Our Love Unhinged
A Reluctant Hearts Novella
Brighton Walsh
Contents
Introduction
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Other Titles
Paige in Progress Excerpt
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
About the Author
Copyright
To everyone who believes in Happily Ever Afters.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book was my Mt. Everest, even in its shortened length. After months of nothing but blank documents staring back at me, every single one of these these twenty-five thousand words felt like the biggest accomplishment. Yay! I didn’t forget how to write!
Going back and visiting the gang of the Reluctant Hearts series was bittersweet, because I knew going in this novella would be the end. Even so, it was so rewarding, especially to see the characters come full circle. And while goodbye is always hard, it was time.
OLU wouldn’t have been possible without the help of a few. I’m one of those lucky souls who’ve found their tribe, and there’s no way I could do any of this without them.
To Christina, my Plot Whisperer, idea bouncer, cheap psychiatrist, cheerleader, supporter, and one of my very best friends. Thank you for putting up with my crazy and loving me in spite of it. I have no idea where I’d be without you.
To Ellis Leigh, for being my girls’ night partner in crime and always being up for a glass of wine, some good food, and plannergasms. Thank you for holding my hand through all this crazy SP business. I don’t even want to think about what kind of fumbles I would’ve made without you guiding me. Can’t wait for World Domination.
To Jeanette Grey, the one who’s been with me from the beginning—not just the beginning of the Reluctant Hearts series (thanks for telling me Caged in Winter wasn’t a pile, btw), but from The Beginning. Eight years is a long time, and I’m so thankful we get to traverse this crazy-amazing adventure together.
To my editor Ashley for turning this around in no time and for wanting to put Winter in your pocket just as much as I do. Thanks for making my words shine.
To all my amazing readers out there who love these characters as much as I do, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I wouldn’t be here without your unwavering support.
To the bloggers who’ve supported me since Caged in Winter released, thank you a million. Special thanks to Becca, Candy, Cezanne, Christina, Funmbi, Hannah, Jaime, Jessica, Juliana, Kim, Michelle, Stacee, Valerie, and Heroes & Heartbreakers for helping to announce this super secret release.
Finally, to my guys, who continue to put up with my…eccentricities. Thank you for showing me every day how to live and love.
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March 5
winter
It’s late, nearly midnight, by the time the front door opens, announcing Cade’s arrival home from his closing shift at the restaurant. The light from the moon splashes across our bed as I lie waiting for him. Butterflies take flight in my stomach, the anticipation of seeing him in front of me enough to bring a grin to my face—one I can’t even begin to suppress. My unfiltered, unrestrained smile—that I’d even have something to smile about—would’ve been so unusual only a couple years ago, it would’ve been comical.
Except I’m not that Winter anymore.
Through fights and arguments and anger and, yeah, pain, there still hasn’t been a single day without Cade putting a smile on my face at least once. When he came crashing into my life those years ago, he brought his light until it was fused into every part of me, filling up my emptiness and shadows.
The feeling creeping up from my toes is one I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to—something I never expected to feel at all. Contentment. Happiness. Pure, utter bliss.
All thanks to the changes spurred on in my life by one man.
His keys hit the counter somewhere in the kitchen, and then there’s shuffling—probably him shedding his chef’s coat and slipping off his shoes. And then before I can blink, Cade’s massive shoulders blot out nearly all the light from the hall as he stands in the doorway to our bedroom. Our bedroom. And holy shit, how did I get this lucky? That he opened up his family home to me, did everything he could to make it my home too, is more than I could’ve ever hoped for. It’s more than I ever thought I’d be lucky enough to experience. More than I ever thought I deserved.
And just like always, I’m enraptured by that stare. His hazel eyes stay locked with mine for a moment, until he breaks the connection and makes a slow perusal down my body. I’m not wearing anything sexy, just my normal nightly uniform—one of his old, discarded shirts and a pair of panties—but from the way his gaze heats, his tongue sneaking out to lick a path across his full bottom lip, I might as well be in a see-through nightie.
Without words, he lifts his gaze to me as he walks toward the bed, shedding his clothes until he’s wearing nothing but the look of hunger on his face. His desire wraps around me like a blanket, surrounding me in heat. I can feel it from my head all the way to my toes, can feel it seeping into my very bones.
How is it like this? How is it still like this? I thought it would wane somehow. That in the months and years since we’ve been together, this spark between us would fizzle out, fade until it became boring and stale. That this all-over ache wouldn’t still consume me after hundreds and hundreds of days.
But as he climbs onto the foot of the bed, picking up my left ankle and bringing it to his lips, I can’t imagine not feeling this pull toward him. And with the way his eyes won’t stray from mine, with the way he practically worships me with his mouth and hands, his rough fingertips running up and down my leg, I’m secure in the fact that it’s the same for him.
“How was work?” I manage through a gasp as his lower lip finds the sensitive skin behind my knee.
Cade makes a sound low in his throat but doesn’t answer. Instead, he continues on his path, his lips trailing up up up my leg until he’s nearly where I want him. I shift my hips, lifting my ass off the bed and presenting myself to him like an offering. He just breathes out a laugh, the puffs of air ghosting over where I’m hot and so ready for him, and then switches sides and moves to the other leg.
On an exhale, I drop my hips to the bed, knowing he’s not going to give in easily. This is a game we play every night he works late. He comes home, the adrenaline of a good dinner service still pumping through his veins, practically rolling off him, and it’s all he can do to grunt a few words before he needs to be inside me.
And because I’m just as desperate for him by the time I see all that focused energy solely on me—for me—I do what I can to speed things up. Like encourage him to put my mouth to better uses than pestering him with questions. “Did your new sous chef start today?”
His only answer is an openmouthed kiss that lands on my right ankle, then my calf, my knee, the inside of my thigh, just inches from the seam of my underwear.
“How did everyone like your new entrée?” The question is a panted mess because he’s hovering just over the barely there excuse for panties I’m wearing and I can’t think.
He looks up at me from between my legs, parted to accommodate his wide shou
lders. And by the gleam in his eyes, I know I’ve finally pushed him exactly where I want him. “If you’re still this coherent, I’m not doing something right. Let me see if I can figure out how to make sure the only words coming out of your mouth are, Oh God, Cade, faster, more, and yes.”
My fingers are restless at my sides, clutching and unclutching the sheets, my body coiled tightly as it waits for what it knows is coming. “What about fuck?”
The tiniest smile curves one side of his mouth. “That works, too.” And then he pulls my panties off before his fingers slide up and down through all my wetness. I barely have time to blink before his mouth is on me, devouring me like he hasn’t had me in days, weeks, months, when in fact it’s been mere hours. I can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but move my hands to his head, rubbing my fingers over the rough velvet of his close-cropped hair, and hold him to me, willing to go wherever he plans to take me.
Always.
He’s relentless in his pursuit of my climax, working me up faster than I expected, and when he sucks my clit into his mouth, his tongue fluttering against it at the same time, I fall. I arch off the bed, a silent scream falling from my mouth as I pulse against his lips, riding out the wave of my intense orgasm. I’m still breathing heavily, my eyelids drooping, when he covers my body with his, fists his cock, and guides himself inside me.
“Cade, God . . .” I say, reaching down and digging my nails into his ass, pulling him deeper.
“Those are the kinds of words I like to hear.” His thrusts are slow and deep, his hips rolling against me.
And while it’s good—it’s always good—I want all that built up adrenaline to come out in the way he’s fucking me. I want him to be as lost with me as I always am with him.
I lift my thighs higher on his hips, clench my inner walls around his thick length, and pull his head down toward me. With fluttering brushes of my lips against his ear, I whisper, “I want you incoherent, too.”
He drops his forehead to my neck on an exhale, his whole body shuddering before he pulls away, sitting back on his heels. With my legs hooked over his arms and his hands braced on the small of my back, he lifts me up into his lap as if I weigh no more than a rag doll. The muscles in his arms bunch and tighten under his tattoos as he moves me over him, lifting me up and down on his cock, his breath puffing against my mouth. “Baby, you know I’m already gone over you.”
No matter how many times we’re together, this feeling of complete and utter belonging never goes away. It’s in the tenderness of Cade’s touch, how his fingertips trail up and down my spine, even as he’s driving deep inside me. It’s woven in the soft cadence of his voice as he whispers my name, telling me I’m beautiful and sexy and that he craves my touch when he’s not here. It’s sparked in his eyes when he looks at me as he holds me above him, slowly working us both toward our climaxes.
“Missed you,” he says, rolling his hips up into me as he lets me sink down on him, showing me he’s got nowhere else to be. Showing me I’m it. This is it.
It’s everything.
Pulled taut from the feelings he’s wringing from my body, I breathe out a laugh. “You’ve been gone for twelve hours.”
He brushes his lips along my jaw, his voice a quiet rumble. “And I missed you every single one of them.”
“Oh, jeez.” Outside, I roll my eyes, but inside . . . inside, I’m dying a little. While Cade and I have been together now for two years, it’s not hard to remember the twenty-two years before that when no one wanted me, not even my mother. And to know this man—this amazing, thoughtful, intelligent, sexy man—wants me? Loves me?
It’s unexplainable.
He holds me still above him, not giving either of us the movements we want. Instead, he swoops in and sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, releasing it with a pop. “You’re sure chatty while you’re supposed to be blissed out of your mind. Am I boring you? Losing my touch? This is the second time tonight. Maybe I need to spend some time on Paige’s Tumblr and get some new moves.”
This time I let out a full laugh, my head falling back, my arms braced against his shoulders. The fact that he even asked that question is absurd, and he knows it. That’s proven when his teeth scrape against the column of my neck as he snaps his hips up, driving his length deep inside me. I can’t help the surprised gasp that’s pulled from my mouth. Then he tilts my hips forward just enough so his cock hits the perfect spot every time he thrusts—the spot he knows exactly how to reach. I dig my fingernails into his shoulders, my eyelids fluttering closed as I moan toward the ceiling.
“There we go. Stay with me, baby.”
If he’d have me, I’d stay right here forever.
Cade slips a hand under my shirt until he has a handful of my breast, his thumb running back and forth, back and forth, over my nearly-too-sensitive nipple. “Get this off,” he says, trying to shove the shirt over my head with one hand and keeping our bodies rocking together with the other. “Much as I love you in my clothes, I need to get my mouth on these perfect tits.”
I whip the shirt off and grab the back of his neck, moaning his name against the top of his head when he sucks one nipple into his mouth. He moves his attention to my other breast, flicking his tongue against the hard tip, before brushing kisses across my chest, my collarbone, my shoulders, up my neck as he keeps our rhythm smooth and relaxed. He rests his forehead against mine, and I can’t do anything but hold on as he rides me with meaning . . . with intention.
Cade’s worked my body over so many times, has brought me to a thousand orgasms, that he knows what I need to get there almost better than I know myself. And it’s like he’s made it his mission to show me exactly that, especially when his grip on my ass tightens, his fingers digging into my flesh. How he pulls out slowly, then snaps his hips up fast, making me pant against his mouth, breathing him in as our bodies work toward our peaks together.
“Close, baby,” he says, slipping a hand between us as he presses his thumb to my clit, and that’s all I need to see stars. He groans, rocking harder into me, his cock pulsing deep inside me as I clench around him. And as he holds me close to him, my name a prayer on his lips, his arms locked tightly around me, I know he’s giving me everything he has.
Every night after work, he’s exhausted. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he carries himself. But when he comes home, he still gives me everything. Just like always. He’d bleed himself dry for me if I let him.
But that’s the difference between me now and me two years ago . . . I’m willing to bleed myself dry for him, too. I’m willing to give him all of me—every crazy, screwed up piece—because we work. What we have together now is perfect.
And I don’t ever want it to change.
March 6
cade
It’s 2 a.m. and I’m wide awake, looking down at a sleeping Winter, her eyes fluttering under closed lids. She’s curled into my side, her cheek resting on my chest, one of her legs thrown over mine—the same position she’s in every night. My T-shirt is once again covering all those perfect curves and smooth skin, but I don’t even care. Her cold toes are pressed against my calves, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. This girl could crook her finger at me, and I’d be at her side in a millisecond. I’m so far gone, it’d be laughable if it wasn’t so fucking perfect—if we weren’t so fucking perfect.
As quietly as I can, I reach over and open the drawer of my bedside table, pulling out the small square box before placing it on my chest, not two inches from Winter’s parted lips. I run my thumb over the smooth velvet before lifting the lid and staring at the ring that took me months to find—the perfect blend of beauty, timelessness, and simplicity. The lady who sold it to me called it an antique Art Deco ring. All I know is it looks like something Winter will love. Small, but not too small, nontraditional, and absolutely beautiful.
I have the perfect ring and the perfect girl. Now I just need the perfect proposal.
And that goddamn proposal has been a thorn in my si
de since the day I walked home with the ring. I’ve carried this box with me everywhere we’ve gone for the past three months. On every trip to the movies, every dinner out, every afternoon with the group, every babysitting trip to watch Haley. To the mall, on walks around the neighborhood, to the fucking grocery store. I’ve just about popped the question a dozen times, but every time, the words get stuck in my throat and I choke.
Because what if it’s not everything she thought it’d be?
She’s dealt with an abundance of shit in her life, has overcome so much to become the amazing woman she is, and I want this to be perfect for her, too. She deserves this to be perfect for her.
I want it to be a story she’s proud to someday tell our kids and grandkids.
And the thing of it is, Winter probably wouldn’t care if I asked her when she was fresh out of the shower, me sitting propped on the vanity in the bathroom. Or if I made a pizza and spelled out will you marry me in pepperoni slices. She wouldn’t care if it was done at the top of the Eiffel Tower or in our backyard.
She absolutely wouldn’t care, and I don’t want to wait another fucking minute without knowing if she’ll be my wife.
That realization pours gasoline on the fire that’s been a slow burn for the past three months as I tried to find the perfect setting, causing this feeling inside to turn into an inferno. There is no perfect setting. There’s just me and her and this amazing love I’m somehow lucky enough to be part of. And I can’t wait—I don’t want to wait anymore.
I reach over and switch on the bedside lamp, then turn back to her and squeeze her hip, pulling her closer and brushing my lips against her forehead. “Baby? Baby, wake up.”
She shifts as I run my hand up and down her side, and I roll so we’re lying face to face. Her eyes flutter open and she smiles the softest smile at me before her eyelids droop again.
Our Love Unhinged (Reluctant Hearts Book 4) Page 1
