Epilogue
Two Months Later — Torin
“That’s it, keep going. Fuck,” I moan loudly, the words ringing out in the bathroom.
The shower spray is intense, fogging the glass and clouding the room.
I clench my fists on the cool tile wall, every muscle in my back and legs contracting.
Fawn is kneeling in front of me, her hair plastered to her hollowed cheeks, her amber eyes fixed on me through the spray, huge and ridiculously beautiful.
Her greedy mouth is working wonders, making my cock throb. I feel it all — the heat, the moisture, the slick perfection. She takes me deep, her mouth closing tight over my girth. Her tongue laps at the head, catching the pre-cum that forms there, and then she takes me deep again.
“You’re doing so fucking well, baby.”
She pulls back, and my cock slides out of her mouth with a soft, wet pop. She smiles slyly and licks up the thick vein that runs along the underside. “You like the view?” she whispers.
“I’m gonna come from just the view,” I grunt.
My fingers twist in her hair, not pulling, just playing with it.
“Your eyes . . . your body, fucking hell. You have no idea what you do to me. You look so freaking perfect. My beautiful girl, on her knees, sucking my cock like it’s the best thing in the world. ”
My eyes remain on hers as her pupils dilate and the flush of her cheeks redden. She sinks down again, taking me deeper until my cock hits the back of her throat. She gags a little, and a thick strand of saliva drips from her lips.
“That’s it,” I encourage her. “Such a good fucking girl, choking on my cock. You like that, don’t you? You’re showing me how much you can take.” I can’t get enough of her. I want to paint her lips with my cum.
She lets out a muffled whimper around my cock, and her hands come up to grasp my thighs, her nails digging into my flesh. The look of surrender and effort on her face is too erotic.
I press in further, watching as my thick cock vanishes between her gorgeous pink lips. My balls constrict. “I’m so close. You’ll swallow every single drop, right?”
Her only response is a groan and another swallow, her throat constricting around me.
I’m desperate to last even one more second, but my balls churn and tighten.
“I’m coming. Fuck, I’m coming,” I moan, my hips convulsing.
I don’t withdraw; instead, I plunge deep one final time and ride out my climax.
A primal roar echoes off the tiles as I pulsate within her mouth, ropes of my cum bursting down her throat.
I can feel her swallowing, accepting as much as she can, tears streaming down her face, yet her eyes never leave mine.
The last shiver runs through me, and I gently pull away from her mouth. She’s still on her knees, catching her breath, a beautiful mess. A little bit of cum slips from her lips, and she wipes it up with a finger, cleaning it off with her tongue.
She lets out a little breathless laugh that cuts through the steam. “That’s settled payment, right?”
I am still trying to catch my breath, my heart racing in my chest. I reach down and hoist her to stand, dragging her slick skin against mine.
“For your car battery that you finally let me replace? Hmm, yeah,” I manage, my voice hoarse.
I kiss her, hard and possessive, tasting myself on her tongue.
“But you understand that was just the interest, right?”
Her hands slide across my chest and down my six-pack. “Oh, I know,” she whispers, her fingers drifting lower, already stirring my cock again. Fuck, she’s a miracle worker. Surely, I can’t come anymore. Her eyes flare, and then she winks. “Perhaps we can discuss the full terms later.”
“You got yourself a deal, baby,” I say, pressing my thumb along her hip as the steam envelops us. “Come on, let’s get clean. We gotta get to the rink.”
She sighs, squeezing some body wash into her palm before passing it to me. I take the bottle, but instead of using it right away, I watch her for a second longer.
The water cascades down her skin, reflecting the light.
Her stretch marks, her curves, her body — all of her, everything about her, I absorb, loving her exactly as she is.
There is nothing to change, nothing to cover, nothing to hide.
This is the second time she has shared the shower with me when the main light is on, and the trust is more significant than any physical sensations.
“You know, I’m so proud of you,” I tell her as I finally wash my body. “I can’t believe you finished your book last week.”
She turns her head away for a second, and I know exactly where her mind’s gone.
She’s worked herself to near exhaustion on that book, spending hours crying, pouring every fragile piece of herself into it.
That fucking impostor syndrome has been clawing at her ever since, whispering lies she doesn’t deserve to believe.
She huffs. “It’s with the editor now, and I’m nervous.”
“Listen, don’t be nervous. I’m not much of a reader, baby, but I loved every page. Your heart went into that book, and it shows. Again, I’m proud.”
“Thank you, but I have to give credit where credit is due. I only managed it because I had you and Dylan by my side,” she says quietly. “Honestly? I’m just prouder of you two.” She laughs softly. “Dylan is killing it as the rink owner. And you — you’re an amazing coach.”
My girl is on the brink of releasing her second novel, something she has worked tirelessly on, and yet here she is, telling me she’s prouder of Dylan and me. That’s why she’s my world.
“Jesus . . . in two months, our lives have really changed,” she says, shaking her head in a combination of shock and awe.
“Right?” I chuckle. “Two months ago, if anyone had told me a writer would be watching the team and that I would fall in love with her, I’d laugh.”
“Oh yeah?” she grins. “You know what got me really hooked? The hip warm-ups. Watching you thrust on the ice. But you’re right. If someone had told me I’d end up living with two amazingly hot hockey players, I would have thought they were crazy.”
“Only crazy for you, baby,” I tease, holding her close. “Anyway, excited to see the team dance?”
“As long as it’s not Shakira,” she laughs. “Then yeah, I can’t wait.”
“Chill. I helped Dylan choose a song, so you’re good.”
“Okay. I know he’s put a lot of time and effort into it.” She pauses then raises a brow. “You’re one lucky son of bitch, by the way. You don’t even have to dance.”
“Perks of being the coach,” I reply smugly. “And I made sure the team isn’t dancing with the figure skaters either. Harper and her bunnies have got their own thing.”
Through the fogged-up glass, I can just make out my phone lighting up on the counter, probably Dylan wondering where the fuck we are.
A twinge of guilt creeps in. I know I shouldn’t have spent so long in the shower with Fawn, especially with him running around all morning.
I did offer to set up the rink while he went to the bakery to get donuts to take to his mother’s grave, but he insisted he could do it all himself.
“That’s got to be Dylan,” I tell Fawn as I leave the shower, holding a towel for her with one hand and grabbing one for myself with the other.
She stands there for a moment, and I’m left simply staring.
She emerges from a cloud of steam, the droplets on her skin catching the light.
My mind goes blank. How did I manage to get so lucky?
“What?” she asks, catching my look, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.
I shake my head, a breathy laugh slipping through my teeth. “Nothing, I just . . . love you, baby.”
She steps onto the bathmat, the towel a shield as she secures it over her breasts. Her stare is intense and pins me right to the spot. “I love you too, Torin.”
After what my ex did to me, I was convinced love was a secondhand emotion, that I wouldn’t be able to feel it again, but fuck, was I wrong.
****
Fawn
The rink is busy and chaotic, but the seats are all full, like the whole of Ivywood is here. The sounds in the crowd blend together — the laughter echoing off the ice, the scraping of the figure skaters’ blades as they warm up in the background.
The smell of something greasy hits me first; it’s got to be fresh donuts and hot dogs.
At each step, I remind myself how much my legs ache. Torin and I definitely tested my flexibility in that shower, trying all sorts of positions, no doubt including a few that shouldn’t be legal. Now, I’m half-walking, half-hopping, trying to appear nonchalant while my body protests.
Immediately, I spot Delilah, her bleach-blonde hair glowing under the rink lights, a highlighter in the crowd.
When I reach her, though, she doesn’t even bother to say hi. She looks me up and down, squinting. “Why are you limping?”
Hi to you too, Dee.
I smirk and lift a brow, not even trying to hide the truth.
Her face lights up immediately. “Fuck, I love that for you, girlie,” she teases. “Cal and I fucked in the car on the way here.”
I slide into the seat beside her and breathe a sigh of relief. She hands me a Dr Pepper, and I take a much-needed sip.
“I’ve seen Dylan pacing like, what, four times already,” says Delilah, leaning in so I can hear her above the noise. “Cal’s been trying to calm him down.”
The guilt is heavy in my chest. Of course he has. This event is everything to him, and a part of me thinks maybe I should offer to lend a hand, maybe a hug. Just as I’m about to tell Delilah I’ll be right back, she drops one hell of a bombshell.
“I think I’m pregnant,” Dee says oh-so-casually.
My head snaps toward her so fast, I nearly get whiplash. “What?”
“I’m craving . . . water.”
“Dee,” I pause, pinching the bridge of my nose, already exhausted. “Do you still have the implant?”
“Fuck yeah.”
A single scoff escapes me. “Jesus. You’re not pregnant. You’re just thirsty.”
She bursts out in a fit of laughter, cheeks turning rosy. “That actually makes sense. I haven’t had a drink yet.”