by Mj Fields
“Fuck me,” I hiss.
“Z, you’re in a church, man,” Xavier scolds.
“Well, our Creator made that beautiful woman, so I’m sure He understands,” I say, watching her as she stands at the end of the aisle in a dress that looks like it was made for her. “Momma Joe held back. She didn’t send a picture of that one.”
Bekah’s dad steps to her left and links arms with her. Then I see her mom appear on her right, and they link arms, too.
Bekah visibly sighs, releasing the emotion I know she must be feeling right now. Her parents are never in the same room together, which was ninety percent of the reason we didn’t do it like this to begin with.
“How did you manage that?” Xavier whispers.
“I told them, if they fuck this up for her, they won’t know their grandchild,” I answer honestly. “Didn’t expect them both to walk her down the aisle. That’s a bonus.”
“So, they stay on the Christmas card list?” Xavier jokes.
I reply serious as fuck, “No, they finally get added.”
After a very traditional ceremony with lots of photos, we get into the waiting limos. Bekah and I are in our own.
I hold her tight, keeping my lips on the top of her head, knowing that, due to her pregnancy hormones and the emotional day it has been, that’s what she needs.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Thank you for saying yes … again.”
She’s quiet for a moment, seeming a bit tense.
“I love this. I love the reason behind why you did it—for me, for us, for our families—but, Zandor”—she looks up— “I don’t want our vows to negate the promises we made when we got married in Italy.”
My chest swells with pride. “Of course not.”
“And, Zandor …” she says, sitting up and looking really fucking tense now.
“What is it?” I ask in concern.
“I cannot believe you got rid of all our things!”
“I—”
“You could have asked me … at least about that,” she snaps. “I’m not going to want to just go back to before you … kind of sex. I like the way you fuck me and—”
I take her hot, little filthy mouth, my dick now swelling.
Fuck yes, I think as my tongue dominates her mouth.
When I pull back and look at her, she wipes her lips and tries to catch her breath.
“I didn’t get rid of shit,” I tell her. “It’s all in the basement, behind a locked door.”
Her eyes light up. “Thank God,” she breathes.
“Now lay back and let me see that pussy.”
She tries not to smile. Tries.
~The End~
Hitched
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By MJ Fields
Copyright © 2017 MJ Fields
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of MJ Fields, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.
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This is a work of fiction. All character, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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1st edition published: August 22, 2017
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Editing by: C&D Editing
Cover Design and formatting by: Jersey Girl Designs
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Thank you for purchasing this book. This book and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.
This book is not free. If you are reading it and did not purchase it from a site MJ published it, you are reading a stolen copy, and therefore are committing a punishable crime.
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This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.
To those who have been afraid to fight for love,
Don’t fight the fall. Embrace it.
To The Reader
I am madly in love with all three of the Falcon brothers. Like the Steel boys, each one for a different reason. I’m not ready to let them go, but I know it’s time.
I also know this is Steel, and Steel is forever. There will be more.
Forever Steel
XOXOXO
MJ
Phoenix
Sitting on the floor in the middle of my childhood bedroom, all things wedding surrounds me. At my parent’s insistence, I was to come home, three days before my wedding. It’s only been one day and I am ready to pull out all my hair.
I look at the ivory wedding dress, the customary red reception dress, the candles, the stilettos, the tiara, the guestbook, the damn ring bearer pillow, and my gift to Gage. Then I close my eyes and lean back against my bed, uncovering my ears, hoping and praying she—my mother—has stopped screaming at my father.
She has, but now she’s wailing.
“Shut. Up,” I whisper, when I really want to scream and cover my ears again.
Two hours. It has been two hours since she started doing this.
I remove one hand off my ear and cover my belly that is carrying Gage’s promise.
Yep, two weeks after he told me he was going to get me knocked up, he did. I try not to act like I’m not truly ecstatic that my man tree had an insane need to breed, but I am. Those who know, and my parents, are not any of … those who have seen me throw up, look like hell, and cringe at the sight of chicken or pork. Bacon will probably never be put in front of me again.
Two weeks ago…
It was a nice gesture, Mags and Gage making me breakfast, and Gage serving it to me in bed, but when I threw up on that beautiful bed, I knew I could count on the fact he wouldn’t do that again. What I didn’t count on was that he would got rid of all the bacon in the house, and a stuffed pig, because he didn’t want me to feel like shit.
I run into the bathroom, mortified, and continue getting sick, not even realizing he isn’t in the room, until he is.
“Get out. I’m gross,” I say, wiping my mouth as his knees become visible on both sides of me.
He squats down, rubbing my back, as I throw up repeatedly. He doesn’t leave me alone.
When I look back at him, his little smirk would have annoyed the hell out of me if I didn’t look up into his eyes.
God, those eyes. Extremely telling. Almost black and hooded when he was in sexy fiend mode. Bright and vibrant as he looked at those he loved. Unreadable by most when pensive. Unwavering when focused.
I lean back against him. He has a washcloth in one hand, pulling out some toilet paper with the other and has it inches from my nose.
“Don’t do it,” I warn.
“Do what?” he asks, now wiping just under my nose.
“That. Don’t do that,” I grumble, pushing his hand way then leaning forward, resting my head on my arm now slung over the lip of the toilet seat.
“Got it,” he says, pulling my hair back. “Now, do me a favor and don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I sigh.
“Tell me not to take care of what’s mine.”
I drop my arm and lean forward, resting my head on the seat.
“Let’s hit the sink. Your head is on the toilet seat.”
“I’m throwing up,” I groan as he pulls me up.
“Then do it in the sink,” he suggests, or demands. Either way, I am in no way going to argue.
Leaning my head on the side of the marble countertop, he lifts my head and pushes a towel under it.
It’s soft and much more comfortable than the hard toilet seat.
“You good?” he asks, turning on the sink as
he looks down at me while wetting a washcloth.
“I’m good,” I answer.
He sets the cool cloth on my head then walks away. I hear the toilet flush before he walks out of the bathroom.
After a few minutes, I feel well enough to stand, so I start the shower and undress.
Under the warm water, I stand with my head back. I don’t even have to turn to get my entire body wet. There is a rainfall head over me, four jets behind me, and four more coming from the opposite direction.
I love this shower. Not only will it basically wash my entire body for me, but it’s plenty large enough for two of me and one, huge, tree-sized man, my fiancé, Gage Falcon.
When we met just a few months ago, I would have sooner shoved him off a cliff than look at him. Now, even though I am a little intimidated by heights, I would jump off a cliff with him. Because, that man, that tree-sized, inked, god of a man, is so much more than I, Phoenix Star, hater of all male whores on the planet, could have ever imagined the man I would fall for. Because he, he is perfect for me. And I, I am perfect for him.
When I walk out of the bathroom in my white terrycloth robe, I find him sitting on the end of the bed, trying to hide a smirk that is clearly creeping up his beautiful face until it turns into a beaming smile.
“You’re goddamned beautiful, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told,” I reply, looking at the bed, our bed that is now covered in clean sheets and a quilt.
When I look back at him, I can’t help smiling. “Thank you.”
His eyes rake down my body, and then slowly up it again, penetrating me without even a touch. “I put you in this situation selfishly.” He smirks. “You bet your ass I’ll take care of you, because I need to make sure, when this one is born, you’re ready to do it again.”
“Easy, tiger,” I sigh.
“Life will be … for you, for me, for our dozen or so kids.” He winks.
“You’re crazy,” I say, forcing a laugh. He’s not freaking crazy, or at least he thinks he’s not.
Gage wants to have lots and lots of babies. I want to give him as many as I can, but I don’t want to lose my damn mind in the process.
“No, babe.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “I’m just gonna make sure I keep you so busy and surrounded by love that you can never imagine leaving.”
“Is that what you think it’ll take to keep me?” I ask, somewhat astonished.
He pulls me closer and leans down, kissing my neck. “You feeling okay?” he whispers, and I nod in response. Then he pulls my up so I’m straddling him. “This will keep you,” he says, rolling his hips so I feel his erection which, hello, I already felt it the second I was above him. Then he takes my hand and holds it over his heart. “And this will make you stay forever.”
And I fall even deeper.
“It’s all ruined!” My mother’s voice, like nails on a chalkboard, tears at my ears.
I push myself up off the floor, sit on my bed, grab my headphones, and turn on the music to drown her out. “Black” by Derik’s Bentley plays on repeat as I think of all the reasons it’s not ruined. He’s still mine, and I’m still his.
I look at the messages I have missed and see his name.
Gage: You all good?
Phoenix: I’m all good.
I wake to her voice. “You can’t go in there! It’s bad luck.”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Star, luck has not a damn thing to do with it.”
I sit up as my door opens, and he’s here, my man tree, my fiancé, my world.
“You ready to go home?” he asks, walking over to me.
I look up at him, trying not to smile, but fail. “Yeah, take me home.”
“We have too much to do…This is not okay...There will be no wedding in two days if you leave...”
Looking up at Gage, I see his eyes are calm, his lip curled slightly, bringing me to a place of peace. His hand holding mine is all the comforting I need.
Then...then he stops and turns toward my mother. “Wedding location’s been changed. Gonna get married at the Landing—”
“But—”
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” he cuts her off. “My future wife looks like she could use some rest.”
“All her stuff is here. This isn’t the wedding of her dreams,” my mom says in less a screech and more a plea.
“She’s good, I’m good, we’re all good.” He winks at her, and her mouth snaps shut.
I bite my lip to hold back the laugh.
“I can grab her dress—”
She immediately barks, “No! We’ll bring it. Go, just go.”
He nods and turns, giving my hand a squeeze as he walks us out of hell—I mean, home.
Once in the SUV, he looks at me, and I can’t help laughing. He smiles.
“Missed you,” he says, taking my hand and holding it up to his lips, placing a kiss on it.
“Not nearly as much as I missed you,” I say in an exasperated tone.
He smirks. “You win.”
“It wasn’t an argument.” I smile. “I’ve only been here two days, Gage—two—and I nearly lost my mind.”
“Well, let’s get you home where you belong,” he says, releasing my hand to start the vehicle.
Where I belong, I think as I look at him, the man who, just a couple months ago, was someone I despised yet desired, who is now someone I know without a doubt I can’t go a day without seeing.
He pulls out of the driveway and glances over as he takes my hand. “What?”
“You,” I say on a sigh as I lean back in the plush leather seat and close my eyes.
“You,” he whispers then kisses my hand again.
“Us,” I say, shaking my head.
“Yeah, squirt, I know,” he says then lets out a held breath slowly.
At the red light, he runs his hands through his hair and sucks in a deep breath before releasing it. I see his eyes crinkle in the corner below his shades and know he’s in deep thought.
I squeeze his hand. “What?”
He takes our linked hands, kisses the back of mine, and then holds it against his heart. “Fucking love you.”
“I know.”
After a few minutes of silence, where I know he’s doing the same thing I’ve done a hundred times, wondering how, how the hell does it happen.
How does love happen?
How, when you aren’t in the market for it, does it just come out of nowhere and hit you so hard you’re so sure it’s going to shatter you into a million pieces?
But it doesn’t.
“There’s no way to make any sense of it, Gage. I’ve tried.” I squeeze his hand.
“You’ve tried?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Care to explain?” His tone carries a little more grit.
“I’m logical. Things need to make sense. That’s why I went in the total opposite direction with college. I wanted to understand people more. So, yes, I have tried a million times to figure us out.”
“A million?” he asks, almost shocked.
“Maybe more,” I only half-joke. He looks over at me, eyebrow raised behind his shades, so I clarify. “From the very first time I saw you until, well, until Mags fell.”
He visibly relaxes.
“Don’t fight the fall,” I whisper Mags’ words to me, and he squeezes my hand, telling me he understands.
Gage
Driving while she sleeps, holding her hand, I reflect on the past three months and try to let my logical side make sense of the fucking storm, just like she has.
Finding out my boy Brand isn’t mine was hell, but the man I chose to be every damn day forced me to get up and continue putting one foot in front of the other. And that boy is mine in every way possible, always would be.
Meeting a woman who infuriates and turns me on like no other gave me a focus, other than missing Brand. She pushed me to continue building a place that is meant to be a home at a time I wanted to just run from it all, all that I knew �
�home” to be, except Mags and Brand.
I look over as she sleeps. Her dark hair covers part of those sexy as hell red lips. She sleeps a hell of a lot these days.
I smile to myself, not giving a damn if she sleeps twenty hours a damn day. It’s my fault she is always physically exhausted. Her little body is carrying my child.
When she wakes up, looking at me like she wants me, you bet your ass I’m going to give it to her just how she likes it—hard.
Brand still calls me Dad occasionally. It’s confusing as hell to him. Being an adult, I can’t admit it’s confusing as hell to me, too. I can’t and won’t.
Garrett and Juliana, my brother and my ex-wife, the biological parents to Brand, are happy. And Brand is happier than he has been in years, more carefree. There is less tension in his life.
Juliana and I were toxic together. Kids may be resilient, but he sensed that shit. I’m going to always be a little pissed off at the situation, but it does lessen every day. I understand. I just don’t agree with why she did what she did. I understand. I just don’t agree with why he did what he did.
But, in a fucked-up way, if I were Garrett, and I lost my shit, it would be a brother I would want to step up and hold my place in line for me.
Phoenix, who once popped Juliana in the nose—tiny little shit was sticking up for me—is now great friends with her future sister-in-law. Hell, Juliana is giving her all sorts of advice, and I almost laugh when she gives her articles she clipped out of all those fucking magazines she reads all day. When both Juliana and Phoenix looked at me for doing that, I reeled it in. No, Phoenix would never choose her over me, but she’s pretty damn protective of her new best bud, her future sister-in-law. And yeah, Juliana is knocked up, too, so they will be raising little ones close together.
I think that’s good for Brand. Really good. And it’s really good for me, too.
