She leaned up and kissed me, cupping the sides of my neck and effectively cutting me off in the sweetest way possible. “Me, too,” she admitted against my lips. “I want whatever this is.”
“It’s a relationship,” I clarified, needing her to know exactly what I meant. If I was being honest, I needed to hear her say it, too.
“It’s a relationship,” she agreed, then kissed me softly, sucking on my lower lip.
Relief coursed through my veins, and I pulled her against me, my hands sinking into her hair as I kissed her long and deep. She tasted like the apple cider we’d had just outside the maze, and that unique, sweet flavor that was all London.
She moaned and laced her fingers behind my neck, tilting her head to give us that perfect angle as I kissed her over and over. Fuck, this never got old. Every kiss was better. We hadn’t tired of each other or fallen into a routine, either. Every time I touched her somehow felt new and yet comfortably familiar at the same time. She felt like…home.
Her tongue rubbed against mine, and I lost myself in the kiss just like I did every time.
A kid laughed somewhere in the maze, and London ripped her mouth away. We were both breathing heavy and my dick was pretty much a steel pipe in my jeans.
“Let’s go,” she said, gripping my hand. “The faster we get out of here, the faster I can get you naked.”
“Excellent plan.”
We made it out of the maze without her anxiety spiking once, and I kissed her breathless against the door of my car, unable to wait another minute.
It was getting harder and harder to keep my hands to myself when we were in public, not just here at the maze, but at the arena, and on the plane on the way to away games. Briggs was right. We were slipping.
At some point, we were going to be outed.
I just hoped London was ready for it, because now that I had her, I wasn’t letting her go—damn the consequences.
12
London
“What is that delicious smell?” Jansen asked, letting himself in my front door with the key I’d given him a month ago under the condition that he always text first to make sure Caz wasn’t here. He dropped his gear bag in the entryway, his long stride eating up the space between us in seconds. “Besides you, of course,” he said, scooping me up against him. My feet dangled off the floor, and I shivered against this chest.
“Cookies,” I said into his neck as I held him right back.
We’d only been apart one night, but it felt like a lifetime. We’d adapted this incredibly comfortable, exciting, intoxicating routine over the past month, and every time he “came home” to me, I lost myself a little bit more for this man.
“Snickerdoodles?” he asked, gently returning me to my feet.
I grinned up at him. “Now, why on earth would I make your favorite cookie,” I teased, heading back to the kitchen to check the oven. They were two minutes away from being done.
He followed me, snaking his arms around me from behind. He brought my spine flush against his chest, and I arched into him, my body instinctively craving his. “Because,” he said, his lips at the shell of my ear. “You know I’m a sucker for your cookies. You know I’ll do anything to get a taste.”
My lips parted on a gasp, heat unfurling low in my belly. It had been a month of this. This never-ending, never-quenched thirst for the man who simultaneously infuriated me, challenged me, and turned me into a helpless, wild string of pure need. And I had no idea if the inferno between us would ever settle into a softer ember, but goddamn, I relished what we had now.
I spun in his embrace, reaching up on my tiptoes, my mouth inching toward his. He met me halfway, but I paused, lingering in that space just above his lips. “It sounds like I have you wrapped entirely around my finger,” I teased, gently taking his bottom lip between my teeth.
He growled, smoothing his hands over my hips and around to cup my ass. I squealed when he squeezed and hefted me up, forcing me to lock my ankles behind his back. He turned, situating me on my kitchen counter. “Is that right?” His voice was low, and that smirk was on his lips as he rubbed his hands up my thighs. The heat from his hands sizzled through my leggings.
“That’s right,” I said, nodding, my heart pounding against my chest. I tangled my fingers in his hair, drawing him to my mouth. “I bet I could ask you for anything right now, and you’d give it to me.”
“Someone thinks highly of herself,” he teased, grazing his nose along the line of my jaw.
I arched into the innocent touch, tracing my free hand over the thin fabric of his shirt, delighting in the muscles bunching beneath. “Well, that is your fault,” I said.
He grazed his teeth over the seam of my neck, and warm chills burst along my skin. “Really?” he whispered. “Why is that?” He gripped my hips, tugging my ass to the edge of that counter, right against him.
“Because,” I breathed the word, shuddering from the feel of him against me. “You make me feel like a goddess.” And that was the damned truth. I’d come alive under him, atop him, beside him. Whether we were fucking or binge-watching, next to him, I practically sparkled. He challenged me, listened to me, understood me. He made me laugh and moan and all the things in between. I’d never had anything like this.
“You are,” he growled against my skin, planting kisses over my collarbone. I pushed my chest out, giving him better access, and trembled as his head lowered toward my breasts. “Beautiful, smart, funny,” he said, and sealed each word with a kiss. “A pain in the ass most days,” he teased. “But you’re mine.”
I rocked against him, shamelessly seeking that spark already igniting between us—
A sharp beeping sounded, and I jolted against him. The timer for the cookies blared throughout the kitchen, and Jansen barked out a laugh. He pointed a finger at me. “Don’t move,” he ordered, stepping out from between my thighs and heading across the kitchen. He grabbed an oven mitt from the drawer and pulled the cookies out of the oven. He smirked as he set the baking sheet on the stove. “Snickerdoodles,” he said, nodding like he knew he’d been right. He tossed the mitt onto the counter, returning to me in a blink. “I guess I should thank you,” he said, the warmth from his body settling against me again.
I grinned, wrapping my arms around his neck as he picked up where he’d left off, smoothing his hands over my thighs, planting my skin with teasing kisses. “You don’t have to thank me,” I said, nearly sighing the words. He loved to torture me, sometimes for hours. He would tease and play and touch me until I felt like a bottle of champagne ready to pop. “I love making you happy,” I admitted, my head spinning from everywhere he touched, teased.
He stilled slightly between my legs and drew his face back to mine. Perched on the counter, he was still taller than me, but his gaze burned. There was such…gratitude and shock and wonder in those eyes. Something I caught in rare instances as if he wasn’t used to that kind of affection, that kind of compassion.
“Jansen,” I said, my voice softening. “What’s that look?”
He pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes closing like an instinct had told him to hide.
“Talk to me,” I said, every sensation in my body switching from hungry to hopeful. We’d grown so close this last month, and yet there were still so many pieces of him I didn’t understand.
“You do make me happy,” he said, eyes still closed. “Are you happy with me, London?” he asked, drawing back enough to look at me again.
“You know I am,” I said, not at all frustrated with the question. I would tell him over and over again, I would show him as many times as I needed to until he understood that he was everything.
“Then why can’t we tell anyone?”
It was my turn to go utterly still. This conversation we’d had just once before. “You know why,” I said, blowing out a breath. “Our jobs—”
“If we’re honest, we might not get in as much trouble as you think.”
“I know,” I said, understanding his poin
t. And I wanted to tell everyone. Wanted to be open about the joy Jansen brought to my life. “But I’m just finding my rhythm with my position,” I said, and he cocked a brow at me.
“You have excellent rhythm,” he said, gripping my hips again to jerk me against him. I hissed at the contact, warmth dancing along my spine.
“And you know Langley and Persephone warned me about dating the players,” I continued.
“Which means so much coming from women who married players,” he said.
I nodded. No argument there.
“Langley has handed me a huge assignment in the New Year’s Eve event,” I said. “One that will hopefully secure my position for next year instead of Sean.”
Sean was a great guy, a good event coordinator, but that spot on the Reapers was mine. I knew Langley would give him a good recommendation if the time came where I actually earned the one slot available, so I didn’t have time to let myself feel guilty. I would earn my position.
“I’m in charge and it’s the biggest event of the year,” I continued. “A huge fundraising event packed with fans, pro-athletes, and more. You know all the proceeds go to the Ronald McDonald House.” And we needed to prove to them that we had what it took to bring in the big donations. They had pro-teams nearly going to blows to be their chosen sponsorship of the year. Because not only did they have an incredible organization that provided housing and funds to families in need, but their media coverage was immense. Working together, everybody won. “If I screw it up, not only does the charity suffer—which is the absolute last thing I want—the team’s coverage will.”
Jansen sighed, his hands settling on my thighs. “And you think being honest about what’s going on between us will screw it up?”
I furrowed my brow. “No,” I said, almost whimpering when he stepped back enough to lean on the other side of the counter. He folded his arms over his chest. “Jansen,” I pled, shaking my head. “That’s not what I meant at all. Nothing with you would ever be a negative thing, it’s more…” I blew out a breath and hopped down from the counter. “It’s me,” I said, standing before him so I could catch his gaze. “I need this. To prove myself. To show the Reapers, the world, that I am not just Caspian Foster’s little sister. That he had nothing to do with my success on the team. That being Jansen Sterling’s…being yours isn’t what’s defined my status on the team.” I swallowed hard, reaching for the coiled muscle of his forearm. I smoothed my hand over it, sighing when he didn’t pull away “Haven’t you ever wanted to prove yourself?”
He unlocked his arms, bracing his hands on the counter as he nodded. “I understand better than anyone,” he said. “Why do you think I never claimed Sergei Zolotov’s last name? Never pulled his connection to me to get on an NHL team?”
A lump formed in my throat. Everything with his biological family was twisted, and with each layer he decided to show me, my heart hurt worse and worse.
“You didn’t need his name,” I said. “You have an insane talent on the ice, Jansen.”
He huffed, nodding.
“What happened?” I asked. “Between you and him?” I held my breath as I waited, patient. I would totally understand if he wasn’t ready, but I wanted him to know I cared. That I wanted to know all the pieces of him—no matter how dark they may be. Just like he knew mine. “You told me a little bit, but not the full story.”
He was quiet so long I thought he’d retreated, building walls to keep me out.
But then he loosed a long breath, and parted his lips. “Sergei met my mother after a game,” he said, shaking his head. “One of her friends had dragged her along.” He shrugged. “They did one of those meet and greet things you run so well.”
I swallowed hard.
“And he…wanted her. Probably for the sheer fact alone that she knew nothing about hockey. It was her friend who loved the game. My mom was just there for her.”
I did the mental math, my stomach tightening. “He was married.”
Jansen nodded. “Yep,” he said. “Not that my mother knew that. All she knew was…” His voice trailed off. “Well, you know how alluring celebrity athletes can be,” he tried to joke, but there was too much raw pain in his voice. “Anyway, it lasted a few weeks before she figured it out. She was crushed, naturally. He already had another kid with his wife, and one on the way.”
“When she found out she was pregnant with me, Sergei had the audacity to demand a paternity test. My mother didn’t want anything, wasn’t asking for money. She just felt he had the right to know he had another child on the way.” His eyes lilted to the side and cleared his throat. “She did everything he asked. Got the test. Proved he was the father. And, I guess he was banking on her not being faithful to him, or he hoped for it because when she showed him the proof…” His knuckles turned white he gripped the counter so hard. “He turned her away. Tossed her out like she was nothing but trash.”
Angry tears bit the backs of my eyes.
“She never went public,” he continued. “But Sergei’s wife found out, somehow. I think she found a copy of the paternity test or something. Asshole had been dumb enough to hang onto it.” He shrugged. “Maxim was born a few weeks before me,” he said. “And I didn’t even know any of them existed until I was thirteen. When my mother finally felt I was emotionally mature enough to handle the truth and take my own actions, whatever they may be.”
My heart clenched. “What did you do?”
He huffed a dark laugh. “I was a thirteen-year-old boy without a father,” I said. “I did what any kid would do. I begged to meet him.” He shook his head. “I’ve told you the rest before,” he said, and I remembered the moments he’d let me in when we’d been stuck in that amusement park ride.
I shook my head, stepping toward him, but he continued. “Sergei agreed to meet with me, but only in a public place. He sat down with me at some bullshit restaurant, ignoring my mother who lingered just outside. He told me I’d never be his real son. That me simply existing had nearly torn his real family apart. He called me a coward for reaching out, and threatened to stop sending the child support I didn’t even know about if I continued to try.”
A tear rolled down my cheek. “You were thirteen?”
He nodded. “I walked out of that restaurant a bit older,” he said. “My eyes were opened in a way they never had been before. My mother had raised me as both a mother and father, playing two roles and shuffling two jobs to keep us fed. And the money he’d sent? That paid for all the hockey lessons, the gear, the insurance for the inevitable injuries I sustained.” He shook his head. “I realized that day that I had to do whatever it took to take care of my mother. To make up for what that asshole put her through. The same asshole who knew I was his son and decided he’d rather treat me like a dirty secret than a human being.”
“Jansen,” I said, my heart breaking for him. It made sense now, the nerve I struck every time I said I didn’t want to go public. But he wasn’t something I was ashamed of. I adored him. Craved him. Was a better, stronger woman because of him. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s in the past,” he said, but it so wasn’t. The tension between Maxim and him? The rage and hate? That was still very much current. And everything he’d told me tonight and before? It made so much sense—Maxim was the son allowed in the spotlight, the one worth claiming, and Jansen had been the one tossed in the dark without a second thought.
“I hope you know that I don’t want to hide—”
“I know,” he cut me off, and I wrapped my arms around his middle. He slid his hand over my hair, holding me to him. “I know it’s a different situation, London,” he said. “But, I just wanted you to know. To understand…why I get a little cold when that comes up.”
I nodded against him. I completely understood—not how a father could do that to his child, but the source of Jansen’s pain. His drive to be the best without help. The way Maxim grated on his nerves. And I didn’t know if it was simply because Maxim was who he was or if they had a deeper
kind of history, but I wasn’t about to push that issue now. Not when he was an exposed nerve, raw and vulnerable.
Words and emotions swirled and rose, my heart expanding so much it hurt. But I didn’t know how to say what I felt for him—this all-encompassing need to soothe the wound he’d ripped open for me.
So, I showed him instead.
I gently intertwined our fingers and led him out of the kitchen, down the hall, and to my bedroom.
I slowly undressed him, taking care to linger in all my favorite spots, which was practically every inch of his body. He shuddered at the intense silence between us, at my actions that spoke volumes about the worth of the man before me.
Settling him on my bed, I stripped myself bare, smiling at him with genuine compassion, adoration, and just a hint of our usual passionate hunger. I wanted him to see to the heart of me, to know that he was much more than he gave himself credit for.
“Beautiful,” he whispered as I pushed him back on my bed, climbing over him to straddle his hips.
“You are, Jansen,” I said with all sincerity, running my fingers along the sharp lines of his chest, his abs, and lower. “You’re…” I reached between us, gripping what was already hard and aching between us. “You’re everything,” I said, those tears still coating my eyes.
Realizing another human being meant everything to me was almost enough to overwhelm me, but I held it together.
Held it together for him. Because now wasn’t the time to cry and make giant, life-altering confessions.
Now was the time to show him how much he meant to me.
He reached for me like he might flip me over and take the reins, but I shook my head, forcing him gently back to the bed. “Let me take care of you,” I said.
I inched backward, kissing down his chest, his abs, and only stopping when I got that glorious length into my mouth. He hissed, throwing his head back as I bobbed up and down on him, devouring him, loving him. And only when his fingers tightened in my hair did I pull back. His growl was short-lived when I settled atop him, sinking onto his slick cock with one fast stroke.
Sterling: A Carolina Reapers Novel Page 14