

  “I am sorry,” she says sincerely. “I wasn’t thinking like that.”

  “You have to think like that,” I scold, “at all times, and you know this, and only today will I forgive you, but fair warning, Trésor, you throw one of those at me, I’m going to consider it a declaration of—”

  I’m barely able to shield from the three speeding balls being hurled at me in rapid succession. I’m instantly on my feet as she screams, dropping the rest of her arsenal before turning on her booted feet and launching herself out of the door, hysterical laughter pouring from her lips. I can’t help my own chuckle as I chase her through the house, catching up with her in the living room and tackling her into the couch. She yelps as she falls back and struggles against me, her eyes shining with mischief.

  “You are going to pay for that, dearly,” I say, unable to help my smile as I gaze down at her.

  “I let you sleep in long enough.”

  “You aren’t going to work?”

  “You should know, as a southern raised man yourself, that a quarter-inch of that white stuff,” she says, nodding toward the window, “gives southern cities the chance to play ignorant to what it’s made of and shut down.”

  “That so?”

  “It’s so,” she nods, her porcelain skin flushed pink from the cold. Her beauty robs me momentarily as I press myself against her, and she paws me with freezing mittens. When I jerk against the discomfort, she giggles.

  “We’re going to have a proper snow day, Frenchman. There’s enough for a good fight, a decent-sized snowman, and if you’re a really good boy, I’ll make you a snow cream.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “What is a snow cream?”

  “It’s a treat for good boys, you’ll see.”

  “What does being a good boy entail?” I dip and press my lips to what skin I can reach beneath the layers she has on. “Will you settle for a skilled tongue? You know that’s a lot to ask of me.”

  “Just going to have to give it your all, Frenchman.”

  “My all is ready,” I murmur into her neck, grinding as much as I can into the quilt thick clothes she has buttoned around her.

  “Cool off, cowboy,” she says, gliding her snow-crusted mittens down my sides, making me flinch.

  “You want to battle me? You should know better.”

  Her eyes narrow at my challenge. “I can take you,” she taunts.

  “Think so?”

  “Know so.”

  Abandoning the search for more skin, I pull myself away from her and the couch and lift my chin in acceptance of her battle. “Five minutes, Trésor. And you better hide well.”

  My four-legged
henchman sniffs her out in the garden within the first minute, and she screams like a banshee, tossing an arsenal of poorly made snowballs at me before darting around the house to the front yard. Gaining on her, she makes it all of two steps into the foot-deep blanket in her front yard before she loses her footing and faceplants.

  I can’t help my laugh as she lays there, her body shaking with laughter and defeat when I reach her and roll her over to see every inch of her outlined in snow. “The shortest war in US history lasted thirty-eight minutes, Trésor. I’m so disappointed in you.”

  I dust her off as she giggles beneath me. “Oh yeah, which war was that?”

  “Anglo-Zanzibar, 1896.”

  “You’re such a nerd, King,” she coos beneath me. “I thought you’d be happy the war is over.”

  “If you’re referring to our war, I’m more than happy. In fact, I’m willing to accommodate all demands for your surrender. But we’re going to have to work on your tactics. You couldn’t even evade my henchman.” I nod over to where Beau lifts his leg, dotting the white powder with a line of bright yellow.

  “Beau,” she scolds as he looks over at the two of us as if to say, ‘what?’ She shakes her head, looking back over to me. “I don’t think he likes it.”

  “No man likes being balls deep in ice. But those balls, we need to clip, and soon,” I say, pulling her from the ground. “He’s getting way too comfortable with my calf.”

  “Shhhh, he’ll hear you,” I swear Beau whines in agreement before trotting away from us, his curiosity getting the best of him. She pivots when she stands and tangles her leg with mine in an attempt to take me down. I balk at her shitty effort to get me on my back before I give in and take her intended fall.

  “You let me win,” she pouts, landing on top of me, knocking some of the air from me as she folds her mitted hands over my chest, her smile beaming. I pluck some of her newly wet and matted hair from around her neck and toss it over her shoulder.

  “I find it’s best to let you win at times. Makes life a lot easier for me. And you need a lesson in self-defense,” I add.

  She raises a brow before making a show of pulling a mitten off. “Do I?”

  “You do.”

  In the next breath, I’m cursing as she strangles my cock in a vice-like grip through my jeans.

  “You were saying?”

  “Not to be messed with,” I grit out as she briefly tightens her hold before letting go.

  “It’s a shame that men are so vulnerable there.” She bats her eyelashes. “And I fight dirty.”

  “As do I,” I remind her, pulling her to her feet and surveying the whiteout.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  I nod. “I thought it was going to be just a dusting.”

  “A cold front came in, and so we got a lot more than anticipated.”

  I nod.

  “We deserve a good snow day after the last one we had,” she says softly, bringing me back to the day I confessed all in her father’s back yard as heavy snow fell around us. The guilt resurfaces as I picture her, freezing, tears falling as she begged me to acknowledge us, to admit what we both knew was true. And I refused her, breaking apart the whole time, knowing I wouldn’t outlive the truth or that memory.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, reading my reaction. “I didn’t mean to play that dirty.”

  “I thought about that day the whole time we were apart.” I slowly lift the hem of her knitted cap, pressing a long kiss to her forehead before tugging it back down. “We’ll make this day far more memorable, so you’ll never think of that one again.”

  She nods, the clouds in her eyes slowly dispersing as she slinks down to the ground, a curve to her lush lips as she gathers snow in her hand.

  “Revenge is a dish best served cold, right?”

  “Don’t even think about—”

  She slaps the ice to the side of my face before she turns and makes a good showing of trying to get away. This time she makes it five steps.

  Tobias turns his nose up as I pop open the top of the sweetened condensed milk with the triangle tip of the can opener. He scrutinizes the label as I separate the snow into two bowls and drizzle the milk on top before grabbing two spoons out of the nearby drawer.

  “I told you, Trésor, I’m not eating snow.” He wrinkles his nose in clear distaste. “That can’t be…sanitary.”

  “The top few inches are clean.”

  “No, thank you.” He moves to walk off, and I stop him and swivel us, pinning him between me and the counter.

  “You will try this,” I demand, but he’s already shaking his head.

  “No, merci, but no.”

  “This isn’t optional, King,” I say, lifting a spoonful toward his mouth.

  He turns his head. “I’m not eating that.”

  I shake my head. “I swear I just had a flash of the future, trying to feed a French brat, a little replica of you.”

  His eyes immediately drop to my stomach, and he slowly lifts my sweater, covering the flesh with his palm before lifting a questioning gaze to mine. There’s a deep sorrow etched there, and I put my threatening spoon back in the bowl, concerned by his reaction.

  “What?”

  “Do you want children?”

  Alarm buds in my chest at his wary expression. “I haven’t given it that much thought. I will admit that the idea of carrying your baby…there’s something sexy, greatly appealing about it, and being a mother…I mean, I’m not opposed to eventually becoming a mother. Still, I don’t feel like it will make me or break me. Why do you ask?”

  He lowers his eyes to watch the glide of his fingers along my flesh in lieu of an answer.

  “Do you want children?”

  “I never thought I would… But the idea of you, pregnant with my baby, fuck,” he licks his lips, his eyes blazing with desire. “Maybe, with you. Only with you.”

  His reply warms me just as the cautious side of me speaks. “Okay, so what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to my face, Tobias. Is it the danger?”

  “Some of it, yes.”

  “Okay, then we can talk about this down the road. We’re in no hurry, right?”

  “Right.”

  Too quick. I press in.

  “What aren’t you telling me? Is there…something wrong with…” I lower my eyes.

  He jerks his chin. “No. I can give you children, Trésor.”

  “Okay,” I sigh. “Give me something here.”

  He nods towards our bowls. “Your snow cream is melting.”

  I groan, frustrated, but decide this argument can wait. I’m in no hurry, and it’s too hard to retrieve what he clearly doesn’t want me to see.

  Reloading the spoon, I lift it to my mouth and moan when the sweet cream hits my tongue. His eyes flare with a little curiosity as he watches me.

  “One bite, for me?”

  He nods, his knuckles still faintly caressing my stomach before he lowers my sweater. When I lift the spoon to his full lips, he opens, taking a mouthful, his eyes widening a little in surprise.

  I can’t help my victorious smile. “Told you.”

  Without hesitation, he grabs his own bowl, and we head to the couch, our discarded coats and gloves hanging on a rack next to a roaring fire.

  He shovels his snow cream in, as I try not to gloat, and then speaks up around a mouthful. His words imperceptible.

  “What was that, King? Did you say nom nom good?”

  His eyes narrow. “I neef to go see Mawk,” he mumbles, inhaling his treat and gesturing urgently for me to eat mine as if I didn’t just have to force the spoon in his mouth.

  “You need to see Mark?”

  He nods.

  “Who’s Mark?”

  He swallows, dishing up another huge bite. “At the hardware store. For snow day supplies. He’s my cashier.”

  I press my lips together as he cleans his bowl.

  “You’re getting around quite a bit these days, ar
en’t you?”

  He nods. “He’s agreed to give me five percent off my purchase.”

  Laughter bursts out of me. “Won’t Deanna be jealous?”

  He shrugs. “Different store.”

  “You whore,” I jab as he slurps back the rest of his bowl and gestures for me to share mine. When he opens his mouth expectantly, I make sure to cover his lips with the remnants of the sticky milk from my spoon. He scowls as I set down my bowl, still eyeing what’s left in longing until I grip his shoulders and push him back on the couch before thoroughly cleaning his lips. In seconds, he’s forgotten my abandoned snow cream and opts to lick me instead. Lips swollen, wetness pooling, I pull away and gaze down at him. “I love domesticated Tobias.”

  “Do you?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love the salty, bossy, suit-dressed Frenchman too, but I love this version of you just as much.” I press my lips to his jaw and feel him settle beneath me, his arms wrapping around me. “Maybe more.”

  Hours later, we stare into the fire as we lay comatose on the couch, half buzzed from wine after a long game of chess while the forecast hums in the background during the evening news. Tobias sits on one end while I lay opposite of him as he massages my wool-covered feet. According to the weather report, our snow will be gone tomorrow, which makes me a little melancholy. It’s the next segment of the news that snags my sleepy Frenchman’s attention, halting my foot rub altogether. He turns up the volume as brief, but grotesque footage is played and recapped by the anchor, snapping us both out of our stupor. Those responsible for it proudly proclaim themselves the culprits, a new terrorist organization, and it might as well be the fucking bat signal by the way Tobias is reacting—his posture going rigid and his jaw ticking. The hairs on my neck start to rise as Tobias bristles next to me, his reaction much the same. He’s a closet empath to the core.

  On instinct, he reaches for his cell, something I would have found odd years ago. His goal has always been corporate warfare, but since we parted months ago, his stake, his place, his say, and any future move he makes will be next level. A purposefully calculated advantage I’m not sure he’s been able to utilize yet.