Grinder (Seattle Sharks 1)

He kissed me with an even lighter touch as he positioned himself between my thighs.

“We won’t break,” I said, locking my ankles around his hips, drawing his weight on top of me.

“We. I love the sound of that.” He lessened the weight, kissing my neck and trailing his fingertips along the skin of my legs. Carefully he pulled my shorts off, followed by my panties, and stroked me with a feather-light touch.

I writhed underneath him, begging for more pressure. “Gage,” I groaned.

“Bailey,” he answered, slipping two fingers inside me while pressing his thumb against my clit.

I bucked against his hand, meeting his kiss with a fierce ache building inside me.

“Easy,” he said, slowing my pace, drawing out the torture as he stopping his motions inside of me.

“It’s fine. I promise,” I assured him, knowing full well we could have sex and not hurt the baby.

He cocked an eyebrow at me, kissing down my breasts, over my tummy, until he reached my center. “Oh, I know it is. I just like feeling you coil beneath me.”

I bit my lip as he parted me with his fingers and dragged his tongue over my warmth. “Oh God,” I moaned, unable to stop the onslaught of pleasure rippling underneath my skin. My tightened muscles clicked tighter, his perfectly placed tongue pushing me to the edge.

“Fucking delicious,” he said before sucking my clit into his mouth.

I screamed, my orgasm rocketing through me like an explosion as I clenched around him. He brought me down slowly, stroking me with light touches again before he teased my hot, wet center with the tip of his cock.

“I love you, Bailey,” he said.

I could read it in his eyes, feel it in the way he moved, the way he touched me like I was precious to him. “I love you, Gage.”

He slowly entered me, his cock fitting perfectly inside me, the friction one decadent, toe-curling sensation. I arched my hips upward as he gently rocked in and out of me, working up my already over-sensitive flesh into an aching, tight, spring.

I dug my fingers into his back, holding on as we made love like it was our first time.

“You really don’t want to me to leave hockey behind and stay here?” Gage asked, his naked lower half covered by my single, thin sheet.

He had me tucked underneath his arm, and I trailed my fingers along his hard chest. “You look way too sexy in your uniform for me to want that, Gage.” I chuckled, the motion moving the leg I had wrapped around his hip, and suddenly I wanted to go for round three.

“Is that so?” He flipped me over, pinning my shoulders to the bed. “This isn’t sexy enough for you? You need the ice and the jerseys too?”

“Don’t forget the fights.”

“You hate it when I fight.” He nipped at the skin on my neck.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy watching it from time to time.” I pressed my breasts against his chest and he growled.

“Again? We just---“

“Don’t deny me. You can’t deny me anything for the next nine months.” I teased.

He grinned. “Understood. What does the lady require now?” He asked in a terrible Parisian accent.

“Honestly?”

“Always.”

“I want you to take me home.”

He laughed and glanced down where I ground against his hard cock. “Really? Now?”

I smiled. “After,” I said, angling so he slipped inside me, relishing the way his eyes rolled back in his head. “I miss our life. I miss our home. I miss our girl.”

He stopped anything more I would’ve said with his lips on mine, kissing me until I was breathless and bucking against him. “Agreed,” he groaned as I rolled my hips upward and down against him. “But first?”

“Mmmhmm?” I asked, unable to form a coherent thought.

“Let’s enjoy Paris for a couple more days.”

“Deal,” I sighed into his mouth.

Epilogue

Gage

One year later

“It’s so pretty!” Lettie said in a loud whisper as we stepped into the Seattle Gallery of Modern Art.

“It is,” I whispered back.

Her mom was going to be proud. Bailey had been working on teaching Lettie “gallery manners” for the last few months, and it was paying off. Our gorgeous little girl fidgeted in her red velvet dress but held her head high as she stepped up to examine a painting.

I found Bailey across the room talking to one of her patrons. Fuck, she looked amazing. Her curves post-baby were phenomenal, and I still couldn’t get enough of her. In fact, we’d had sex on the floor right around where she was standing a couple of days ago.

Nothing like christening a new gallery.

The opening was a wild success, with people flooding the first floor of the gallery, and if I had to bet, I’d say the second floor was just as busy.

And in the middle of it, my wife shined brighter than the diamond I’d put on her left hand on Christmas morning last year.

Wife. I still wasn’t used to saying that word, but damn it sounded fantastic—almost as good as when “husband” rolled off her tongue.

As Lettie moved to the next painting, Bailey winked at me before sliding up next to her. “So what do you think?” she asked our daughter.

“I like the combinations of color, but the structure is weird,” Lettie said, tilting her head.

Bailey did the same motion and I grinned as I watched my girls.

“It is a little disconcerting, but maybe it’s supposed to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Lettie nodded seriously. “I can see that. Maybe it just makes me too uncomfortable.”

“Fair assessment,” Bailey said, kissing our daughter on her forehead.

I adjusted the wiggling weight on my chest as my wife leaned in and took a whiff of baby shampoo. She closed her eyes in ecstasy and kissed our son’s forehead. “How did bath time go?”

“Perfect. I’ve already signed him up for the 2032 Olympics. I’m expecting a champion swimmer here.” I kissed Ethan’s little forehead and he garbled his response, too busy chewing on his toy to care.

“Have I ever told you how ridiculously sexy you look with a baby carrier?” she whispered in my ear.