Kip was the one who patted my hand, who dried his wife’s tears, who took the position that perhaps it was best to leave the past in the past. When he said that, something clicked in my brain. I’d been spending an awful lot of time dwelling there, the past that is, and not enough time realizing all the things Mason now gained by having the other half of his biological family in his life.
I also wasn’t spending enough time trying to move forward with Vance. For so long, the bitterness that had clouded my heart due to the nature of our breakup … well, it blinded me. Perhaps it was just best to let that hurt lie in the past and build a new future.
And that’s what I’ve been trying to do. Which is why Vance is spending Christmas at our flat. Our first Christmas as a family, Mason is practically over the moon.
“Mummy, open presents?” Mason asks from where he’s lounging with his stuffed whale on the couch.
“Not until tomorrow morning, love,” I tell him for the fiftieth time.
Because when you’re under the age of two, it’s torture to see presents you can’t open sitting there with all of their shiny bows.
It’s the first Christmas that he’ll really understand what’s going on, or at least I hope so, so I’ve gone all out. The flat looks like St. Nicholas and his elves did a practice run for decorating the North Pole, and it glimmers with all the Christmas magic a child is supposed to have when they’re this young.
“Maybe just one.” Vance smirks, and I glare at him.
He’s been pushing the boundaries lately, flexing his parenting muscles. Honestly, it’s a little bit refreshing. I love being a mum, and I’ve always done most of the rule setting, schedule keeping, and consequence doling, even with Louis. After all, I was his only biological parent. But now Vance is here, and he’s taking to the whole dad thing like a natural.
The other day, when Mason threw a tantrum over a block not fitting right on another block, Vance ignored his outburst and then rewarded him with a cuddle when Mason finally stood up and dried his tears on his own. Vance has also gotten the dinnertime sternness down, and Mason actually ate a few green beans for him the other day.
We still haven’t told Mason that Vance is his real father. Not only am I sure that he won’t understand what that truly means, but I think it’s too soon. Too soon after Louis walked out of his life. Too soon for Vance and me since we’re just figuring out how we fit together again. Just, too soon.
I roll my eyes. “How come I always have to play bad cop?”
“Because I like it when you’re bad,” Vance says in my ear as he passes me on his way to the tree.
Oh, about that. While there has been a lot of kissing and heavy petting, we haven’t gotten much past that stage. Although I’m not sure I can hold him off for much longer. Vance has always been a beast when it comes to shagging, I remember weekends when we were first dating where we’d rarely get out of bed. He’s been respectful of not pushing me,
but I’m about ready to push myself over that hump. Pun intended.
Things have been brilliant between us since I changed my mindset, and I finally feel ready to give this a real go.
“All right, one present, and then we have to put out carrots for the reindeer and cookies for Santa, and then it’s off to bed,” I hastily say, hoping to rouse him from the couch and into bed quickly.
Mason sits in Vance’s lap as he tears into his one Christmas Eve present, which turns out to be a shirt with different kinds of dinosaurs on it. He loves it, but looks longingly at the pile under the tree, most of which are toys and he picked the one present that contained clothing. His father scoops him up, carts him to the kitchen to lay out cookies that I will bite into later, and then we hustle him into bed.
For as fun as the holidays are, I’m bloody exhausted and tomorrow will be a marathon. I love the joy on my child’s face, but trying to keep my energy at peak levels all day will leave me knackered.
“When do we get to eat the cookies?” Vance asks, walking to where I stand at the tree with cookies already in hand.
“Hm, I suppose you found your answer.”
“You made my favorite.” Vance grins as he bites into a Hershey kiss thumbprint cookie.
“With extra peanut butter in the batter,” I confirm. “They’re your son’s favorite, too.”
“Smart chap, he is,” the dishy man says around cookie crumbs as he gazes at the star atop the evergreen.
We stand next to the tree, the lights twinkling next to us, clogging my vision with romantic holiday notions and magic. It’s impossible not to overflow with compassion at Christmas; it’s a softer time, putting even the Scrooges in a charitable mood.
Perhaps that’s me, the Scrooge of this relationship. Vance has been nothing but a gentleman and a staunch support system. Even from afar, he’s always checking in on us. When he’s here, he’s always offering to take Mason off my hands or run errands for me. He cleans, to cook, and even takes my rubbish bins out. He communicates, doesn’t disappear for days, and has even taken me on a few public dates when he’s in Brighton. There is still no movement on his football career, but I have a feeling he’s getting down to the wire on making a decision of what he’ll do.
All in all, Vance has demonstrated that he’s fully committed to being a part of my life, both in a co-parent sense and a romantic sense.
And these snogging sessions are only winding me up, then leaving me feeling frustrated and needy after I shut my bedroom door.
Without allowing all of my thoughts and what-ifs to stop me from acting, I take Vance’s hand.
“Come to bed,” I whisper.
It’s not a question, but I can tell that my voice has a slight waver to it.
The air shifts instantly. Where once an easy nighttime atmosphere surrounded us, it is now replaced with sizzling chemistry and sexual tension that has been put at bay for years.
“You’re sure?” His voice is gruff, pure sex licking up my spine.
I don’t nod. I don’t speak. I just fist a handful of T-shirt, send him a meaningful gaze, and walk backward to my bedroom.
My feet don’t get three steps in before Vance is lifting me off of them and crushing me to his body. His hands grip me under the arms, where he practically throws me into the air and catches me around the waist. The ease with which he juggles me is erotic and reminds me of the very creative ways we used to make love.
My thighs spread, pressing against the growing bulge in his pants. I might moan, or squeal, but it’s swallowed by those harsh lips surrounded by a bristle of beard. Vance is not gentle as he walks me toward my bed, we’ve both waited too long to be able to contain ourselves. As it is, my hands are yanking at his midnight black hair, my lips consuming his mouth from the vantage point I have above him.
I grip his large, muscled shoulders as we sway, almost drunk on the kisses we’re laying siege to each other’s mouths.
His hands knead my arse, and with every ministration, I grind farther into his hips. Spread my legs wider. I’m not even naked yet and I can feel that familiar pull of an orgasm low in my belly.
Finally, after what seems like decades but is only milliseconds, we reach the bed. Not even bothering to deposit me, to detach me, Vance just tumbles us both right down onto the mattress, my old queen squeaking with an oomph.
“No waking the baby,” I whisper-groan, and then he’s covering my mouth with that scratchy, insanity-inducing beard.
I wonder what it will feel like between my legs.
He comes up over me, pulling his shirt off with one hand behind his neck like some sort of porn god. I barely get to appreciate it though, because in the next second, he’s ripping my flannel shirt clean off, buttons scattering around the room.
Holy fuck. The entire crotch of my knickers floods with wetness.
Vance is not a talkative bloke. And even less so in the bedroom. It’s like he’s a heat-seeking missile, his only mission is to get me off so bloody well that I scream to the heavens and chant incantations. W
hat energy he conserves from keeping his mouth shut is poured into my body, into his hands and his massive cock and his teeth on my neck.
It’s all moving so fast, but then again, we can’t seem to move fast enough. We’ve been moving in this direction for so long, perhaps since the day he left me. Two slow-moving asteroids just biding their time until impact.
And now that we’re colliding, we’re going to bring the whole world down with us.
My nails scrape down the carved muscles of his abs.
His fingers shove the cups of my bra down, trussing up my breasts until he can bite and lathe my nipples.
I fumble with the tie of his sweatpants, finally getting them loose enough to shove down his hips.
That talented mouth presses open-mouthed kisses up and down my upper body, until I’m squirming with need.
My hand finds his cock, rigid and twitching as I stroke it.
“Vance …” I moan, twisting my head to the side into a pillow as his fingers dip into my knickers.
He finds me, wet and greedy for him, as I pump my hips in time to the thrust of his digits.
In a matter of seconds, we’re both panting and snogging with so much intensity that I almost can’t breathe. All of it is stealing my breath; from the way he’s working the bundle of nerves between my legs to the sheer insanity that the man about to make me orgasm is none other than one of my greatest dreams and most heart-wrenching nightmares. My heart and lungs almost can’t believe it’s him, as if the shock of knowing Vance is about to be inside me is causing them to malfunction.
Right as I’m about to spill over the edge, as his prick becomes infinitely harder and hotter on my palm, Vance rips my pants down my legs. I’m not even sure his are fully off, and I’m still trussed up in my bra with my flannel shirt laying limply on my shoulders.
But neither of us can worry about clothing, or whether or not all of it is off. It’s a desperate act we’re in right now, the need to feel. To release. To sprint closer to the brink of losing our minds together.
With one flit of his hooded chocolate eyes on mine, an understanding that no one is stopping this, Vance pushes all the way into me with one stroke.
And I nearly seize.
The wave of pleasure with a bite of pain crashes over my body like the most vicious of waves. All I can do is ride it out, give my body over to it and hope to remain intact on the other side.
Gripping Vance’s shoulders, I meet his pace, grinding my hips into his each time he smashes back into me. With every backstroke, I suck in air. With every new thrust, I’m powerless to keep the moans inside my throat.
This.
This is what I’ve been missing all these years.
This is why I’ve never been able to fall in love with anyone else.
This, some undefinable, inexpressible feeling, is why Vance and I work on a level that blows every other man away.
Before I even realize it’s happening, my body begins to shake. Vance never lets me go, the sides of my face held in his hands. He watches as the orgasm pulls me under like a rip current, ravaging every nerve inside me.
“I love you.”
Three words. The only ones Vance says the entire time we’ve had our hands and mouths on each other. The only ones he says while he’s inside me.
Uttered just before he buries his face in my hair and cries out sharply, emptying himself into me.
28
Vance
When I wake up on Christmas morning, it’s in Lara’s bed.
We’re wrapped up in each other, naked save for her underwear between us. All of those petite, willowy limbs threaded through mine. I try to lie perfectly still, petrified I might wake her before I get my fill of properly looking at her. Because, blimey, what a view this is.
It has been so long since I’ve shared a bed with her, much less was inside of her. Not that the shagging wasn’t … shite, I was a bloody caveman during that first round. With how desperate, animalistic, and silent I was, but, Christ, if it wasn’t euphoric. We both needed it, to get it out of our systems. I’ve been manic with the need to just drive into her, and that’s what I’d done.
But after …
We probably should have gone to sleep, what with the four a.m. wake-up call we knew was coming from Mason on Christmas morning. Instead, Lara and I spent the night re-educating ourselves on the other’s body. She rode me slow and gentle; I took her from behind while her hands gripped the headboard. When we were both too knackered and spent, but still randy, we laid on our sides and grinded into each other until our climaxes slipped us into a dreamlike state.
And then I woke up, somewhere around five—bless Mason for the late Christmas wake-up—and simply gazed at Lara. It’s not often these days that I get to study her in such a peaceful state; she’s usually running around with our son or for work or buying house supplies or completing one of the other seventy items on her to-do list. I don’t know how she manages it, but she makes it look so easy.
She didn’t tell me she loved me back. I said it right before I came the first time, and I meant it. Blimey, I’ve meant it all these months I’ve been saying it. I never put words into the world that I don’t one hundred percent stand behind, and these are no different. I’m blunt, there is no bullshit when it comes to me.
I’m also not dramatic, or needy. If and when Lara wants to tell me she’s in love with me, I’ll be here to hear it. In the meantime, I already know she does. The looks she gives me, the way her eyes lock onto mine as I caress her naked body … that is louder than words.
When she finally woke up, she blinked, gave me a shy, cheeky smile, and then hopped out of bed to get our boy.
I’ve spent the day with my family, Lara and Mason, and eventually my parents, Harlow, and her mum. It’s one of the best days I’ve had in … well, forever.
But, I have to head back to the academy tomorrow, which I am not happy about in the slightest.
And in the blink of an eye, I am in a car headed for London.
I got the call two days ago. Remus needs a break, and this match is just a friendly. So, Niles is calling me in. I hung up the phone, sat on my dorm room bed, and almost stared a hole through the cement floor I looked at it for so long.
This is my chance. I know it’s a long shot that Remus will leave, or that I’ll be named a starter after one match. But this is the only chance I am going to get and I will knock their bloody socks off.
“This is your shot, mate. Clean sheet or bust.” Kingston jumps up and down, his already wiry energy soaring to new heights.
He’s only mirroring my silent sentiments, but per usual, I’m on edge in the locker room. I loathe sitting in here, ruminating on the pressures before a match. I just want to fucking get out there.
“Gee, thanks, mate. Really keeps the pressure off.” I roll my eyes.
He swats a hand at me. “You’re already feeling pressure. But you’re an animal, we all know that. You feed on that shite.”
Jude nods in agreement. “This is your moment. Mason here?”
I swallow. “Yes. Lara brought him with her.”
It’s lucky enough that this match falls during Lara’s winter holiday from school, and that made it possible for her to travel to London with Mason. I’m not sure my son quite grasps what I do for a living, but I know he loves football and he’ll be chuffed to watch my match. I just hope I can make him proud—not that he’ll know it until he’s older.
And for Lara to be here, at my London debut? She’s never seen me play before. I never let her. I’m so ashamed of what a pompous arse I was back then that it roils in my gut to think about it. Whenever she’d ask when we were dating as teenagers, I’d tell her I didn’t want anything to ruin my focus.
What a naïve wanker I was. If anything, I have more adrenaline and laser-sharp focus running through my veins today because she’s here.
Part of me can’t wait to get out onto that pitch and show her why I’ve made all the sacrifices I have for this game. Part of
me can’t wait for this match to be over, because I’ll have my son and the woman I love waiting for me. Maybe that’s why all of these blokes have families. It feels bloody good to know you have something to go home to win or lose.
“Let’s go, mates.” Jude nods to the locker room, and we all stand at once, marching into the tunnel.
This is it.
29
Lara
When I walk into the Rogue Football Stadium family room, it’s full of an assortment of people.
Gorgeous models, who are no doubt the wives and girlfriends of these first class athletes. Older looking couples, some of whom are probably the parents of the players. Blokes who are probably about the same age as me; maybe they’re friends of Vance’s teammates?
And now, I’m one of them. Well, for today, that is.
“Mummy, candy!” Mason squeals, pointing across the room.
Sure enough, there is a full buffet of food, complete with a dessert bar that boasts jars of colorful candy. Brilliant. He’ll be asking me for those the entire match.
“Blimey, you look like your dad,” the petite blonde sitting next to the most famous model in the world says.
Turning my head their way, from where I noticed them out of the corner of my eye, I smile in a cautious way.
I notice Poppy Raymond right off because who wouldn’t? She’s graced the pages of every magazine I’ve read since the age of fifteen. She’s even more statuesque and gorgeous in person, and it makes sense that this is the girl who loves Kingston Phillips. The two of them together burn brighter than the sun.
“This is Mason.” I smile down at my son, urging him to smile back at the two women.
The blonde gets up and walks over, bending so she’s eye level. “I’m Aria. Do you like animals?”
Ah, Aria. I’ve listened to a song or two, but honestly, don’t have much time for anything in my life so I don’t recognize her. But the name, I know for sure now that this is Jude’s fiancée. She’s perky, pretty, and genuine in that girl-next-door way. And apparently, my son is already half in love with her.
The Mighty Anchor: Rogue Academy, Book Three Page 15
