by Whitley Cox
Once he was discharged from the hospital, Aaron was granted a discharge on medical grounds, then he took off back to Medellin and finished the job.
They called him the Black Shadow because they never saw him coming until it was too late. Patiently, over the course of several months, he waited for hours in the dark, in the rain, in the blistering heat to take out his enemies.
To take them all out.
And he did.
One by one, he picked off every member of the Muñoz Cartel, until all that was left was Carlos himself. The smarmy, smug psychopath with more money than some countries and less morals than the Crips.
He’d found Carlos hiding alone in a bunker beneath one of his mansions, his family having fled to Ecuador.
“I hope you set him on fucking fire,” Isobel gritted out, fury burning bright behind the pain in her wet eyes.
He shook his head. “No. But I finished him.”
Quick and painless.
Merciful.
Though mercy was anything but what Carlos had shown the Velasquez family.
But torture had never been Aaron’s forte. He preferred to get the job done swift and clean-like, then move on.
One shot in the back of the head. Just get it over with. End the nightmare. End Carlos Muñoz’s reign of terror once and for all.
And he did.
Single-handedly, he took down one of the most powerful drug cartels, one of the most powerful men in South America, and then he was done.
The next day he flew home to Seattle, bought a house, started his business and found out his sister was pregnant. He hadn’t looked back since.
Or at least he tried not to.
He tried very hard.
Booze helped. So did the punching bag in the garage.
And when things got extra hairy and he felt himself beginning to spiral, he headed to the local cage-fighting ring and went a few rounds with some of the guys. A lot of other veterans who understood his bloodlust, his fury, his need to hit and maim.
Only now he had Isobel and Sophie. They were his rocks, his home, his safety. Instead of wanting to hurt things when his past began to haunt him, he wanted to be around love and softness. Isobel and Sophie were where he could retreat to when the darkness started to close in around him and threatened to consume him. He had a good woman—a great woman who was nothing but light, and she and his daughter chased away the darkness, the anger, the pain.
“I’m so sorry, Aaron,” Isobel said, her mouth against his neck, warm tears dripping down beneath his collar. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve lost. It’s been so much. More than anyone should ever have to go through.”
“But I’ve gained so much too,” he whispered, waiting for her to lift her head. He used the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears from beneath her eyes. “You and Soph have given me so much. You’ve given me a sense of purpose again, a reason to keep going, to get up in the morning. You’ve given me love and hope.” He pressed his forehead to hers.
Isobel hiccupped a sob, and fresh tears dripped down her cheeks. He wiped them away again with his thumbs.
“You saying you’ll stay has given me more joy than I’ve ever had in my life. For the first time in a very long time, I have hope for the future. I want a future, and I want it with you.”
Was it too soon to ask her to stay forever?
Ah, fuck it. He’d already put his heart on the line, told her about Colombia and what haunted him, and she hadn’t run for the hills. Why not go all in? Why not lay it all on the line?
His forehead fell back to hers. “Forever, Iz? Will you stay forever?”
She lifted her head and gently pressed her lips against his. “I didn’t think there was any other option.”
Epilogue
2 years later …
Aaron’s head popped up from beneath the covers. “Was that a cry?”
Isobel rolled her eyes and huffed. “Nope. No cry.”
“You sure?”
She grunted, then squeezed his head between her knees. “Yes, I’m sure. Your son is asleep in the corner of the room in his bassinet, and your daughter is asleep across the hall. I have the baby monitor for her room right here.” She reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the monitor. “See, sound asleep. But for how long, we have no clue.”
“I could have sworn … ”
“It was probably me making a happy noise, which I am no longer making, because you’re paranoid. Now be a good soldier and get back to work.” She glanced at the bassinet in the corner. Weston would be up any minute for a feeding—her boobs told her as much. They had a small window to get busy, and he was wasting it chit-chatting.
His grin was wicked and shiny with her arousal. “I love it when you’re bossy.” He pulled his fingers from inside her and gave her a quick salute. “Back in I go.” Then he tossed the covers over his head and swept his tongue up between her folds.
“That’s better,” she purred, bucking into his face and biting her lips. Her breasts were engorged and ached, but no way in hell was she passing up the opportunity to have sex with Aaron. It’d been far too long, and sleep deprivation or not, leaking boobs or not, she was going to get an orgasm, whether Aaron got a tongue cramp or not.
“Mama!”
NOOOOOOOO!
Aaron tossed the covers back. “I definitely heard it this time. That Soph?”
Isobel scooted up the bed, then swung her legs over the side, pulling her pajama pants on. “Unless you think a three-month-old can say Mama already?” Man, lack of sleep and lack of sex turned her into a real sarcastic biatch.
He rolled his eyes. “I can go get her. Maybe you should just feed his nibs over there. That way when I get back, we won’t be interrupted.”
Good idea. Though she really hated the idea of waking a sleeping baby.
Her boobs were screaming louder than their two-year-old though, leaking like milky spigots too.
Nodding, she cursed their little cock-blockers, then walked over to the bassinet. Her chubby-cheeked son lay serenely on his back with his arms above his head and his mouth sucking at nothing.
Babies were so freaking cute—particularly when they slept and dream-nursed.
She scooped him up and wandered over to the glider rocking chair in the opposite corner, pulling her breast out as she sat down. Weston found her nipple, no problem, didn’t even bother to open his eyes and reached up with both hands to hold her breast like it was a bottle.
Isobel closed her eyes and leaned her head back, setting them off to a gentle glide with her foot.
She could hear Aaron’s deep voice across the hall as he dealt with Sophie and one of her nightly wake-ups. She wasn’t quite potty-trained yet but hated sleeping in a diaper with pee in it, so whenever she peed in her diaper, she woke up and lost her mind, screaming until one of them changed her.
And then the whole big process was on repeat.
She needed her cup of water, her stuffed animal army all lined up in their proper order of rank along the foot of her bed. Her blanket needed to be retrieved from the depths of the abyss, also known as the tangled bedsheets. She needed her story, her night-night poem, her night-night song, and finally a kiss for each finger, one for her nose and one on each cheek.
Who on Earth had started this routine?
Isobel’s father!
Right before Weston was born, Isobel and Aaron had gone away on a short weekend trip together without Sophie—a babymoon, as many called it. Isobel’s parents had come to stay with Sophie, and in just four days and three nights, Isobel’s father had created a new kind of monster at bedtime. A routine-demanding monster.
Sophie had that man so tightly wrapped around her pinky finger, her dad had a standing appointment every week with the chiropractor, his back was so twisted.
“But Papa did it for me,” she would say, batting her long lashes at both Isobel and Aaron. “Why can’t you?”
Then Aaron would cave, because he was the softy parent and Isobel was the h
ammer. The enforcer. The bad cop. She made the rules, and everyone else had to follow them. Otherwise, there would be consequences.
One of these days she’d shock the shit out of Aaron and be the good cop first, then he’d be forced to be the bad cop.
It would serve him right, always getting to play the hero while she doled out the discipline.
Raising tiny humans who didn’t grow up to be colossal assholes was hard work.
Weston popped off but immediately began rooting again. Deftly, she switched him to the other side, feeling immediate release when he began to drain that breast.
Aaron loved her big milk-filled boobs. Kept buying her deep V-neck shirts to showcase the girls, as he called them. She just found her beach ball boobies uncomfortable and in the way.
Aaron’s deep voice in song drifted across the hall and in through their open door. He was almost at the end of the routine. Hopefully, Sophie would be down until morning. She usually only woke up once.
Isobel began to hum the same tune, her eyes drifting shut once again as the song and the sound of Weston’s guzzling blended into a pleasant background lullaby.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there, slowly humming, nursing and gliding back and forth, but when the weight of her son lifted off her lap, her eyes fluttered open.
“Little guy popped off,” Aaron said, hoisting Weston up onto his shoulder and gently patting his back to work out a burp. He angled his nose to the baby’s butt and gave a quick sniff, his mouth curling up into a smile. “First time in a while he hasn’t shit himself post-feed. Think we’re over that hurdle?”
Sleepily, Isobel pried herself out of the glider, stretching her arms above her head and yawning. “Maybe. Just means there’s a new hurdle on the horizon. Remember the four-month sleep regression?”
He put Weston back down in his bassinet after the baby burped. “Don’t remind me. Worst thing ever with Soph.”
“Until the eight-month sleep regression,” she said with a chuckle, sliding into bed, not bothering to take her pajama pants off.
Aaron climbed into bed beside her. “Hey, take your pants off.”
She shook her head. “Naw, it’s okay. I’m tired. You’re tired. We can try again tomorrow night.”
He made a growly noise in his throat, tossed back the covers and climbed over her. “No. Take your pants off and spread your legs, woman. I promised you an orgasm, and I intend to deliver.”
Rolling her eyes, she smiled, though it took a lot of effort to lift the corners of her mouth. “You really don’t have to.”
Aaron’s brows furrowed into a V, and he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pants and tugged them off.
“Oh, all right, fine,” she said, laughing. “You can go down on me. You can give me orgasms.”
That smile. It was so mischievous, so wicked, it made her heart melt, her nipples tighten and her pussy clench every time.
He hunkered down onto his belly and shouldered her knees apart, dipping a finger into her still-wet folds. “Now, where was I?” he asked, twisting his lips in thought and staring into her pussy like it was a puzzle. He pushed a finger into her channel, and she gasped. “Ah, now I remember. I was riiiiight … here.” He swept the flat of his tongue up between her lips and laved at her clit.
Isobel’s hips leapt off the bed. And her fingers gripped the ends of his hair.
She was seconds from coming, her fingers bunched in the sheets, head thrashing on the bed, when Aaron’s free hand found her left hand. He pried her fingers free of the sheet, and something slowly slid onto her ring finger. His tongue never quit. His fingers inside her never ceased. The man was a true multitasker.
The orgasm was too close for her to think about anything else, so instead, she ignored the foreign thing on her hand and let the climax sweep through her. Her toes curled, her back arched, and her mouth opened in a silent cry as every muscle in her body clenched and she filled Aaron’s mouth with her release.
His lips kept going. His tongue kept going. Around and around and around he swirled until another orgasm, fresh on the heels of the first, tore through her center. Eviscerating everything in its path, it left her boneless and pliant, bereft of coherent thoughts and panting on the bed with a sheen of sweat sprinkled across her limbs.
He lifted his head. “There we go.”
She lazily lifted one eyelid. “You’re a persuasive bugger, I’ll give you that.”
His smile could have given her another orgasm if she wasn’t so damn exhausted. Then she remembered that he’d slid something onto her finger. She lifted her hand, and even in the dark bedroom, she could tell that it was one hell of a sparkler. Her eyes went wide, and she gasped.
“Figured we should probably make it official, no?” He shrugged, reaching for her hand and pushing the ring the rest of the way onto her finger. “I know we’ve talked about getting married. We should really do it. Not just talk about it but actually plan it and do it.”
She licked along the seam of her lips, admiring the ring and the way it fit so perfectly on her finger. It was stunning.
His hand squeezed her. “You’re it, Iz. My family, my heart, my future, my world. I want it all with you. You saved me from a well so deep, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to climb back out. You made me happy again. Made me embrace the good in life and not just focus on the bad. You embraced Sophie like she was your own, and the way you are with our son makes me love you more each and every day.”
A hot tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t think he’d ever said this much before in his life. At least not all at once.
He lifted his eyes from their intertwined hands. “Marry me.”
More tears welled up in her eyes, and she hiccuped a sob as she nodded.
“Is that a yes?”
She nodded again, flung her arms around his neck and peppered kisses all over his face and neck. “It’s more than a yes. It’s an absolutely.”
Christmas with the Single Dad - Sneak Peek
Single Dads of Seattle Book 5
Chapter 1
“Can I touch your bicep?”
Careful to hide his eye roll and instead plaster on a big fake grin, Zak Eastwood pulled his earbud out of one ear and sat up on the workout bench, coming face to face with a camel toe in hot pink Spandex exercise pants. Slowly, he let his eyes climb the petite frame. Past the bare midriff with the spray tan, past the fake boobs stuffed into a tight white sports bra. Past the makeup (who the fuck worked out while wearing makeup?) to finally see long fake lashes batting at him shamelessly.
Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree played on the speakers overhead competing with the rap in his one remaining earbud.
The woman in front of him took a half-step forward forcing the camel toe even closer to his head. He kept his eyes on her face, he just had to.
“I’ve just never seen such big muscles,” she purred, tossing her shoulders back so her big fake tits pushed out toward him. “I see you here a lot. It shows.”
He nodded. “Yeah, spend a fair bit of time here.”
Because I own the place.
She thrust her hand forward revealing pointy, sparkly gold fake nails with little green and red gems glued to them. “I’m Shadley.”
He shook her hand. “Zak, nice to meet you.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I know who you are. Everybody knows who you are.”
He cocked a single eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
“So, can I touch it?”
“Touch what?” He was quickly losing patience with this woman. He knew what she wanted, that was being screamed from the tallest mountain, he just wasn’t interested.
“Your arm.” She lifted her shoulder.
The rap music in his one ear bud switched to something heinously filthy. “Sure, have at ‘er.”
He had to keep the customers happy. Keep the members coming back for more. Even if that meant he pimped himself out a bit and let the gym bunnies hop around him constantly, wiggli
ng their little cottontails. Not that he ever did what bunnies do best with them though. No freaking way.
She bounced on her toes then stepped forward, reaching out timidly as if his arms had teeth and would suddenly lunge out and bite her.
Her hands were cold. Like fucking freezing. A chill ran through him and his nipples tightened beneath his black tank top.
“Wow.” She squeezed. “These are amazing. And your tattoos are so beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
She wrapped her hand around and beneath his arm, gripping his tricep. “I don’t live too far from here. Just a couple of blocks. Was going to head home, have a bubble bath and some wine …”
His mouth flattened into a thin line as he fought the urge to smirk. “Sounds like a great way to relax.”
“I have a Jacuzzi tub, too. It’s so big for little ol’ me.”
“You should get a Great Dane, they’re huge.”
He snorted in his head. He was fucking hilarious.
Her brows pinched, then relaxed and she smiled a bleached-tooth smile. “I was thinking something a little less hairy and a little more muscly and inked up might be better company. What do you think?”
Commotion at the front desk drew his eyes away from the bunny in front of him. A regular patron whose name he couldn’t remember—but really should—was just coming in and shaking off a ton of snow from her coat, and stomping her boots.
The bunny cleared her throat. “What do you think? Feel like coming over for a bath and wine? I can massage out the aches from your workout.”
He pinned his gaze back on the woman in front of him, careful not to let his distaste for her come out on his face or in his tone. “Thanks so much for the offer, but I need to get home. I have my kids tonight.” No, he didn’t, but she didn’t need to know that. Finding out he had two kids usually scared the majority of the bunnies away.
She released his arm and stepped back a couple of steps. “Oh, you have kids.”
Ah, there it is.
