Page 36 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

Preston considered all the things he wasn’t saying aloud to her, things he knew it was too soon to be thinking, even though they’d taken root and weren’t letting go.

Like Chelsea, he wasn’t comfortable leaving Lennon in the care of strangers either.

That, paired with the thought that if he hung up his skates at the end of this season, there would be no off-season conditioning, practices, focused training. He would be free. Free to be…

He paused, because he’d never let himself think the words. Now, however, after rocking his son to sleep, they were flashing in his head like a goddamn neon sign.

Stay-at-home dad.

He’d considered countless second careers to follow hockey, and none of them had appealed to him even a fifth as much as the idea of raising his son.

But, as always, he couldn’t say that aloud because time—fucking time—still wasn’t on his side. He had to keep reminding himself that it hadn’t even been three weeks since he’d found Lennon and Chelsea. Mainly because those three weeks had been crammed full of what felt like a lifetime of joy.

So, unfortunately, any desires he might feel in regard to his future needed to be put on the back burner until that trust Chelsea had gifted him a year ago was reestablished and strengthened enough to include Lennon and her heart.

“Want to watch a movie?” he asked after a few minutes.

She nodded.

Reaching for the remote, he turned on the television, scrolling until he found exactly what he was looking for. “ Serendipity ?”

She rolled her eyes, on to his game. “You don’t play fair.”

“Told you the first night we met. I play to win.”

Chelsea laughed. “Guess I can’t say you didn’t warn me. Start the damn movie.”

He pushed play, loving the way she snuggled even closer, his shoulder her pillow.

As they watched, they discussed their favorite scenes, even spoke some of the lines aloud in unison with the actors.

Chelsea seemed surprised by the fact he knew the movie so well, despite him saying so.

No doubt she’d thought he was just saying things to woo her.

He’d noticed since learning he played hockey professionally, she seemed to take him at his word less than she had the night at the party.

He was determined to get them back to that same level of trust.

When the movie ended, Preston turned the TV off, twisting to face her. “You were my most fortunate accident.”

“Serendipity,” she whispered.

He nodded, wanting her now more than ever. “Joy?”

“Yeah?”

“Want to bend that rule some more?”

She gave him a breathy laugh. “Just bend ?” she asked, with enough emphasis on the word that he knew she wasn’t ready to break the rule.

“Just bend,” he vowed.

She didn’t reply. Instead, she did one better, initiating the kiss, her hands finding their way to his shoulders, then his hair.

He loved the way she gripped it tight, tugging until his scalp stung, ensuring his lips didn’t leave hers. Preston was a big fan of kissing. Always had been. He loved the intimacy of it, loved how much could be expressed by the simple act of touching lips.

But Chelsea took kissing to the next level. Because, while she was holding back from him emotionally, none of that hesitance was present when she kissed him. She was an all-in girl.

With one hand, he cupped her cheek as the other locked around her waist. He held her tightly, hoping against hope she would let these kisses linger. Hopefully, all the way to the midnight feeding. He wouldn’t mind making out with her for a few hours.

When she shifted, he worried she’d hit her limit on bending…until she moved over him, straddling his lap.

Thank you, Santa Claus.

Apparently, he’d been a very good boy this year.

Chelsea released her grip on his hair, her hands sliding over his shoulders to his waist, gripping the soft cotton T-shirt he’d thrown on after Lennon’s bath. Breaking the kiss, she gave him an adorably shy look, biting her lower lip for just a moment.

“Do you think it would be bending too much if you took your shirt off?” she asked, a blush blooming on her cheeks. “While your Christmas wish was the bedtime routine, mine is to see your b…chest again.”

Her slip of the tongue made it obvious she wanted to see the whole package, but he didn’t expect to get more than the kisses tonight, so it wasn’t like he was going to put up a fuss.

Reaching behind his head, he gripped his shirt at the nape of his neck and pulled it off in one quick swoop.

Chelsea leaned back, her ass perched on his knees.

It took everything he had not to grasp that peach-shaped ass and pull her tight against his crotch. The only thing stopping him was the way Chelsea’s eyes lit up as her gaze slid over his now bare chest.

“Sometimes…this past year…I told myself I imagined how hot you were,” she whispered, as if revealing a secret.

The grin he gave her was half amusement, half understanding because… “I did the same thing,” he confided. “I thought if I convinced myself you weren’t as awesome as I remembered, I’d be able to move on.”

Her gaze flew up, connecting with his. “It didn’t work.” She wasn’t saying it didn’t work for him but for her. Either way, she was correct.

He shook his head. “It sure as fuck didn’t.”

He toyed with the hem of her T-shirt. Like him, she’d changed into more comfortable clothes after Lennon’s bath.

Preston suspected she’d packed the silly holiday pajamas because they were practical and cute and, in her mind, not the least bit sexy.

The long-sleeved tee was green with red sleeves with a colorful drawing of a reindeer, whose antlers were adorned with tree lights.

The words “Lights Out” were emblazoned above it.

The holiday lights reminded him of the ugly sweater he wore the night he met her, recalling the way she’d made fun of him for affixing them with shipping tape.

As far as pj’s went, hers revealed nothing, and yet they were sexier than any lingerie he’d ever seen.

“Is this a tit-for-tat situation?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows when he said the word tit.

Chelsea huffed out a breathy laugh. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

Preston’s cock thickened the second she’d nestled against him for the movie, riding at half-mast throughout the whole damn film. Now, it completed the journey to rock-hard, despite the fact he knew there would be no happy ending.

There wouldn’t be until she realized what he already knew.

Their future together had been revealed that night in Philadelphia, and destiny had sealed the deal the day he’d walked into Sugar and Spice Bakery.

He knew it all the way to the depths of his soul.

But Chelsea wouldn’t let herself see that yet. Not because she was being willfully stubborn or dismissive but because she genuinely believed she was protecting their son’s heart. There was no way in hell he could be upset with her for that. Hence, the practicing of patience.

Chelsea started to take off her shirt, but Preston pulled her hands away.

“My present,” he said. “I get to unwrap it.”

Her face flushed a bright red, those dimples of hers appearing. Nothing Chelsea did was overtly sexual, and yet she was the most seductive temptress he’d ever met.

Lifting her shirt slowly, he savored every inch of skin he bared. He’d only just reached the bottom of her breasts when Chelsea’s hands flew up to cover herself.

“I forgot—” she started. She covered her waist, and he assumed she was worried about her weight. She’d mentioned that concern last year, and again the first time she visited his condo.

“Forgot what?” he prodded, when she clammed up, suddenly uneasy.

“Since Lennon was born, I have stretch marks.”

It was obvious she thought those marks were ugly, but knowing they were there did something to Preston he couldn’t quite understand.

He gently grasped her wrists. “Let me see.”

She closed her eyes and dropped her hands as he pulled her shirt off completely.

Just as she’d said, there were marks beside her stomach. Preston’s heart raced as his mind drew a picture he hadn’t considered before. “I wish I’d seen you when you were pregnant with him. God, I bet that was beautiful.”

Chelsea’s eyelids lifted, and she treated him to one of those expressions that said she thought he was off his rocker.

“Imagine a beached whale and you’ll know what I looked like.

My stomach was out to here.” She indicated a spot at least three feet away from her.

“And my ankles were this big around.” Again, she gave him fisherman-sized proportions.

“And I waddled like a duck the entire last month. I promise you, no part of me was sexy.”

If she was trying to turn him off, she was failing miserably, because at that very moment, Preston sent a wish out into the universe that he’d get to see what she was describing while carrying their second child…and hopefully third.

Gripping her hips, he guided her up, her ass lifting from his thighs so he could lean forward to kiss those marks.

“I thought you were perfect before,” he whispered, his tongue tracing the lines of her stretchmarks.

“But now, you’re a fucking work of art. Why would you try to hide something so amazing?

These marks were drawn by you and Lennon, and I’ve never seen anything more gorgeous. ”

She gave him a wobbly smile, her eyes glazed with shiny tears. “How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?”

“Because I know you, Chelsea. I feel like I’ve always known you.”

“I feel the same way.”

The time for words passed, and Preston finished unwrapping his gift. She wore a soft sports bra, but he wasn’t kidding about tit for tat, so he drew that off as well. By tacit agreement, their pants remained on.

Chelsea didn’t resist or demure, letting him look his fill as she did her own exploring, her fingers drawing patterns over his chest.

The next hour was an experiment in torture and bliss as they kissed, licked, nipped, and touched. He worshipped her breasts, now larger, her nipples even more sensitive.

Chelsea slid closer, pressing down on his covered cock, the two of them dry-humping like teenagers in the backseat of a car.

Then Preston twisted them, pushing her to her back as she wrapped her legs around his waist, welcoming him between.

The change in position—though nowhere near enough—had both of them groaning.

He hadn’t intended to steal more than the kisses, but then the shirts had come off and his tenuous grip on control vanished.

Mostly.

Somehow, he managed to keep their pants on, aware if his hand slipped below the equator, he’d be powerless to stop.

Gyrating against her, Preston tried to find some semblance of relief, to no avail. His cock knew exactly how good it felt to be gloved by her pussy, and it wouldn’t settle for less.

“God,” Chelsea said, breathlessly. “Preston.”

He was just about to suggest they not only break but shatter the damn rule, when Lennon cried.

Chelsea jerked, wiggling out from beneath him, trying to calm herself.

It took a minute, but somehow they both managed to tamp down their arousal.

Then, she gave him a crooked grin that told him she hadn’t intended to let thing go so far as she pulled her shirt back on, and he responded to it with his own “oops” expression.

They both laughed breathlessly, rising when Lennon cried out again. Preston went to the kitchen for a bottle, while Chelsea walked down the hall to comfort their son.

When he arrived at the guest room, Chelsea was lying on the bed with Lennon tucked next to her. She gestured to the other side.

“You wanted to see the whole routine,” she reminded him. “This is it. I feed him in bed and then we spend the rest of the night sleeping together like this.”

He climbed onto the bed, grinning at how greedily Lennon took the bottle. He and Chelsea lay facing each other, neither of them speaking.

Preston drank in the moment, happier than he’d ever been in his life.

Within twenty minutes, Lennon and Chelsea were both sound asleep.

Closing his eyes, Preston made his New Year’s resolution a week early. Because he was going to do whatever it took to keep these two with him forever.

His beautiful family.