by Nikki Ash
Relaxing, I bend down, my hands poised on his chest, and kiss him. There’s a hunger there, a raw desire neither of us can contain. So we don’t even try.
I grind against his erection, seeking some relief from the burn between my legs. Tate’s hands go to my hips as I rock back and forth. “Shit, angel, you’re gonna have to stop doing that. It’s been a really long time, and I’m liable to blow in my shorts like a teenager.”
All I can do is smile. Even though women were throwing themselves at him—and still do, by the way—after our night together, he never took them up on their offers.
I reach over to the bedside table and pull out the brand-new box of condoms. Tate’s eyebrows arch upward. “You knew I was a sure thing, huh?”
I shrug, pulling a strip of the protection from the box and ripping off one. “Well, I had hoped you would be.”
His hands cradle my jaw as he says, “I’m always a sure thing for you, Sweetness. Always.”
I move enough so Tate can slip his shorts down his legs. His erection is a thing of beauty. Large, straight, and dripping with precum. When he has the protection in place, I reach down to remove my negligee. His hands stop mine as he says, “I want to see you riding my cock wearing this sexy thing.”
I swallow hard and nod. His eyes watch my every move as I shimmy out of the tiny thong panties hidden beneath the negligee. Once they’re gone, I crawl back onto his broad body, straddling his hips. I can feel how soaking wet I am, and the moment he slides his cock against me, he groans. “Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you again.”
I lean up and take his erection in my hand, squeezing it lightly for good measure, and position it at my opening. His eyes are pure fire as he gazes up at me. Slowly, I start to lower my body onto his. There’s a stretch and a slight burn, but I adjust quickly to his size. When I’m fully seated, I finally take a deep breath, one I didn’t realize I was holding.
Tate takes my hands, holding me up to take control. I carefully start to rock, lifting my hips and grinding back down. His face is tight as I wiggle, taking him as deep as I possibly can. “Jesus, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, watching my every move.
My body starts to take control, my hips moving faster with each passing second. I can feel my orgasm building and know there’s no way of stopping it. “Tate,” I gasp, as the end inches closer and closer.
“Take what you need, Sweetness. Make yourself come on my cock.”
His words are like a detonator. I explode spectacularly, white lights bursting behind my eyelids as wave after wave of pleasure burns through my veins like lava. My limbs start to weaken, as every ounce of energy I have is expelled from my body.
Suddenly, we move again. Tate flips us around so I’m flat on my back and he’s positioned between my legs. “There’s nothing better than watching you come, Ashtyn. It’s all I thought of all those nights we were apart.” I feel him nudge at my entrance, reaching to fill me once more. “Ash?” he whispers, pinning me with a deep gaze. “I love you. I know you’re not supposed to make a declaration like this in the throes of passion, but it feels like I can’t go a single second longer without saying it. I love you, so fucking much. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I first laid eyes on you.”
I feel the wetness sliding down my cheek as my hand goes up to cup his scruffy jaw. “I love you too, Tate.”
He smiles so big, it’s like he won a prize. Then, his lips descend to mine as he presses forward, filling me. His thrusts are gentle but with purpose. My ankles hitch on his hips, changing the angle a bit, and suddenly, desire starts to swirl low in my belly again. I spread my legs farther and gasp when he grinds against my clit.
“Oh God,” I pant, feeling the second orgasm on the brink.
“Let go, Sweetness.”
My second one slams into me like a Mack truck, and Tate is quick to follow me over the edge. He grunts my name before claiming me with a kiss that leaves me breathless. When I’m finally able to catch my breath, he disposes of the condom then gets back in bed and draws me into his chest.
“Best night ever,” he whispers, the smile on his lips evident in his voice.
“I don’t know, I think the first time was pretty damn good too.”
He turns and catches my eye. “The first time gave us our son. That’ll forever be the greatest night of my life,” he says, kissing my forehead. “But tonight was the night I finally told you what I’ve wanted to say for a few weeks now. I unofficially made you mine, Ash.”
“Unofficially?”
He gives me that cocky, playboy grin that makes panties wet all over the world. “Someday, I’ll make it official. Until then, we’ll just have to settle for living together, raising our son, and more great sex.”
I smile back. “I can handle that,” I tell him, my eyelids starting to droop.
“Sleep tight, Sweetness. We have the rest of our lives ahead of us.”
As I drift off to sleep in his arms, I try to picture what our future might look like. I’m not sure what’s in store, but I do know one thing: Tate Steele is on his game—on and off the field.
Epilogue
Tate
Deep breath.
“Hike,” I holler, the ball snapped back into my awaiting hands. I step back and twist on my feet, running in the opposite direction than is expected. My line holds the defense, creating that perfect opening for me to slip through, but it’s a battle. Both teams want this. Need it.
Time stands still.
My feet carry me as fast as they can toward the end zone.
Crossing the fifteen…
The ten…
The five…
Touchdown.
The stadium erupts around me, the noise at a deafening level, but all I can do is take it all in as I throw my hands in the air.
We did it.
Champions.
Cannons of confetti rain on the field as the final score is flashed on the big screen. Down by three, we were out of time to make a move. It all came down to this final play. My team surrounds me, wrapping me in hugs, and slapping me on the pads. Their screams of excitement are drowned out, but I can read it on their faces, see it in their tear-filled eyes.
Holy shit.
We make our way toward the fifty, cameras shoved in our faces the entire way. I spot Cole Danner, the QB for the Lightning. His face is solemn, his heartbreak visible in those dark blue eyes. “Great job, Tate.”
I hug the man who was one play away from being a champion himself. “Hold your head up, Cole. You played a hell of a game, man. I’m proud of you,” I tell the young, eager quarterback. He’s good. His time is coming.
He gives me a sad smile before turning away.
I’m engulfed in more hugs from my teammates and coaches. Head coach Juaquin Carter pulls me into a hug that’s tighter than any I’ve received thus far. The words he whispers in my ear are both in excitement and pride, as he taps me on the pads and hands me a T-shirt sporting our new title. My helmet is replaced with a championship ballcap featuring the Fire logo.
As we’re shuffled to the stage suddenly erected in the middle of the field, I spy the two faces I’ve been most eager to see.
Ashtyn and Rowan.
She’s wearing a number four jersey with my name on the back, with Rowan wearing a custom made one that says “My daddy’s the QB” on the front. I reach them in a matter of seconds, pulling her into my arms, and spinning them around. My lips settle on hers next, our son eagerly pulling on my jersey for attention.
“Oh my God!” she bellows, her eyes sparkling with excitement and confetti in her hair.
“Can you believe this?” I ask, taking Rowan in my arms, who tries to eat the new T-shirt thrown over my shoulder. He’s wearing small headphones to protect his ears from the noise, but they’re still big on his little head.
“I knew you’d do it,” she states matter-of-factly. And she did. She’s been my biggest cheerleader throughout the entire season, not missing a single game, inc
luding the away ones.
Even when we went through the purchase of a new house last fall, she’s been by my side every step of the way. We sold her house and my penthouse apartment and settled together in a large Tudor home in a gated community. My favorite part? The huge backyard with plenty of room to play catch.
“Where’s everyone at?” I ask, looking around for my parents and Alex.
“Your parents stayed up in the suite until it clears out a little bit down here, and Alex is floating around here somewhere.”
I gaze down at my son, whose eyes are wide with excitement and just taking it all in. “You ready to go up and get our trophy, Row?”
My son smiles in return.
Security helps move us to the stage, where the coaches and owners are waiting. It’s a moment I always wanted, yet somehow always felt was just outside of my grasp. Today was my day, the day my teammates and I played our hardest, best football, and won. This is our moment.
I listen as they present the owners of our team with the championship trophy, who make speeches about bringing the hardware home to the great city of St. Louis. Then, they have me step forward.
“Tate Steele, congratulations to you and the Fire on a successful season. You’ve made the year exciting to watch, and I’m sure your fans couldn’t be happier to win their third championship in the history of the franchise.”
“This is a dream come true for everyone, Stan,” I reply, earning a round of applause and cheers.
“Well, I’d like to make your night even better by presenting you with the league MVP trophy, as voted by the fans throughout tonight’s game,” Stan says, as another huge trophy is moved to the front of the podium. “Tate Steele, your MVP,” he announces to the crowd.
My eyes instantly go to Ashtyn, who’s crying off to the side, her bare hands held up to cover her mouth. That’s also when I spot Alex moving through the crowd, making his way to the stairs.
I run my hand through my sweat-soaked hair and gaze down at my son. “Wow,” I say, as I step back up to the mic. “First off, I want to thank the entire Fire organization and all the fans for believing in this team and standing by us.”
The audience erupts into more cheers. When they quiet down a little, I continue. “I gotta thank my parents and family too.” I stop and glance down at Rowan. “And this little guy. He has no idea, but I’ll always be his biggest fan.” Everyone cheers again as I speak of Rowan, who has become a staple around the field, and in the photographs they continue to snap of me.
“This entire weekend has been a dream come true, but I’m going to be honest with you, it’s missing something.” I ignore all of the confused faces until my eyes land on Alex. He’s right next to Ashtyn, where he’s supposed to be.
He places his hand beneath her elbow and guides her my way. She doesn’t go easy though. Oh no. Ashtyn wants nothing to do with this kind of spotlight and is dragging her feet and trying to turn around.
When he has her standing directly beside me, an uncomfortable smile on her face, I say, “I have an MVP trophy.”
Cheers.
“I have a championship ring.”
Louder cheers.
“But there’s one ring missing.”
That’s when Alex takes his nephew from my arms and slips the ring into my hand. I turn my gaze to the woman I love, the one who has stood beside me, and who hasn’t left me even when I leave the toilet seat up.
“Ashtyn,” I start, taking her hand. Her eyes are as round as hubcaps as she gazes up at me. “My love,” I add, taking a knee in front of her.
The crowd goes wild.
When I look up at her, everything else just falls away. “This ring is the most important piece of jewelry in my life. This one symbolizes my love for you. It’s endless. I thank God every day that you walked through your brother’s door that day because my life has been nothing but good ever since. I want to marry you, give Rowan brothers and sisters, and grow old with you standing beside me.”
Deep breath.
“Ashtyn Harris, will you marry me?”
She nods once. Then yells, “Yes!”
She’s in my arms a moment later, the ring I spent weeks picking out on her finger. “I love you, Ash.”
“I love you, Tate,” she beams at me, tears gathering in her eyes.
“Wow, Tate Steele, I don’t know how your night could get any better,” Stan says. “Congratulations to you and Ashtyn on your engagement.”
With her eyes locked on mine, Ashtyn smiles. “He’s a keeper.”
Spark by Nicole Blanchard
Chapter One
Avery
Wednesday—October 10, 2018
8:00 p.m.
A boom shakes the house and a whiplash of pure, primal fear invades the tiny spaces in my body. Sensing my unease, the little life in my arms lets out a disgruntled squeal as hot tears leak from her reddened, tired eyes—eyes a blue-gray, the same color of the stormy evening sky outside the window. Neither of us has gotten much sleep today. I expect we won’t get any tonight either. As if to confirm my thoughts, lightning flashes, turning the living room from night to day in one quick instant.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I promise. It’s only a storm.” I wasn’t sure if she could hear me over the roaring wind and lashing of rain against the tin roof. “A really, really loud storm. We get them all the time.”
This isn’t any storm, but I can’t tell her that. At a couple months old, my words are to soothe myself more than her. All she knows is her mom is terrified. No doubt she can sense the sour tang of my fear coming off me in waves.
“That baby needs a bottle. Sounds like she’s starvin’.”
I close my eyes for a moment, then turn to my grandmother. She sits in her customary rocking chair, a green so worn it’s nearly gray. “She’s not hungry. She’s just scared, is all.”
Her and me both.
Grandma Rosie purses her lips and rocks more vigorously in her chair. I hold my baby closer and ignore her. Nearly eighty and suffering from dementia, Grandma Rosie has a habit of repeating herself and calling me by my mother’s name. She also has a tendency for bluntness—which most people would classify as straight meanness—but I know that’s the disease talking. Grandma Rosie raised me and before her brain started failing her, she’d been the sweetest woman alive.
That’s why I bite my tongue and turn away from the living room, moving deeper into the house. The baby wails so loud it almost drowns out the wind and rain. Almost.
Readjusting her little body against my shoulder, I cradle her head and pat her back as I rock her back to a sense of calm. Soothing her helps me, albeit only slightly. Once she settles a little, I reach for my phone in my back pocket to check the weather again. I’m praying for a miracle with every atom of my being, though the only miracle I’ve ever witnessed is finally sleeping in my arms.
Please, please shift. Shift away from here.
I close my eyes as the weather radar loads and my heart thuds like a hammer in my chest. The last thing I want is to condemn someone else to the horror of what’s to come, but at the selfish, human center of me, I’d rather it’d go somewhere else, anywhere else.
Please.
If I’d been stronger, I would have convinced Grandma Rosie to evacuate this morning. Dammit, I should have carried her out kicking and screaming if I had to, but she wouldn’t budge.
“I’ve lived here for fifty years and I’ll die here,” had been her litany all day despite my pleading. I couldn’t leave her to die all alone and confused. She didn’t have anyone else but me.
So I’d spent the entire day battening down the hatches. I’d boarded up the windows, done last-minute runs for emergency supplies. Grandpa Jim had kept an old weather radio that still worked if only by the grace of God alone, so I’d have something in case the power and cell service went out.
Most people thought the hurricane would weaken as it came closer to the gulf. Most hurricanes that hit our area of Northern F
lorida did—in fact it’s a running joke that most Floridians have hurricane parties to celebrate their landfall. But according to the radar and the Facebook Live from our local weatherman, Hurricane Michael hasn’t weakened. It’s grown stronger. It’s predicted to make landfall as a Category 5. One of the strongest to ever hit our area.
And it’s supposed to be heading right for us.
My phone wobbles in my hands as the weatherman’s words ring in my ears. A Category 5. You hear about them, sure, and we’ve gotten some bad storms throughout the years, but
nothing like this. A storm like this could obliterate everything. We are far inland, thankfully, so we won’t get the brunt of the storm surge or the worst of the winds. I try to take a seed of hope from that thought and immediately feel guilty. So many people on the coast like me haven’t evacuated.
The baby lets out a mewl of protest and I realize I’m squeezing her too close. I let out a shuddering breath and move from the kitchen to the room we share. Carefully so as not to wake her, I tuck her into her bassinet while I finish last-minute preparations. Really, I’m not sure what else I can do to save us, but I have to try.
With every hour that passes, the storm moves inexorably closer. Despite my fervent prayers, or perhaps because God knows I’ve never prayed with any intention before, it doesn’t shift away. All of the models predict it’ll make landfall and move right over us.
“What the devil?” I hear Grandma Rosie shout sometime later. “My pictures done turned off.”
Moving from the hall bathroom where I’ve been filling the tub with extra water and organizing our first aid supplies, go-bags of food and clothes for each of us, and Grandma Rosie’s medical supplies, I join her in the living room. The ancient television she insists on keeping to watch local channels is filled with snow. The sight of the gray static sends a spear of fear straight into my gut.