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Ainsley came awake slowly, wondering what could have roused her from a sound sleep.

“Shhh. It’s okay.”

She felt Coulton’s hand rubbing her back, up and down, the touch gentle and comforting, but confusing.

Until she realized his T-shirt, where her head was resting, was wet.

Lifting her hand, she wiped tears from her cheeks.

Had she been crying? In her sleep?

She raised her head and found Coulton looking at her. “It’s okay, Ainsley.”

The compassion in his voice was her undoing…and a lifetime of tears poured out of her. The dam was broken, and every defense she’d ever erected to protect herself came tumbling down.

Coulton pulled her head back to his chest, his grip on her firm, unwavering.

“It’s okay,” he said again. And again. And again.

Ainsley sobbed harder. “I don’t know what to do,” she gasped, struggling to say each word. She was facing a mountain of hard decisions, and she didn’t have a clue where to start.

“For right now, all you have to do is let it all go and hold on to me.”

She clung to him as she nodded, because that was all she could handle at the moment. “Okay.”

Her life was officially in tatters. Her father was dead. Her home gone. Her belongings destroyed. She had no money to replace what was lost. Hell, she didn’t even have enough money to bury Mick.

All she had left was that stupid tavern that she didn’t want.

No.

Wait.

That wasn’t all.

She had Coulton.

She lifted her head as her tears stilled, her doubts calmed, and her fears…

They vanished.

“I love you,” she whispered.

It was the first time in her life she’d spoken those words to another person without breaking into a cold sweat, overwhelmed by the terror that her feelings would be rebuffed, rejected.

Coulton, her steady, solid, wonderful Gentle Giant, responded just the way she expected. He smiled widely, and even gave her a breathy, joyful laugh.

“Oh God, Ains. I love you too. So fucking much.”

The tears that fell now were a completely different creature, and a unique experience for her. She was crying because she was happy.

He lowered his head, his lips next to her ear, his breath tickling. “Say it again.”

She giggled, then repeated those three little words. “I love you.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Again,” he demanded.

She gripped his hair, pulled his face away from hers, their gazes clashing. “I. Love. You.”

Coulton kissed her. “I love you, too, wildcat. And you’re going to be okay, I promise.”

For the first time in her life, she believed it.

She would be okay.

Happy and loved.

Because she had him in her life.

* * *

The long weekend passed in a blur of activity. Apparently, her agreement to let Coulton take care of her and help her through her father’s death extended to his parents.

Mr. and Mrs. Moore—or Chase and Mel, as they insisted she call them—had been awake and ready to guide her through the painful decisions associated with losing a parent. They’d both lost their own parents, so they had known exactly what to do, who to call, what paperwork she needed. Melanie held her hand the entire time they were at the funeral home, discussing next steps. She had opted for no funeral, just a simple cremation, even though just that was beyond Ainsley’s budget. Coulton had insisted she pick what felt right without considering the cost, then he told her he’d be paying the bill.

Since Friday, she had started writing down everything he was spending—on Mick’s cremation and her new wardrobe—assuring him it was nothing more than a loan. She was determined she would pay back every penny when she was able, even though Coulton kept saying what was his was hers, and vice versa. She tried to tell him they were way too early in their relationship to start talking like that, but he was so sure that what they had was a forever thing, she couldn’t help but believe him.

“What a weekend, huh?” Coulton tucked her closer to him on the couch. They were snuggled together on his sectional, Die Hard playing on the TV, even though neither was watching it. She’d laughed when Coulton suggested they watch a Christmas movie, then fired up the Bruce Willis classic. Not that she disagreed with his choice because, in her mind, it was one of the best Christmas movies.

“It was a whirlwind,” she said. “I miss your parents already.”

Coulton chuckled. “They’ll be back in a few weeks for Christmas. I have a feeling you’re going to get more presents than me this year. Welcome to the Spoiled Rotten Train.”

Ainsley had ridden to BWI with Coulton this morning when he dropped his parents off for their flight back to Detroit. Melanie had given her one of those strong, long, warm, incredible hugs, insisting Ainsley call her if she needed anything. She’d nodded her promise, unable to speak through the lump in her throat at the idea of having a mother to turn to for help. Coulton had already added her to what he’d originally called his Family of Three text thread. It had since been renamed Family of Four.

She kept checking it, delighted when his dad texted to let them know they’d landed in Detroit, and his mother reminded them to eat the casserole she’d left for them in the refrigerator, then provided instructions on how best to reheat it. They were run-of-the-mill texts, but they made her so ridiculously happy.

She marveled over the difference a weekend could make. Thursday, it felt like her world was crashing and burning. Now, here she sat on Sunday night, more at peace and content than she’d ever been in her life. She should probably be suffering from the worst case of whiplash, considering she had spent the last month ping-ponging between the paradise that was Coulton and the hell that had been her reality for so long.

“You think Slade’s still bouncing off the walls?” she asked him.

Coulton snorted. “Not sure. That kid sure does love free candy. I half expect the owner of the Stingrays to garnish my wages to pay back what he and his cousins consumed on Saturday night.”

“They sure as hell put a dent in the treats,” she agreed.

Coulton had finally accomplished a goal, managing to get seats in the team box for Slade, his aunt Barbara, Jerome, his sister, and his other cousins. Ainsley was also included in the invite, along with Melanie and Chase, so it had been a regular Coulton Moore fan club get-together. And the first piece of clothing Coulton replaced had been her beloved Stingrays jersey with his name on the back.

It had been a great game, and a very welcome distraction from Mick’s death and the tavern, which she hadn’t reopened, and all the other worries weighing her down.

Melanie had assured her the best way to get through her grief was to stay busy and not let herself get too overwhelmed. Coulton had encouraged her to simply take everything one step at a time, one day at a time, and it had helped.

After she’d taken care of Mick’s cremation arrangements, she and Maren had begun making plans for a wake at the tavern early next week. She’d contacted her landlord and gotten out of the lease on their apartment. Maybe it had been too soon to make a decision like that, but after the break-in and the destruction of her belongings, she could never stay there again. She’d felt equal parts violated and terrified.

Ainsley worried a little bit about leaving Eli homeless, but considering he hadn’t spent many nights there in the past few months, she decided it was for the best.

Coulton told her she could stay at his place as long as she needed. His exact words had been, she could “move in and stay forever.” She kept telling herself once she got settled, she would look for her own place…but there was a little voice in the back of her head that kept going “ha ha” every time she thought about moving out.

“So what’s next on our list?” Coulton asked.

Ainsley loved the way he always included himself, constantly reassuring her that she wouldn’t do any of this alone.

“I guess the next step is to make a decision about the tavern.” She’d been thinking about it a lot since Mick’s death. The tavern had always been his dream, not hers.

Coulton nodded slowly. “What are you thinking?”

She knew what she should do. Keep it open, because it was the only thing paying her bills. Unfortunately, that wasn’t what she wanted to do.

She must have let the silence linger too long as she wrestled with her response.

“Remember when I told you to start dreaming about your future?” Coulton asked.

Ainsley nodded. She’d been doing a lot of dreaming since that conversation. “I do.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“And?” he prompted.

“My dream future, the one where I live happily ever after, requires two things.”

Coulton raised one eyebrow, clearly curious. “What’s the first thing?”

“A new job.”

Coulton reached for the remote, muting the TV, then he twisted on the couch until he was facing her. “As?”

She’d never said these words aloud, and she was surprised by how vulnerable she felt. What if he thought it was a bad idea? Or a dumb one? “I want to be a tattoo artist.”

Coulton, the loveable goof, excitedly pumped a fist in the air like he’d won the Stanley Cup. “Hell yes! You’re too talented to keep your art all to yourself. Tomorrow, we’ll do some research on how to get started.”

“I’ve already looked into it a little bit.” After she’d shown her tattoo artist her drawings, he’d tried to encourage her to apprentice under him. She’d brushed off the offer at the time, because she’d been young and dumb, and her self-confidence was still shaken after Tiger’s infidelity. “I need to apprentice under a tattoo artist and get certified. I think my artist would take me on.”

“I love that idea. And when you’re ready, I think you should open your own shop. I’d invest in it. And I guarantee you’d have a line of my teammates beating down the door to get some of your art inked on them.”

She raised her hand, trying to slow him down. “Hey, Mr. One Step at a Time. How about I just try to get an apprenticeship first?”

Coulton smirked. “If you’re gonna dream, Ainsley, dream big.”

“Okay. I will.”

“So you’re selling the tavern?”

It felt strange to admit it out loud, but if she was being true to herself, then yes. That was exactly what she wanted to do. “Yes. Even though Eli and I won’t make a lot of money on the sale. Mick refinanced for a cash loan when the medical bills started piling up, and the place is a legit pit, so it’s not worth much anyway.”

“You’re going to split the money from the sale with Eli? Hasn’t he basically stolen his half of the inheritance over the years?”

Eli had stolen more than half, but Ainsley still knew splitting it was the right thing to do. Even if he did squander and gamble his share away instantly. At the very least, it would assuage her guilt over walking away from him. She’d given up any hope of ever having a relationship with her brother. Without Mick around, loosely binding them together, there was nothing left.

“It’s the right thing to do. Besides, after I settle Mick’s estate and pay you back for the cremation, I doubt it will amount to much.”

Coulton didn’t argue with her. Instead, he looked at her in that way she was becoming completely addicted to. Like he was in awe of her. “I’m glad you’re selling the tavern and pursuing something that will make you happy.”

She shrugged. “I’m hoping it doesn’t take too long for me to start making money, so I can pay my share around here.”

Coulton grasped her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m a rich hockey player, remember?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Your money has nothing to do with why I’m with you. I don’t want you to think?—”

“I don’t think that, Ainsley,” he interjected. “But if I want to spoil you, I will, dammit. And there’s not a thing you can do to stop me. So will you please stop writing down the cost of everything I buy for you in that stupid notebook?”

That was going to be a hard promise to make. “I’ll…try.”

Coulton pressed his forehead to hers. “That’s the best I’m going to get from you, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“Fine,” he said begrudgingly. “I’ll take it. So what’s the second part of your dream future?”

“You.” It was funny how telling him about her career choice was harder than admitting to Coulton that she wanted her happy ending to include him. For someone who’d spent too much of her adult life approaching romance like it was a war zone, and any minute a sniper could take her out, she found it surprisingly easy to talk to Coulton about her feelings.

Probably because he wore his on his sleeve, and he was not shy about sharing them with her. Telling him she loved him Thursday night had broken down every single barrier between them, and if she’d thought him a PDA aficionado before, that was nothing compared to how he’d been all weekend.

He was constantly holding her hand, giving her soft kisses, telling her she was beautiful and that he loved her. He’d actually asked his dad—in front of her—if he thought Christmas was too soon to buy her an engagement ring. Ainsley had laughed, thinking it a joke, until Chase assured him it wasn’t too soon at all, and that Coulton better stake a claim before some other guy tried to steal her away.

Ainsley had quickly set both men straight, pointing out they hadn’t even dated a month yet, and that Christmas was far too soon. Melanie complimented her efforts, then warned her that Moore men were impossible to resist. She told Ainsley that Chase had proposed to her after just three months of dating, and that she’d said yes and never once looked back.

Coulton leaned toward her, giving her a hard, hungry kiss that matched the look in his eyes. They hadn’t had sex since she’d started staying here on Thanksgiving. For one thing, his parents had been in the guest room down the hall. But more than that, she got the sense that Coulton knew how emotionally fragile she was, and he was giving her space and time to heal.

Time she no longer needed.

When their lips parted, he cupped her cheeks. “Looks like you’re fifty percent of the way to your happily ever after. Because you already have me, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Coulton,” she said softly.

“I mean it, Ainsley. You can insist it’s too fast or too soon as much as you want, but you won’t convince me because I know this is the real deal. You’re the first person I want to talk to in the morning and your face is the last one I want to see when I close my eyes at night. You challenge me, you make me happy, and I love you.”

She sniffled, certain she’d never heard nicer words in her life. “I feel the same way. Do you mind if we don’t finish watching this movie?”

“You want to watch something else?” he asked, reaching for the remote.

“Yeah. You. Getting undressed.”

Coulton turned the television off. “Okay, but only if I get to watch the same thing.”

Ainsley laughed when he pulled her up from the couch, bending over in one fluid motion to toss her over his shoulder before carrying her to his bedroom.

Once they were inside, he drew her close, kissing her with a passion that took her breath away.

Ainsley had spent most of her life wishing for time to move more quickly, never happy with where she was. That was not the case when it came to Coulton. With him, she found herself constantly praying for time to stand still.

Coulton kept saying this was forever, but as he kissed her, she knew even that wouldn’t be long enough.

She was breathless by the time he released her. Then he gave her a charming grin as he tugged his shirt over his head. The sight of his chest, his rock-hard abs, always had her reconsidering her medium. Drawing was all well and good, but to truly capture his beauty, she would need to take up sculpting.

Reaching out, she ran her fingers over his bare chest. Coulton grasped her hand, pulling on it until her palm rested over his heart. “This is where I want my first tattoo from you.”

“The first, huh?” she asked, thrilled that he trusted her artistic talent enough to let her ink him when the time was right.

“You can use my whole body as your canvas,” he said, drawing her shirt over her head, placing a kiss on her shoulder, his finger tracing one of the patterns inked there.

Ainsley reached for his belt, unfastening it before pulling it off with a flourish. Then she started tackling the button on his jeans.

Coulton stopped her, stepping away. “Thought this was my show.”

She put her hands up, surrendering. “My bad.” Then she waved as if to say “continue.”

Coulton took over, slowly sliding down the zipper, drawing out his striptease. She knew he was being playful, but every action was so sexy, she felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of her face. When did it get so hot in here?

Once his jeans were unfastened, she expected him to push them down because she was ready to get this show on the road. Instead, he turned away from her, giving her the perfect view of his back, and then, as he slowly slid his jeans down inch by glorious inch, his ass.

God. People should write songs about that ass.

She bet she could bounce a quarter off it.

However, as sexy as it was, it wasn’t the part of his physique she was most interested in seeing at the moment.

“Turn around.” She’d been going for demand, but her breathless request was too needy to sound like anything more than it was. An outright plea.

Coulton glanced at her over his shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

She laughed. “You’re a terrible tease.”

He twisted back to face her, his very hard, very erect cock in his fist. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

Her gaze drifted down and held. “Hell yeah.”

He stroked his dick, letting her look her fill. “What about your show?”

She considered giving him a taste of his own medicine, but her libido had shifted into overdrive. Ainsley attempted to strip off her jeans and panties so quickly, she stumbled and almost fell.

Coulton reached out to steady her. “Take it easy, wildcat. We’ve got all night.”

“I don’t want all night,” she said, her hands gripping his muscular forearms. “I want it hard and fast and rough and dirty. I want you to drive into me from behind, and if you could sprinkle in some spanking, that would be good too.”

Coulton had been all suave charm up until that point, clearly intent on taking his time and savoring the act.

Her request changed everything.

With a firm hand on her upper arm, he twisted her toward the bed before pushing her forward over the mattress.

His bed was ridiculously large and tall, a necessity for someone as big as him. Of course, that meant she felt like a mouse, only taking up the tiniest bit of space on the oversized mattress. In this position, bent over the edge, she hung there, her feet at least two inches off the floor. She loved the helpless feeling it evoked, loved the idea of being totally at the mercy of her Gentle Giant.

Coulton bent over her, his breath hot on the side of her face. “Be careful what you ask for,” he warned. “Because I told you, I want to give you everything, spoil you.” His hand slipped between their bodies, gripping her ass and squeezing, proving he was completely on board with giving her every aspect of her request.

Thank God.

Ainsley glanced at him over her shoulder. “Spoil me,” she begged.

Coulton pushed himself upright, his hand landing on her bare ass before she even registered the movement. He didn’t hold back as he peppered her ass, varying each of his swats, some hard, some soft, some right on the meaty part of her rear end, some hitting the top of her thighs.

When he thrust her thighs apart with his knee, she groaned as the next spank landed right between her legs.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, the shock, the pain, and the pleasure of it rolling through her body like a tsunami.

“You like that?” he grunted.

She nodded, the side of her face resting on his soft mattress.

Coulton repeated the smack, and her toes curled. Then he did it one final time, his palm resting over the part he’d just spanked, his fingers brushing her clit.

“Is all this wetness for me, dirty girl?” His deep voice was laced with approval.

“Yes,” she hissed. She hadn’t underplayed her need for fast and… Right. Fucking. Now. She was seconds away from spontaneously combusting.

Coulton was mercifully finished playing. He drove two of his thick fingers inside her, pounding them in and out until she saw stars. It was amazing how quickly he managed to bring her to the brink of her orgasms.

Not even she could work that kind of magic, and she was intimately acquainted with her equipment and desires.

Her fingers clenched against the duvet as she sought purchase. With her feet dangling, unable to hold her steady, she felt a bit like a rag doll in a hurricane.

“Come on, wildcat. You’re right there. I can feel it. Your pussy is clenching tight enough to break my fingers. Come for me. Come for me, and then I’m going to give you exactly what you asked for.”

Ainsley responded as much to his words as his actions, something Coulton had figured out early on and used to his advantage.

She came. Hard. Her body jerked like she’d stepped on a live wire, Coulton drawing out the impact as he finger-fucked her through her orgasm, shoving her headfirst into a second.

Ainsley cried out his name, cursed then whimpered, begging for a reprieve.

“I warned you,” he said, pulling his fingers out even as she quivered.

She missed the fullness of them the second they were gone, but he didn’t make her suffer for long. The head of his cock brushed against her pussy, and she gasped when he shoved inside in one fast, fluid motion.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked as he withdrew, until only the tip remained.

She wasn’t entirely sure she was, but she also wasn’t about to stop him now. “Do it.”

Coulton gave her a wicked chuckle, a kiss on the back of her shoulder, and then it was on.

Ainsley couldn’t do anything more than hang on for dear life as he pounded into her with the force of a freight train. Doggie style was hands down her favorite position, because it ensured Coulton hit her G-spot on every return.

His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place, and she relished the thought of seeing his fingerprint bruises there for the next few days, a sexy reminder of tonight.

Not that she was likely to forget.

“God!” she screamed on one particularly deep stroke. Her back arched as her orgasm struck without warning.

Her climax triggered a chain reaction as Coulton growled. “Fuck, wildcat. So fucking good.”

She felt the first hot splash of come paint her inner walls as his hands landed on the mattress next to her, his hips jerking until he’d given her every single drop.

“Jesus,” he said breathlessly. “Every time,” he gasped. “Every fucking time is better than the last.”

Amen to that , she wanted to say, but unlike him, she couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs to speak.

They held there, connected for a minute or two, both fighting to recover.

When Coulton found the strength to shift away, they groaned as her pussy clenched, trying to hold on to him.

She grimaced when his hands softly slid over her ass cheeks, reminding her of his none-too-gentle spanking. She wasn’t sure what it said about her that she loved the tenderness, the soreness, the heat still there.

“Crawl into the bed,” Coulton directed, even though Ainsley made no move to obey. He’d fucked her into this inert state, and nothing was going to move her.

Or so she thought.

Coulton lifted her, carefully sliding her beneath the covers, on what had come to be “her side of the bed.”

Tucking her in next to him, his chest as her pillow, they lay there, both sticky with sweat, wrung out, exhausted.

“We should shower,” he said, the heaviness of his tone betraying how close he was to falling asleep.

“Mmm,” she hummed, though not in agreement. That one-syllable response was all she was capable of.

She wasn’t sure how long they dozed before she roused, blinking to clear her vision in the dark room.

“Coulton?” she asked, when she realized he wasn’t in bed with her anymore.

“I’m here,” he said from the direction of the bathroom.

She turned that way, smiling at the flickering light of the candles he’d lit.

“Changed my mind on the shower,” he said. “Thought it would be more fun if we took one of those rich-people baths.”

Ainsley laughed as she crawled out of bed, crossing the room to him. “How bougie of us.”

He took her hand in his as he led her to the bathtub, which he’d surrounded with candles and filled with bubbles.

“Super bougie,” she added, as she slipped into the steaming water, groaning in bliss as it soothed her sore muscles.

“Jerome and Tank both thought I was wasting my superpower when it came to women.” Coulton joined her, sinking down behind her before pulling her between his outstretched thighs.

“Superpower?” she asked as she reclined, her back against his chest.

“Professional hockey player,” he explained. “Who knew my real power was my bathtub?”

Ainsley laughed. “Oh, a bathtub is the greatest of all superpowers,” she joked.

Coulton wrapped his arms around her, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. “Best day of my life was the day I walked into Mick’s Tavern.”

“Mine too. Took one look at you, Thor,” she said, using the nickname she’d given him, “and I was hooked. Addicted.”

Coulton cupped her cheek, turning her face so that he could give her a kiss. “It was the same with me. I can’t resist you, Ainsley Hall.”