Page 43 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

Finally, after too fucking long, she spoke. “I keep waiting for that word forever to freak me out,” she confessed. “Because Rick promised me that too, and…” She didn’t bother finishing her thought. They both knew what that douchebag had done. “But I’m not freaking out.”

He grinned at the look of wonder on her face.

“I’ve struggled with trust ever since my almost-wedding. And it wasn’t just my trust in men that was shaken. It was my trust in myself, in my decisions, that was also ruined. Because I honestly thought Rick was the one.”

“Do you think I could be the one?”

She shook her head, and this time, the gesture was a resounding no .

An immediate crushing weight pressed on his chest.

Until she added, “I don’t think you are. I know you are. I’ve known it since the night of the Ugly Christmas Sweater party. Preston, I’m so in love with you, it makes me dizzy.”

Preston released her hand, cupping her adorably dimpled cheeks. “I feel exactly the same way. You and Lennon are everything in the world to me. My family, my life. And I don’t want to spend another day away from you.”

Chelsea soaked in every amazing, incredible, perfect word he said, letting them drown all her negative thoughts once and for all.

“Break the rule, Preston,” she said, her gaze locked on his, her words steady, confident, demanding. “Right now.”

She wanted Preston Jacobson so much it hurt. She’d spent the last year dreaming of him, tossing and turning every single night, wishing he was lying next to her. She’d been an idiot, trying to convince herself that they could maintain a platonic relationship.

Chelsea met him halfway as he tugged her into his arms, his kiss rough, hungry, passionate, but far too short.

Until he grasped her hand and pulled her from the couch, the two of them walking to his bedroom. The fact that he remembered to pick up his phone—the nanny cam app open—to carry with them to the bedroom made her love him even more.

The second they entered his room, he shut the door and tossed the phone on a dresser. The next thing Chelsea knew, she was pushed against the door, Preston’s lips back on hers.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers.

“So long,” she agreed, her fingers slipping through his hair, holding it tight enough that he couldn’t stop kissing her until she was good and damn ready. Chelsea’s vision went gray around the edges due to lack of air, but she still didn’t relent.

Preston grabbed one of her legs, lifting it, encouraging her to wrap it around his waist. She groaned when she felt just how hard he was.

He pressed closer, and her head fell back against the door, her pussy clenching with need.

“Please,” she gasped when he continued to press against her, lifting her other leg. Only his strength and the door at her back kept her upright as he dry-humped her into a state of delirium.

“Hold on to me,” he demanded, giving her only a split second to do so before turning and carrying her across the room to his bed.

Once there, Preston loosened his grip, and she slid down his body until her unsteady feet hit the floor. Not that she needed to worry about falling. Preston’s arms held her tightly, allowing her time to regain her balance.

She looked up at his handsome face and tried to remember why she’d ever thought this was a bad idea. Especially when he cupped her cheek, looking at her as if she was the most special person in the world.

His tender look didn’t match his dark tone when he took a single step away and said, “Strip.”

Chelsea wanted to demand he do the same, but the wholly dominant look in his eyes sent a shiver through her body, leaving her helpless to do anything but obey.

She tugged her T-shirt over her head. She’d thrown on comfy clothes before starting dinner, and she hadn’t bothered with a bra.

Chelsea loved Preston’s sharp intake of breath as his gaze drifted lower, taking in what she’d just bared. He never failed to make her feel beautiful.

She closed her eyes as his fingers stroked her stretchmarks tenderly before cupping her breasts in his large, calloused hands.

Her breath stuttered when he pinched her nipples, lowering his head to take one in his mouth.

Chelsea’s back arched when he increased the suction, the pleasure of his touch just barely crossing over into painful. Not in a bad way.

Chelsea got the sense he was trying to maintain control, but she didn’t want that. Didn’t want him holding back. Because she couldn’t.

“Harder,” she demanded.

Preston’s eyes lifted, then narrowed. She laid her desires bare, letting him see exactly what she needed.

“It’s been a long time,” he reminded her.

“I don’t care. I don’t want sweet or soft.”

Preston released one of her breasts, his fist closing around her ponytail, tugging it until he forced her head back, her face lifted to his. “Be careful what you wish for…”

She gave him a sultry smile. “Give me what I want.”

“I don’t take commands in the bedroom.”

“Do it now ,” she taunted.

“Bad girl,” he murmured, his teeth nipping at her throat, his grip on her ponytail tight enough that her scalp stung.

Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, her fingers digging into his waist so that she could pull his body against hers. She parted her legs, riding one of his thick, muscular thighs, seeking some much-needed stimulation.

Before she realized his intent, Preston used her ponytail to twist her away from him. “ Very bad girl,” he growled in her ear.

Holy. Fuck.

So sexy.

Holding her in place with that one hand in her hair, he used the other to roughly shove her lounge pants down. When they dropped to the floor, he said, “Kick them off.”

She hadn’t bothered with panties either, determined that tonight would end up right here.

Preston ran his fingers through her slit—she was embarrassingly wet—before shoving her forward, facedown over his bed.

Chelsea cried out—more in surprise than pain—when he smacked her ass hard. His hand tightened around her ponytail, holding her upper body to the mattress as he peppered her rear end with his sexy spanking.

Chelsea only resisted through the first half dozen strikes before the heat he produced permeated the skin and drove her arousal to dangerous new heights. “More,” she demanded.

“Still trying to tell me what to do.” Preston’s next spank was harder and lower, hitting her upper thigh rather than the fleshy part of her ass.

It hurt, but she couldn’t make herself ask him to stop. Hell, she couldn’t stop herself from raising her ass to meet every blow.

By the time he released her ponytail, she was a sweaty, panting mess on the bed. And he hadn’t even undressed yet.

Chelsea remained facedown as Preston ran his hands on her ass, the tender skin sensitive to his soft touch.

She glanced over her shoulder as he draped himself over her body, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Ready to get serious?”

She laughed breathlessly. “That wasn’t serious?”

“Just a warmup.”

Chelsea flipped over onto her back as he rose, wincing when her ass hit the mattress. She narrowed her eyes when Preston chuckled, but her annoyance didn’t last more than a few seconds when he started to undress.

She remained where she was, enjoying the show, biting her lip when he shoved his jeans and boxers off, his erection knocking against his stomach.

Unable to resist, she sat, ignoring her stinging ass to lean forward. Preston groaned when she took his cock in her hand, stroking it a few times before licking precome from the tip.

Preston reached for her ponytail again, but this time he pulled the hair tie out, running his fingers through her curls as they fell around her shoulders.

Chelsea opened her mouth, taking the head of his dick in, pressing her tongue against the spot just beneath it.

Preston hissed in pleasure, his hands cupping the side of her head, pushing her lower, encouraging her to take more.

She let him guide her, fighting against her gag reflex when his dick brushed the back of her throat.

Preston loosened the pressure, allowing her to move back, then forward at her own pace.

His cock was too long for her to take it all in, so she gripped the base, her hand moving in time with her mouth and lips.

Preston slid his fingers through her hair, then, with one hand, cupped the back of her neck.

Chelsea’s pussy clenched, seeking some sort of stimulation. She’d never been so turned on from a blowjob, never considered this act something that could fuel her own desires.

She increased the pace and depth, only managing a dozen more strokes before Preston took a large step back, his cock falling from her mouth.

Chelsea started to chase him, moving toward it, but he placed a firm hand on her shoulder, forcing her to remain seated on the bed, just out of reach of her target.

Her eyes flew up to his. “Preston.”

“Not this time, Chels. Lay back.” He used that grip on her shoulder to ease her to the bed, her own moan falling from her lips when he dropped to his knees on the floor and pushed her legs apart.

Preston didn’t give her a second to brace herself before his lips surrounded her clit, sucking hard enough that she saw stars. Her back arched with delight, even as her pussy demanded more.

“Please,” she gasped. “More!”

She hoped he understood what that meant, because she was struggling to form any other words. Mercifully, Preston was well-versed in Chelsea’s sex language, because he added two fingers to the dance, pushing them deep inside her.

“God!” she cried, quickly covering her mouth with her own hand, not wanting to wake Lennon.

Preston continued to fuck her with his fingers, his lips, teeth, and tongue laying siege to her clit. Chelsea was helpless to hang on as he drove her straight over the cliff.

She cried out again, the sound muffled by her hand.

Preston gave her no chance to recover, adding a third finger to the first two, keeping that maddening yet beautiful pressure against her clit, until the first orgasm blended with the second without a break between.

Her body trembled, the sensations too good. “Too much…”

Preston raised his head, his lips shiny with her juices. “There’s no such thing as too much when it comes to you.”

She stretched one limp arm toward him. “Please,” she whispered.

Preston took mercy on her, rising and climbing onto the bed, caging her beneath him. She reached between their bodies, guiding his rock-hard cock to her opening.

Before she could line them up, he paused. “Birth control?”

Chelsea couldn’t help it. She giggled. “I got the shot. Learned my lesson.”

Preston chuckled as well, but the sound was cut short when he completed the trip, sinking his cock into her with one slow, relentless thrust.

Once he was seated to the hilt, they froze, their gazes connected as they savored the moment.

“ Finally ,” he said.

At the same time she said, “At last.”

They laughed again, as Chelsea marveled over how utterly perfect this man was for her.

“You were made for me,” Preston murmured, as if he’d read her mind.

Cupping his beloved cheek, she stroked her thumb over his lower lip. “Take me, Preston. Make me yours. Forever.”

Preston retreated until just the head of his cock remained, then he took her on the ride of a lifetime, pounding into her body and giving her everything she needed, everything she wanted, everything she’d ever dreamed of.

Within minutes, she reached the peak again, tumbling head over ass into a climax so hard, it almost hurt. Preston didn’t retreat, didn’t give way, thrusting, fucking, claiming.

When she came again, he was right there with her, her name rasping from between gritted teeth as his climax shook his body.

“Chelsea! Joy. My Joy.”

Chelsea clung to him, the two of them panting and sweaty, but neither ready to part.

“I love you,” she said, certain she’d never felt those words so strongly before.

“Love you,” Preston offered back, kissing her cheek, her chin, her forehead, before offering her one of his deliciously long, breath-stealing kisses.

With all the words spoken, the dreams shared, the future opening before them, their kisses were less frantic but no less amazing.

Another five minutes passed before Preston pulled away. “Shower?”

She nodded, accepting the hand he proffered. Once again, he grabbed his phone, taking it into the bathroom with them before turning on the water.

They took turns washing each other, both lingering until the steam in the bathroom was thicker than fog. Once they were clean, he pushed her against the tiled wall and made her very, very dirty again.

Turning off the water, Preston stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel that he used to dry her.

Chelsea returned the favor, then they returned to the bedroom.

Walking to his dresser, Preston grabbed one of his T-shirts for her and a pair of boxers for himself and they crawled back under the covers.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, they talked for hours, excitedly planning their lives together. Their conversation was eventually interrupted by the soft cry of their son, who was clearly hungry.

“Meet you in his room,” Preston whispered as he went to get a bottle.

Chelsea crossed the hall to her room—or, well, she supposed now it was officially the nursery, as Preston’s room became theirs.

“Hush, my sweetest little angel,” she said, as she lifted him from the bassinet.

“Daddy’s getting your bottle.” She smiled as she said those words, recalling all the father/son plans Preston had just shared with her.

“You’re so lucky,” she murmured as she drew back the duvet, claiming her side of the bed.

“Because he has the best mother in the world,” Preston said, joining her in the bed. “His life will be filled with happiness, fun…joy.”

“Not to mention a big friendly giant.”