40. CAL
CAL
Sass, Sparkle, and a Breakdown in the Dirt
T he day had started with me riding high, all sass and sparkle, the self-appointed ruler of party planning perfection. But by the end, I was a heap of emotions in the dirt—embarrassed, rejected, and gutted in ways I hadn’t felt in years. My mother, in all her cold, calculated glory, had made sure of that. She hadn’t just dismissed me; she had dismantled me, brick by brick, in front of the staff I’d been directing like a general all day.
And if that wasn’t enough of a twist, there was the matter of the father I’d never known. A man who fought for me. A man who wanted me. A man whose name I didn’t even know.
The shame of it all hit me like a billboard dropping from the rafters—sudden, crushing, impossible to ignore. I’d never felt smaller, more exposed, or more humiliated. Yet somehow, in that moment when the ground seemed to give way beneath me, Wade was there.
His arms had wrapped around me like a lifeline, his voice calm and steady, his words cutting through the chaos in my head. He didn’t say it would be okay because he couldn’t promise that. Instead, he said something I hadn’t realized I needed so badly: we .
We would figure it out.
We would get through this.
We.
And the thing was, I believed him. Maybe it was the wine talking or the lingering buzz of love fumes clouding my judgment, but I trusted him. Because for the past six weeks, Wade had shown up for me in ways no one else ever had. He had held me through the messy parts—the self-doubt, the frustration, the petty tantrums I threw at my own broken body. Every setback, every victory, every ache and triumph, Wade was there.
And so was his family. They had welcomed me into their world without hesitation, distracting me with their warmth and humor, and reminding me of something I’d lost along the way. They reminded me of who I was.
Planning events had always been my Plan B, a skill I kept tucked away for when skating inevitably ran its course. , Though, I forgot. I lost sight of what I could do, of what I was good at. But being here, surrounded by their love and chaos, I remembered. I created memories for people—moments that mattered. And in the process, I started to feel like me again.
Through the we, I found me.
And in that moment, as I swayed in Wade’s arms in the soft glow of the living room lamp, all of it—the shame, the tears, the endless trays of canapés—melted away. The world narrowed down to this moment. To his arms around me, his steady strength holding me close, his heart beating against mine like it was the only sound that mattered.
His face, illuminated in the golden light, was the kind of beautiful that made your chest ache. The kind that made you believe in things you weren’t ready to admit to yourself. He was looking at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered, and for the first time in forever, I didn’t question it.
This man had shown me more care and kindness in six weeks than most had shown me in a lifetime. And as I let myself lean into his embrace, letting his warmth chase away the ache, one thought echoed through my mind.
For the first time in forever, I believed it.
The day had worn me raw, stripped me of the facade I clung to, but Wade’s arms had a way of putting me back together. The moment I whispered, “Take me to bed,” his lips curved into a knowing smile, and he scooped me up without hesitation. No words were needed; the weight of the day, the pain of rejection, and the lingering questions could wait. Tonight wasn’t about talking. Tonight, I needed him.
When we reached the bedroom, I half-expected Wade to take the lead like he always did. I craved his steady dominance, the way he grounded me when my mind spiraled. But instead, he surprised me. Sitting in the center of the bed, he pulled me onto his lap, his large hands settling on my hips, anchoring me there. His steady, piercing gaze locked with mine, and the heat in his eyes made my pulse quicken.
“I want you to take what you want, pretty boy,” he said, his voice low and rich, laced with a challenge I felt all the way to my toes.
It wasn’t just his words—it was the way he said them, the way his hands held me firmly yet gently, his body utterly still beneath me, like he’d handed me the reins but could take them back if I faltered. The shift in control sent a shiver through me. I felt like I had power—real, power. After the day I had, that control felt like a lifeline.
I nodded, swallowing against the lump in my throat, and slowly set to work. My hands moved with purpose, stripping him down with a reverence he usually reserved for me. Each button undone, each inch of skin revealed, was a prayer of gratitude. I kissed my way down his chest, letting my lips linger over the smattering of hair and the rough edges of his scars. Scars that spoke of battles fought and won, of pain endured and survived.
My fingers traced the tattoo I’d come to know so well—the one inked with words meant for another, a reminder of the man Wade had loved before me. My lips brushed over it, a silent promise passing between us. I’ll look after your home, Sam. He watched me, his grey eyes soft, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but decided against it. I moved only to undress, facing away from Wade giving him the view I knew he loved. The heat of a gaze ogling my ass had the smile creeping to my face. Once undressed, supplies in hand I went back to where I belonged, straddling him.
When I kissed him, it was slow and claiming, the kind of kiss that told him everything I didn’t have the courage to say. He pulled me closer, his hands roaming up my thighs, gripping me in ways that made my breath hitch. His strength, his heat, the sheer presence of him beneath me—it was intoxicating. But I wanted more than to be lost in him tonight. I wanted him to be lost in me.
I shifted, taking him in my hand, reveling in the way his cock twitched against my touch. The piercings teased my palm, sending a thrill through me as I stroked him, savoring my man, my viking god, my everything. His groan reverberated through my chest, low and guttural, as his head fell back against the pillows.
“Fuck, pretty boy,” he rasped. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
I smirked, feeling the rush of confidence bloom in my chest. “No, my handsome lumberjack. You’ll survive me—barely.”
The words hung in the air as I grabbed the lube, working it over him in slow, deliberate strokes that had his hips arching off the bed. His hands gripped my thighs, urging me forward, but I didn’t give him a chance to take over. With a steady breath, I positioned myself and sank down onto him, the stretch stealing the air from my lungs.
Our moans intertwined, filling the room as I took him fully, the heat of him spreading through me like wildfire. His hands found my hips, steadying me as I adjusted, and then I began to move. Slowly at first, savoring every inch, every roll of his piercings hitting just right, until the need built to a crescendo and I couldn’t hold back.
I rode him with a rhythm that was all mine, feeling the control seep into my bones. He propped himself on his elbows, watching me with a hunger that made my heart stutter. His gaze swept over me, taking in the way I moved, the way I unraveled, and I could feel his restraint fraying with every thrust.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe.
I leaned forward, my hands braced against his chest as I changed the angle, his cock brushing against the spot that made me see stars. My movements quickened, and I felt the heat coiling low in my stomach, the edge of release just within reach. Wade’s hands guided me, his grip firm as he met my rhythm, thrust for thrust.
When I came, it was with a cry of his name, my body trembling as the pleasure ripped through me. Wade followed moments later, his hands tightening on my hips as he spilled into me, his groan of satisfaction sending another wave of warmth through my chest.
I collapsed onto him, my cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His fingers traced lazy patterns over my back. The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, unspoken but heavy in the air.
“I love you,” I whispered in my mind, letting the thought sink into the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Wade’s arms tightened around me, his lips pressing a soft kiss to my hair. “Shower and bed?” He rumbled, and I nodded against his chest with a garble that could be described as pillow babble. He laughed—lifting me , taking care of me and curling me into his chest once we were dry. His warm bare body engulfed mine in a way no pregnancy pillow could. There went my security blanket if I was ever single… because nothing would compare to Wade Rossler’s spooning expertise.