by Gina Azzi
This time, there’s spice behind his sweet. In moments, I’m pinned beneath him on the couch. Easton’s tongue plunges into my mouth and I arch into him, desperate for more. Desperate for everything. His hands are rough as they trail up my ribs, dragging my shirt up. He rips his mouth from mine and clamps it over my right breast. My hands dart to his hair, pulling him closer as my legs encircle his waist.
“Need you,” I practically whimper. Already, heat pools between my legs. How is it possible that with just a few kisses and touches, I’m desperate and needy? How does Easton elicit this type of reaction from my body in a matter of moments?
“You have me, Claire.” He unclasps his belt and makes quick work of his jeans. His hair is still damp from his shower after practice. It curls around his ears, messy, making him look like the boy from our teenage years. But the look he gives me is all man, and I shiver from the intensity in his gaze.
Easton smells like soap and winter. He looks like the perfect combination of an Ancient Greek god and a modern Calvin Klein underwear model. He wrecks me with a simple glance, ruins me with his touch, and drowns me with his kiss.
As Easton unrolls my leggings and kisses up the length of my thighs, I drop my head back and close my eyes. The heat of his mouth causes my body to break out in goosebumps. His hand snakes up my stomach until his fingers close around my breasts, massaging erratically just as his tongue licks up my center.
I gasp. Easton blows lightly on my overly sensitive flesh. He pinches my nipple. “You’re so fucking hot, Claire,” he declares before lowering his mouth.
This time, he feasts on me like I’m Thanksgiving dinner. And I revel in every second of it.
After I shatter apart, he slides into me. We fit together perfectly. With our rhythm in sync, our gazes lock together and hold. All the words Easton struggles with pour from the heady look he gives me. All the things I need to hear press into my skin through his touch. He fills me up with wonder and hope. I chase away his demons.
The sounds of our bodies coming together fill the air, wrapping us in a cocoon sheltered from the rest of the world. As Easton’s dark blue eyes bore into mine, I realize I don’t need anyone to know about us. I don’t need anyone but him. Nothing but this.
Because this is enough. In fact, it’s everything.
15
Easton
Claire Merrick unravels me.
With each passing day, the burn in my throat, the ache in my mind, ease. Instead, I replace one addiction with another. Claire.
The taste of her skin. The feel of her curves. The scent of her hair.
The wit of her mind. The smirk of her mouth. The dazzle in her eyes.
Claire Merrick mesmerizes me. She provides a salvation after too many nights spent in hell.
It’s easy for us to settle into a routine. I wake up wanting her, spend my day thinking about her, and close my eyes at night with the scent of her on my skin.
Desperate and lost in lust, it doesn’t take long for Noah, Austin, and the other guys on the team to realize I’m twisted up over a woman.
But there’s no way in hell I’ll tell them it’s Claire. At least, not until they force me to.
Because I don’t want to share my slice of heaven. I don’t want their expectations to taint the delicate thing we’ve got going on. Right now, Claire is the only bright spot in my life. And I’ll damn anyone who dares to darken her light.
“Hey.” Her smile greets me as she walks into the kitchen.
“Hey.” I pull the plate of leftovers from the microwave and gesture to it. “You hungry?”
She shakes her head. “No way. We’ve got dinner at my parents’ tonight and you know how Mom still force-feeds me.”
I chuckle. Mary Merrick is a total food pusher. But, as a kid who grew up with a mother who couldn’t care less if I ate or not, I appreciate Mary’s commitment. “This will hold me over.” I take a bite of the chicken parmigiana.
Claire scoots up onto a barstool and watches me eat. Every few seconds the heel of her shoe clangs against the bottom rung of the barstool.
“What’s on your mind, bear?”
She looks up at me and shakes her head, as if to clear it. “Nothing.”
“Ah, come on. I can practically hear the thoughts turning in your head. What’s going on?”
She sighs and her fingers toy with the edge of her shirt sleeve. A trickle of unease drips down my throat, slowly filling my chest with worry. Did something happen? Does she not want to live here anymore? I hate the negative thoughts that fill my mind, but suddenly, I feel panicked at the thought of losing Claire.
“Claire?” I prod impatiently.
“Do you think, I mean…” She pauses. “Are you ashamed of me?”
“What?” I bark out a laugh. “Ashamed of you? Are you drunk?”
She rolls her eyes at me but a small smile plays over her mouth. “It’s just, you haven’t told anyone about us. I mean, we haven’t really talked about it. But Rielle and Indy know—”
“That we’re…” I gesture between us.
She nods, her brow furrowing as she reads the uncertainty in my expression. Shit.
“You don’t want people to know?” Her voice is small.
I shake my head, leaning over the island to hold her wrist. “It’s not that, babe.”
“Then what is it?”
“Look, Claire.” I huff out a breath. The truth is, she’s the only person in my life who has faith in me and while I revel in it, I know better than to believe it’s true. “Baby, I’m trying. Every day, I do my goddamn best to do all the right things. To not slip up. To be good for you.”
“I know that. And you are.”
I grin at her. “Claire, you are the only person I know who has so much trust in me. And before you say it’s not true, I know that it is. I need you, Claire. I need you a hell of a lot more than you need me.”
“Easton…” She winces as if my words pain her but sometimes the truth is painful.
I tighten my hold on her. “If everyone knows we’re hooking up—”
“Is that all this is?”
I sigh, amending my statement. “If everyone knows we’re together—”
Her expression brightens and I grin.
“Well, then, there’s another layer of expectations and I don’t know if I’m ready to manage it all. There’s Austin, your parents, hell, the whole team—who will point out that I’m too messed up for you. That we’re not a good idea. My sponsor is already nervous that I jumped into things with you so quickly.”
“Rick knows about us?”
I nod, wetting my lips. “Does that bother you?”
She shakes her head, her eyes wide. “Of course not. East, I just want what’s best for you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“You’re what’s best for me, Claire. But I’m not what’s best for you. And I’m too selfish to let you go the way I know I should.”
“Don’t you dare!” She pulls me closer until I’m hovering across the island. Grinning at me cheekily, she slides right onto the island and kisses me deeply.
Claire disarms me. How the hell will I survive her?
She pulls back suddenly and brushes her fingers over my mouth. “We don’t have to tell anyone if it’s too much. I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“What page is that, babe?”
“The one where this is going somewhere.”
I nod, reading the vulnerability in her gaze. “I’m not screwing around with you, Claire. I swear, I want this as much as you do. I just don’t want to mess it up. We rushed into this a lot faster than I anticipated and now that we’re here, I don’t want to slow down, but sometimes I think we need to slow down. Do you know what I mean?”
She nods solemnly. Claire shifts her weight until she’s hovering on the edge of the kitchen island. I step between her thighs, my chicken parmigiana forgotten. My hands settle on her upper thighs and I squeeze. “I don’t want to lose you, Claire. It feels
like we’re constantly hovering on the edge of a cliff and one wrong move, something as simple as a breeze in the wrong direction, will knock us over,” I admit, sharing my fear to the best of my ability. Part of me knows I’m going to lose her. How could I not? But a small flicker of hope keeps flaring in my chest.
What if I could be enough? What if I could take the biggest risk of all and love Claire the way she deserves?
“I won’t let that happen,” she declares confidently.
I grin at her brazenness, knowing if anyone could ward off Mother Nature or fate, it would be Claire.
Her expression grows earnest and she runs her hands up my arms, settling them on my shoulders. Looking directly into my eyes, she takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to scare you, East. But I’m falling in love with you.”
I freeze, my limbs locking down as I watch Claire’s face. And God, she’s fucking breathtaking.
“I have been for a long time,” she continues. “I have all these feelings for you. Sometimes I don’t even know what to do with them. But I hate thinking that I’m the only one feeling them all.”
“You’re not,” I say quickly, wanting to put her at ease. My heart thumps so loudly, it rings in my eardrums. My palms grow clammy and a strange sense of elation mixed with dread swells in my chest. “Christ, Claire. I’m no good at this,” I admit, raking a palm over my face. “I don’t know how to talk about my feelings and shit. I was taught at a young age to keep it all locked down.”
Claire frowns, her eyebrows dipping together. I never talk about my childhood, my past, and the monsters that lurk there. Why would I?
I shake my head to clear it of thoughts of my parents. “But baby, believe me when I tell you that you’re not alone. I’m desperate for you, for all of you. And most days, I’m petrified of screwing it all up.”
Her hands clasp the sides of my face as she pulls me toward her and kisses me softly.
My hands curl into fists and press into the unforgiving granite of the countertop as I cage her in and deepen the kiss. In moments, Claire’s breathing is elevated. I continue to kiss her passionately, pressing into her space until she lies back on the countertop. I grasp her thighs and tug her to the edge.
She grins at me as I pull my shirt off and pop the button on her jeans.
“I’m no good with words, Claire.”
“You did okay,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “I’d rather show you.” I lose my pants.
“Here?” Her eyes widen as she glances around the kitchen.
“Anywhere you’ll let me.” I settle back in between her thighs and dip my head to press kisses along the sliver of skin where her shirt rides up.
She shimmies out of her shirt while I pull her jeans off her shapely legs. Her eyes lock onto mine and goosebumps rush over her skin as I peel off her underwear. Lust colors her gaze.
“You ready for me, baby?” I murmur, dragging two fingers down her center.
She whimpers.
I bring my fingers to my mouth and suck off her arousal, watching as her eyes cloud over.
“Sweet,” I tell her truthfully. Gripping the back of her knee, I lift her leg, line up at her entrance, and push inside of her.
Her eyes roll back and I help her shift her weight until I can slide all the way inside. Claire grips at my forearms as I pull back before plunging deeper.
“Easton,” she cries out.
“I got you, baby.” I set a steady pace that quickly turns unrelenting as the thread holding me together snaps.
Claire Merrick, with all of her flirty banter and beauty, unravels me. Her sweetness shreds me. Her sass schools me. But her fucking heart loves me.
And it’s the only thought I need as I plow into her like I’ll never be worthy enough. Like I might never have her again. Like every moment between us is precious.
For a washed-up hockey player who keeps falling off the wagon, I know it is. Nothing is promised. Nothing is forever. No matter how much I hope for it, no matter how much I wish to be enough for Claire, I’ll always fall short of what she deserves.
I fuck her hard and she meets me thrust for thrust until we’re both crying out, shattering at the exact same time.
I swear, falling forward and covering her body with mine.
“You destroy me, Claire,” I breathe out raggedly.
She pants in my ear for several breaths. Her hand strokes my hair reassuringly. “I won’t let you destroy us,” she whispers with an understanding I desire and despise.
16
Claire
I adore living in Boston. I like the bustling city streets. I love the energy that permeates the city in spring. I enjoy the timelessness mixed with modernity in the architecture, the exhibits, and the restaurants. I don’t even mind the traffic.
What I dislike is February. February in Boston is brutally cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and makes your socks damp, even if there’s no snow on the ground. The charm of autumn with her colorful leaves is dead, and the budding hope of spring has not yet sprung.
February in Boston makes loitering on the front steps of my parents’ house with a hunky, hockey heartthrob impossible. So instead of continuing the flirty exchange that Easton initiated in the car, I dart up the steps and throw myself through the front door before I catch pneumonia.
Austin says I’m melodramatic but I’m just stating facts.
“Whoa!” Austin grips my shoulders as I plow into him. “You okay?” He leans back to peer down at me.
I grin at my brother and nod. “It’s freezing out.”
Austin snorts. “You live in the wrong city.” He glances up as Easton crosses the threshold. “Hey East.”
“What’s going on, Aus?” East asks, slipping out of his coat. He hangs it in the hall closet before taking mine and hanging it next to his.
Is it lame that I like how our coats look hanging together? Yes, yes it is. But for a second, I can picture a lifetime of our coats hanging side by side. It’s like having our toothbrushes chill together in the cup by the sink or our keys mingle on the little dish inside the front door.
Easton and I could build a whole life together and the realization that we’re moving in that direction fills my soul with happiness.
“You sure you’re okay?” Austin shakes my shoulder and I look at him.
When I realize I’m grinning like the Joker, I press my lips together and nod. Austin shoots me one more strange look before asking Easton a question about their upcoming game in Chicago.
I trail my brother and Easton to the kitchen where Mom has already prepared a spread on the kitchen island. Crackers, cheeses, Italian meats—my mom is the Queen of charcuterie boards, and we all bow down.
“Hey sweet girl.” Mom kisses me hello.
“Hi, Mama.” I hop up onto a barstool and help myself to some cheese and crackers. Dad sets a glass of wine down in front of me and I grin up at him. “How’s it going, big guy?”
Dad chuckles, affectionately ruffling my hair. “It’s going, short stack. What have you got going on?”
I take a sip of the wine and glance at Mom. “I see you opened the good stuff.”
She snorts.
“What’s going on?” I ask my parents.
Mom crosses her arms and leans forward on the island. “Just hear us out, okay?”
I nod slowly, taking another sip of wine.
“I saw John Kimber at the gym the other day,” Dad starts.
I lift an eyebrow. “You’re working out?”
“Don’t get sidetracked, Claire,” Mom warns.
I squeeze Dad’s bicep for good measure and he swats my hand away.
“The wine is meant to lure me into a false state of calm, isn’t it?” I lift the glass and swirl its contents around. “The limpidity is excellent.”
Mom rolls her eyes.
I sigh. “Okay, ambush me. What’s the job?”
Dad stares at me for a long moment, an expression I don’t understand crossing
his face. “We’re just trying to help you, Claire.”
I nod. Deep down, I know my parents’ hearts are in the right place. But instead of encouraging me to search for the “steady and secure” job prospects, why can’t they encourage me to seek out the “fulfilling and creative” opportunities?
“His son, Jacob, do you remember him?” Mom cuts in.
Jacob Kimber. He graduated two years before me and played Varsity baseball. He felt me up during a bonfire one Friday night after I pre-gamed a six-pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade with my friend Megan. It was the first time I ever drank and I was tipsy, giggly, and very unsure of myself. “I remember him.”
“He’s working in Chicago now at a marketing firm. He’s done very well for himself,” Dad explains, leaning back in the chair next to mine. “Worked his way up. That boy has always been a go-getter, ambitious, and dedicated.”
I wrinkle my nose, briefly wondering if Dad would sing Jacob’s praises if he knew how he snapped my bra and fondled my breasts even after I pushed his hands away and told him to stop. I smacked him when he shoved his hand down the back of my pants and told him I didn’t feel well. He kept going until Megan “spilled” a beer on him.
“He needs an assistant.” Mom drops the hammer.
I look up, alarmed. “An assistant?”
“Oh, Claire,” Mom huffs, “don’t be so dismissive before you hear him out.”
“You want me to work for Jacob Kimber? Like, plan his schedule and bring him coffee?” My tone drips with disdain and I don’t try to disguise it.
Dad narrows his eyes at me. “It’s honest work, Claire. What are you doing now? Living rent-free in your brother’s best friend’s house and having Mom and I bankroll your life. Do you think that gives you a sense of entitlement to turn your nose up at being someone’s assistant? It could kickstart your career in the right way, with the right company.”