5. Paxton
PAXTON
The cool water glides over my shoulders, slick and silent, as I push through the last lap of the infinity pool. The late afternoon sun bleeds gold across the stone terrace, turning the surface into liquid fire.
For once, the weight of the estate, the debts, the deals… none of it presses down. Just the rhythm of my strokes, the burn in my lungs, the quiet.
Then the quiet shatters.
I break the surface with a sharp inhale, water sluicing from my hair as I slick it back. My forearms hit the coping, and there she is.
Paige.
She stands at the pool's edge like a statue carved from tension, arms crossed so tight her knuckles whiten beneath her skin. The honey-blonde waves I've spent nights wrapped around my fingers are pulled into a messy knot, stray strands clinging to her neck where a pulse jumps too fast.
Her topaz eyes—usually warm, always sharp—are storm-dark, fixed on something beyond me.
Something's wrong.
The set of her jaw, the way her teeth worry her bottom lip, the faint tremble in her fingers as she grips her own elbows… it's all a language I've learned to read.
I haul myself out of the water, droplets cascading down my chest, and snag a towel from the lounger. The terrycloth rasps against my skin as I wrap it low around my hips, the weight of her stare like a brand.
"You look like you're about to fire me."
No smile. Not even a flicker. Just that same tight line of her mouth, the one that says she's holding back words like bullets.
"I was going through my mother's things."
The words are clipped, careful. I know that tone. It's the one she uses when she's trying to keep the shake out of her voice.
I study her face, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the faint flush creeping up her throat. "Nathan will be happy."
She exhales, sharp and short. "Yeah."
Silence stretches, thick as the humidity clinging to the air. The vineyards beyond the terrace sway in the breeze, rows of green blurring into the distance.
Paige's gaze drifts toward them, but I don't think she's seeing the grapes or the rolling hills. I think she's seeing something else.
Then she speaks again, the words tumbling out like she can't hold them back anymore. "I found your wedding album."
The air leaves my lungs in a slow, controlled rush.
I knew this was coming. Knew it the second Nathan mentioned the storage unit. But knowing doesn't make it easier.
"What's wrong with the album?"
Her laugh is a brittle thing, all edges and no warmth. "Nothing's wrong with it."
Another beat of silence. The kind that hums with everything left unsaid.
Then she blurts it, like the words are burning her tongue. "You looked… happy."
Three words. That's all it takes for the pieces to slot into place.
I see it now, the way her throat works as she swallows, the way her fingers dig into her arms like she's trying to hold herself together. The way her eyes flick to mine, then away, like she's afraid of what she'll find.
"I see."
She looks back toward the vineyards, her profile sharp against the golden light. "So do you still love her?"
"What?"
Her shoulders stiffen. "Am I just a replacement?"
There it is. The thing she's been circling, the thing she's too damn stubborn to name. I step closer, the stone warm beneath my bare feet, the towel's rough texture a counterpoint to the smooth heat of her skin so close I could reach out and touch.
"Wait. First, let me?—"
"Am I a bad daughter?"
I blink. "What?"
"For going after her mother's husband." Her voice cracks, just once, but she steels it. "If she didn't die, you probably never wouldn't have given me a second glance."
I take another step, close enough to see the way her breath hitches when I move. "Is that what you think?"
She finally meets my eyes, and Christ, the vulnerability there nearly undoes me. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Let me explain. You should?—"
She laughs again, but this time it's bitter, hollow. "I know I sound ridiculous?—"
"Let me finish."
Her shoulders sag, just a fraction, like the fight's draining out of her. "I just…" She shakes her head, her hair catching the light like spun gold. "I kept looking at those photos and thinking she had something I'll never have."
The words hang between us, heavy as the scent of jasmine clinging to the evening air.
Not anger.
Not resentment.
Fear.
I understand it better now. She's not grieving the past. She's terrified of it. Terrified that no matter what happens between us, she'll always be standing in someone else's shadow.
Her eyes glisten, just for a second, before she blinks it away.
"I know she isn't here anymore." Her voice is steady, but her hands tremble where they're clenched at her sides.
"I know memories aren't something I should be competing with.
But every photograph made me wonder if… if I'll always come second to what the two of you had. "
I close the last of the distance between us, my shadow falling over her. She doesn't flinch, doesn't step back. Just tilts her chin up, like she's daring me to prove her wrong.
"Look at me."
She does.
"Are you angry at me?"
Her jaw tightens. "I'm angry at myself for feeling this way."
"You don't have to be."
She searches my face, her gaze tracing the lines of my beard, the set of my mouth, like she's trying to memorize me.
"You wouldn't be feeling this way if you knew the truth."
Her brows knit together. "What do you mean?"
I draw a slow breath, the scent of chlorine and sun-warmed stone filling my lungs. "I think it's time I told you why your mother and I got married."
The water laps at the edge of the pool, restless, like it's waiting for me to speak.
Paige stands there, her bare feet curled against the warm stone, her arms wrapped around herself like armor.
The golden light catches the dampness clinging to her lashes, turning them into spiked shadows on her cheeks.
"Your mother and I weren't in love."
Her breath hitches.
"It was a transactional relationship." My voice is rough, the kind of rough that comes from years of not explaining myself to anyone.
"My father's will had a clause. I could only inherit the estate if I was married.
Your mother needed money to clear the debts your father left behind. So we made an arrangement."
Paige's lips part, but no sound comes out. Her eyes are wide, searching mine like she's trying to find the lie in them.
"No romance. No passion." I step closer, close enough to see the way her pulse jumps in her throat. "Just two people who respected each other enough to help each other out."
She swallows. "But the photos…"
"Were for show." I reach out, my fingers brushing her wrist, feeling the way her skin jumps under my touch. "We played our parts. Smiled for the cameras. Danced at the reception. But that's all it was. A performance."
Her fingers uncurl from her arms, her hands falling to her sides. The storm in her eyes clears, just a little, like the truth is a weight lifting off her chest.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it wasn't my story to tell." My thumb traces the inside of her wrist, slow, deliberate. "Your mother wanted to protect you. She didn't want you to think less of her for making a practical choice."
Paige exhales, long and shaky. "I thought…"
"I know what you thought." My voice drops, low and rough. "And I'm telling you now so you'll stop."
Her voice is quiet, but it cuts through the air like a blade. "So you were never attracted to my mother?"
The question hangs between us, sharp and unavoidable. I don't flinch. "No."
Paige's fingers twist together, her knuckles whitening. "What about her? Was she ever…" She trails off, like the words taste bitter.
I don't need her to finish. I know what she's asking. "No. She never looked at me that way either."
A shaky breath escapes her, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. But her eyes stay locked on mine, searching. "When did you start liking me?"
The truth claws its way up my throat. "I didn't let myself look at you before."
Her brows knit together. "What do you mean?"
I lean closer, close enough to see the way her pupils dilate, the way her breath catches when my chest brushes hers.
"I saw you. Every damn day. But I forced myself not to see you.
" My fingers twitch at my sides, itching to touch her, to prove she's real.
"You were my wife's daughter. Off-limits in every way that mattered. "
Her throat works as she swallows. "So when?"
"Recently." The word is a growl, rough with the admission. "I finally looked. And I knew I was fucked."
Her lips part, her breath coming faster now. "Why did you finally give in?"
I reach out, my calloused fingers brushing her jaw, tilting her face up to mine. "Because of your note."
Her breath hitches.
"That's when I stopped fighting it." My thumb traces her bottom lip, slow, deliberate. "When I realized you were meant to be mine."
Her eyes flutter shut for a second, like she's savoring the words. When they open again, they're darker. Hungrier. The last of the tension drains from her shoulders, and something else takes its place.
Without a word, she reaches for the straps of her sundress.
The fabric whispers as she pulls them down, letting the fabric pool at her feet. She's not wearing a bra. Just a pair of pale pink panties, the kind that cling to her hips like they're begging to be torn off. Her nipples are already hard, tight little peaks against the cool evening air.
My cock throbs, heavy and insistent, straining against the towel still wrapped around my waist.
Paige hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, shimmying them down her thighs. They join the dress on the stone, and then she's stepping out of them, stepping toward me, her body bare and unashamed.
"Paxton."
I drop the towel.
Her gaze drops to my hard on. I take off my swim trunks, and she stares at my cock, thick and flushed, the head already glistening with precum. She licks her lips, her breath coming faster, her tits rising and falling with every sharp inhale.
I reach for her, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her flush against me. Her skin is warm, soft, the kind of soft that makes my fingers dig in, like I can brand her just by touching her.
"Does this mean we're okay now?" My voice is a growl, rough with need.
She nods, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me down until our mouths crash together. Her kiss is desperate, hungry, her tongue sliding against mine like she's trying to devour me.
She suddenly twists free, her fingers slipping from my hair like she's suddenly afraid to hold on. Her tits bounce as she steps back, her nipples tight little points against the cool evening air, and then she turns, her ass swaying as she enters the pool.
The water swallows her whole, her honey-blonde waves fanning out like silk before she surfaces with a gasp. I'm right behind her, the cool shock of it nothing compared to the heat of her skin when I yank her against me.
I walk her backward until her back hits the cool tile of the pool's edge. The water sloshes around my thighs as I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist, her slick cunt grinding against my cock.
"Fuck, Paige." I groan against her mouth, my hands gripping her ass, spreading her wider. "You're making me crazy."
She moans, her head falling back, her tits pressing against my chest. "I need you inside me."
I don't make her wait. I line myself up, the head of my cock nudging against her entrance, and then I thrust up, burying myself to the hilt in one rough stroke.
Paige gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders, her body stretching around me, tight and hot and perfect.
"That's it, baby." I pull out slow, then slam back in, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off the stone. "Take my cock."
She whimpers, her hips rolling, meeting me thrust for thrust. "More."
I give her more.
I fuck her hard, rough, the way she needs it, the way I've been craving since the first time I saw her in that sundress.
The water churns around us, splashing over the edge of the pool, but I don't care.
All I care about is the way her cunt clenches around me, the way her breath comes in sharp little gasps, the way her tits bounce with every snap of my hips.
"You feel that?" I growl, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass. "You feel how deep I am?"
"Yes." Her voice is a whine, a plea. "Please, Paxton."
"Please what?" I slow my thrusts, teasing her, making her feel every inch of me. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to breed me." The words spill out of her, raw and desperate. "I want your cum inside me. I want you to fill me up."
My cock swells at her words, my balls drawing up tight. "You want me to put a baby in you, Paige?"
She nods, her eyes locked on mine, dark and hungry. "Yes. Please."
I can't hold back anymore.
I slam into her, my hips pistoning, my cock pounding into her tight little cunt. She screams, her body shuddering, her walls clamping down around me as she comes, her cum dripping down my shaft, coating my balls.
"Fuck, yes." I groan, my own orgasm building, white-hot and relentless. "Take it, baby. Take every fucking drop."
I bury myself deep, my cock pulsing as I come, thick ropes of cum shooting inside her, filling her up, marking her as mine.
Paige collapses against me, her breath ragged, her body trembling. I hold her close, my cock still twitching inside her, my cum leaking out around us, mixing with the water.
"You're mine now." My voice is a growl, possessive and rough. "No more doubts. No more ghosts."
She nods, her fingers tracing the tattoos on my chest. "Yours."
I kiss her, slow and deep, my tongue sliding against hers, tasting her surrender.