Chapter 22
OLIVIA
Killian
Big game this week.
Sorry to be watching it on TV instead of in the stands.
Olivia
You’ll be home in another month.
We’ll see you then.
Brynlee
Should we make a little side bet?
Mom
Really children?
Dad
It would be more fun if Deacon could just kick Logan’s ass.
But I’ll settle for his team doing it for him.
Olivia
Daddy!
Dad
I’m kidding.
Sort of.
Mom
Cade . . .
Dad
What?
It was years before I went easy on Deacon.
Logan has to earn that shit.
Killian
So who are we betting will win?
Mom
The Revolution.
Brynlee
The Revolution, obviously.
Killian
Livvy?
Olivia
. . .
Brynlee
You can’t bet against the team your family owns.
Half the damn family plays for them!
Olivia
Watch me.
Mom
Are you at least going to be sitting with us?
Dad
Or your husband’s family?
Olivia
I’ll go between both.
Brynlee
At least tell us which jersey you’ll be wearing.
Olivia
Guess you’ll have to wait and see.
—St. James Family Text Thread
“Jesus, Logan . . .” I pant and run my fingers through his hair, tugging him back up my body. His dark-blue eyes focus on mine as he tears open a gold-foil packet with his teeth. “A girl could get used to that kind of wake-up call.”
My body still shakes from my first orgasm as he drags his sex-drenched lips over my own. I’m finding out this husband of mine likes to eat, and I’m his favorite delicacy. He also likes me to taste . . . afterward. Never thought I’d be into that, but with him, I fucking love it.
“Fucking need you, Livvy.” He flips me over to my knees and smacks my ass, then licks the no doubt glowing-red handprint against my skin, and my forehead falls to the bed as I muffle my scream into the pillow.
He drags his thick cock through my soaked sex and smacks my clit with it again and again until I’m writhing beneath him. Until my thighs fucking tremble, and I’m on the edge of sanity, hot and wet and losing complete control. “Logan . . .”
And just when I think I can’t take any more, he pushes in, just the tip, just the tiniest fucking bit of his goddamn monster cock. “You want more, Livvy?”
“Do you want . . .”—I pant—“to see tomorrow, Adler?”
I’ve never had this before.
This mind-blowing sex that’s emotional and yet somehow fun.
I push my ass back against him and look over my shoulder as he fists my hair. “Yes.” Another inch. “Please.” One more.
I’m desperate for more.
To be filled. To be fucked.
And when he tugs my hair and pulls my back up to his chest, pushing his tongue inside my mouth, and finally, fucking finally slams home, I shriek, not caring if I wake the entire damn house. Hell, the whole fucking ranch.
Each stroke is faster than the last.
Morning sex has to be, considering Maggie is a perfect little alarm clock, and she should be ready to go off any minute.
I relax around him. Dying to take him deeper. Harder. Until I can’t think or hear or move. Logan’s calloused fingers hold my face as our tongues tangle in a delicious clash.
His fingers slip between my legs, working me faster. Harder.
And a savage cry catches in my throat.
“Don’t scream, Olivia. Not yet.” His words are a reminder of yesterday when I may have accidentally woken Maggie.
“Then fuck me fast, Logan.” I loop my arm back around his neck and snap my hips against his, meeting him thrust for thrust as he sets a brutal, punishing rhythm. One I love more than words can rationalize.
“Fuck, Liv,” he grunts, and I whimper. So close.
And this man knows it. He fucks faster. Harder.
Pinching my clit until I go off like the Fourth of fucking July, clenching around him as his teeth graze my shoulder, and he shudders inside me, both of us sweaty and gasping for breath as Magnolia’s cries fill the room.
Shit.
“How long as she been awake?” I murmur. This kid never wakes up crying. She only cries when she’s been ignored for too long and wants out of her crib.
Logan moves my hair over one shoulder and sucks that sweet spot he’s just gained access to. “At least five minutes.”
“Oops.” I grin.
“Go shower, sweetheart. I’ll get her and get breakfast started.” He stands and grabs his sweats from the floor, and for a moment, I just stare at this man in absolute awe. Then he leans over, palms my face, and kisses me again. “Get that ass moving, Olive. Wouldn’t want your eggs to get cold.”
He walks out of the door, and for a moment, I just lie there, staring at the empty space he left behind, wondering when exactly the space in my life and my heart became his.
Ishower, throw on a pair of shorts, then decide I’m a little cold and grab an oversized sweater too. Probably not my best choice, based solely on the look of annoyance Jasper gives me when I walk into the kitchen. “Wasn’t aware pants were optional today, St. James.”
I tug up my white sweater and show off my black cotton shorts, ignoring the fact that they barely cover my ass, and withhold from telling him to kiss said ass. “Wasn’t aware manners were optional today, Jasper.”
“They’re not. Jasper never has manners,” Waverly chimes in as she passes by me and heads straight for the coffee. “What’s with that anyway, big brother? Do we need to all donate money to get you laid or something? You used to be much nicer.”
Jasper takes the mug out of her hand and drinks the coffee she just poured. “Yeah well, you used to be cuter. Guess we can’t always have what we want.”
I kiss Maggie’s head, then walk over to where Logan stands in front of the stove, stirring eggs. “I don’t know about that.”
“Me either.” Logan grins and hands me a coffee. Extra cream. Apparently, he pays attention. “I got what I wanted.”
“The whole house heard what you wanted, shithead,” Rafe laughs as he grabs a banana from across the kitchen, and I bury my face against Logan’s arm.
Oopsie.
“What the fuck is that?” Rafe asks and points at the pan of scrambled eggs, and I follow his finger.
“Umm . . .” I look back up at the man who can cook exactly one dish. Eggs. “What the fuck is that?”
There’s a fat little panda in the middle of the cast iron skillet.
And does this man beam with pride?
Why yes. Yes, he does.
“It’s iron. It’s supposed to be good for people with anemia to add these things to the pots when you’re cooking. And since you, dear wife, don’t cook, I thought I’d add it for you.”
Oh. My. Heart.
I wrap my arms around his waist, and brush my lips over his, ignoring the catcalls when he reaches under my sweater and grabs my ass. “Thank you.”
“Dude. You have a room,” Jasper groans.
“And a kid who’s watching,” Waverly laughs.
“Nothing from you?” Logan asks Rafe.
The goofball shakes his head with a silly smile. “Nah. I’m just wondering if you’re on Viagra or something because seriously man, do you come up for air?”
Everyone laughs, including Jasper, and enjoys the moment. The first home game of the season is later this week, and I’m certain after that, family times will be few and far between, knowing what a professional hockey schedule is like for my family.
A few minutes later, when Maggie discovers a new love of eggs dipped in ketchup, I decide this child enjoys eating more than any human I’ve ever met.
I’m wiping her face when a box is placed on the table in front of me.
It’s wrapped beautifully in white paper with a thick, silk, red ribbon tied around it.
And my husband is preening like a peacock as he pushes it closer.
“What’s this?” I ask, my heart racing.
“Open it an find out.” He smirks, and everyone around the table stops talking.
I look around at all of them, shrinking. I hate being the center of attention. “Okay.” My hands shake as I tug the ribbon off and unwrap the box. “Boots?” I ask, lifting the beautiful glossy-red, knee-high Hunter boots out of the box. “Logan . . . they’re stunning.”
His cheeks warm. “I can’t take all the credit. Waves helped.”
She waves and winks. “Can’t live on a ranch without boots, Liv.”
“Or pants,” Jasper adds, and I think there might actually be a hint of a smile there.
My lower lip trembles, and I curse my hormones as I fight the urge to cry before Logan pulls out the chair next to me and drapes a hand around my back, his fingers playing with my braid. “I think the words you’re looking for are thank you.”
Carefully, I place the boots back in the box and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”
“I was thinking we could go pick some apples after breakfast. Pops said he was in the mood for a pie.” The twinkle in this man’s eyes kills me. I’m not sure there’s anything I wouldn’t do to see it there.
“So long as you promise not to bake it,” I tease, and he smiles and the table around us groans. “Actually, since everyone is here, Logan and I have something to discuss with you.”
“Jesus Christ, it’s called a condom, man. Learn how to use them,” Jasper bitches, and Waverly smacks the back of his head.
“Babies are blessings.”
“No,” I interrupt the siblings who are painfully offtrack. “Not pregnant. But thanks for the vote of confidence there.”
Logan shakes his head and peels a banana for Maggie. “We’re not pregnant. Not that it would be a bad thing if we were.”
My eyes fly to his, where hopefully, I manage to silently scream the fuck it wouldn’t.
“We wanted to prepare all of you. We appreciate the way you’ve all kept our marriage quiet the past two months—”
“Has it been two months?” Waverly questions, and Logan drags a hand down his face.
“Focus—” Logan grunts.
“By my count.” Rafe grins and counts off on his fingers. “We’re at about six weeks. I mean, you could still be preg—”
“I’m not pregnant,” I announce harshly to the table.
“Fucking focus,” Logan growls again. “What I was trying to say is that we appreciate the way you’ve all kept this quiet, but we’re not going to keep it quiet anymore.”
My head hurts from the way my husband stumbles through this announcement.
“And this is why you need PR,” I tell him sweetly.
“Basically, I’m going to the first game of the season.
” I look over to Pops, who’s been watching the craziness unfold from across the room as he sips his second cup of coffee.
“I’ll be wearing my rings.” The old man smiles and lifts his mug, and I’m pretty sure he’s silently saying that a girl. “And I’ll be wearing Logan’s jersey.”
“Sounds contrived,” Jasper grumbles.
“I think it sounds romantic,” Waverly sighs and elbows her brother.
“Fuck. I think it sounds sexy. You gonna have on pants, Livvy?” Rafe asks, and Logan growls. We’ve really got to work on that.
“If you want to keep your life, you won’t call my wife sexy, shithead.” But when he turns to me and his dimple pops, I might as well read his mind.
Got it.
Surprise this man one night in his jersey and nothing else.
“Is it gonna say St. James on the back or Adler?” Jasper’s brow lifts, daring me to answer.
Which I do with a genuine smile.
“Adler.”