Page 23 of The Playmaker (The Legends of Fire #1)
The wind blows through the open window of our rented beachside condo. Outside, little JoAnna toddles along the sand with three chaperones watching her—Pen, Mrs. M, and of course, Riley. It's been two years. Two years and two Super Bowl wins for the Phantoms.
Riley is living part time in London, pursuing ballet as a career. She's so happy.
Riley lifts JoAnna up in her arms, smiling at her. The name was fitting, after Jax and Riley's mom.
I feel his presence behind me before I see him. Jaxon Carter. My husband.
His strong arms wrap around me, holding me with the same protectiveness he gives to everything he cares about…the feeling of safety, the sureness of him, takes my breath away.
His face nestles in my hair, one hand moving up to cup my breast. "I love you," he murmurs.
It sends a thrill through me, excitement building in my body as I feel him growing hard against me.
I laugh, turning to face him. "Feels like you love me with every inch…" I tease, squeezing his length over his pants .
We share a look, a smile that speaks of our history together, of all we've overcome to get here.
His eyes grow darker green with intensity and I surrender when his lips meet mine in a familiar dance that feels new each time.
He lifts me into his arms and carries me to our room where the sound of the waves on the shore and the laughter feel distant.
"I want to feel you," he rasps out, the hunger still strong, still insistent as he looks at me.
He places me gently on my feet and slowly takes off each piece of my clothing, sliding the straps of my sundress down my shoulders, then peeling the thong from my hips. I moan as his lips kiss their way to my breasts, sucking my nipples and nipping at the soft skin there.
He guides me to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling between my legs. His hand finds its way to my core, already wet for him, eager for what comes next. I feel his tongue land on my sensitive spot in a dance he's mastered just for me.
I can't hold back my cries as the pleasure intensifies, building in me when he slides two fingers in and hooks them just so.
"I need it, baby," I cry out. "Yes, I want to come for you."
"Come on my face, little benchwarmer," he pulls back long enough to say, that sexy twinkle in his eye when he glances up at me from between my thighs.
He's so handsome, dark hair and green eyes, muscled shoulders, and a heart that beats for his three girls—me, JoAnna, and Riley.
"God, I love you," I moan.
That earns me a long, glorious suck on my clit. I gasp as pleasure peaks and I feel my release flood out of me. His groans of need as he keeps his face right there turn me on even more. He always takes his time pleasuring me .
I shudder as he coaxes another release from me, my legs trembling on either side of his shoulders.
He nips the inside of my thigh, then rises to his feet. With gentle hands, he eases me back onto the mattress, eyes bright as they survey me spread across the bed.
"Open for me," he commands in that sexy as sin voice. "I want to see you before I take you, take what's mine."
"Yes, baby," I say breathless and wanton, shifting higher on the bed.
He sheds his clothes quickly, then joins me on the mattress. He lines up at my entrance, then pauses to look at me. We lock eyes as he slides into me, his girth opening me up even as I clench him automatically.
He groans, eyes closing as he slides in and out. "You feel so good, babe. Fucking tight and so wet for me."
He brackets my shoulders with his arms, kissing me as he thrusts harder, our bodies moving together on the soft sheets.
Two years ago, I never would have thought this could be my life. That he could be mine, that we could be so utterly, devastatingly, perfectly happy.
"Come for me again, my little benchwarmer," he growls out against my lips.
I'm lost in him, the feel of him in me, the scent of him, the warmth of him…the way he makes my heart explode again and again.
We come together in a dance of passion and possession. Our dance we built together the day the playboy decided to trust the reporter.
Afterward, as we lie tangled in the sheets, his fingers trace lazy patterns on my back. Through the window, I can hear JoAnna's delighted squeals as a wave chases her tiny feet.
"I never knew it could be like this," I whisper against his chest. "Growing up with just my mom, then losing her, then reconnecting with my dad... I never had a model for what a real family could be. "
He kisses the top of my head. "Me neither. After my parents died, I thought protecting Riley meant keeping her hidden away. I never imagined we could have this—a life in the open, together."
I prop myself up on one elbow, looking at the man who changed everything for me. The man who taught me that not all athletes are like my father—some of them build families instead of abandoning them.
"Speaking of your dad," Jax says, glancing at his watch. "Isn't he supposed to arrive today?"
As if on cue, I hear a familiar voice calling out a greeting, followed by JoAnna's excited squeal of "Grandpa!"
I quickly throw on a sundress while Jax pulls on shorts, and we step out onto the deck.
There's my father, kneeling in the sand, arms wide as JoAnna toddles toward him.
His recovery center t-shirt shows the logo of the foundation he started for athletes struggling with addiction—the one Jax quietly helps fund.
Dad looks up, catches my eye, and waves.
The years of pain and distance between us haven't completely disappeared, but they've faded enough that moments like this are possible now.
Moments where my daughter knows her grandfather.
Where my husband and my father talk sports and recovery and second chances.
"Go on," Jax says, giving me a gentle push. "I'll join you in a minute."
I make my way down to the beach, watching as Dad lifts JoAnna high in the air, her laughter carrying on the sea breeze.
"There's my girl," Dad says when I reach them, pulling me into a one-armed hug while balancing JoAnna on his hip. "Both my girls."
Riley and Mrs. Mathews join us, followed by Pen, who's already asking Dad about his latest celebrity client.
When Jax appears a few minutes later, he wraps an arm around my waist and shakes my father's hand. Two athletes from different generations, both carrying their own scars, both finding their way to redemption.
"I was thinking," Dad says, bouncing JoAnna gently, "if you're not busy tomorrow, there's a father-daughter fishing charter. Thought maybe we could..."
"I'd love that," I say, my voice catching slightly.
As the sun begins to set, casting golden light across the water, we all walk along the shore together—this unlikely family we've pieced together from broken parts and second chances.
Riley teaching JoAnna to dance in the shallow waves.
Pen snapping photos for her social media.
Mrs. Mathews and Dad exchanging recipes.
And Jax, his arm steady around me, holding me close as if he never intends to let go.
"The best stories," I tell him, echoing my earlier thought, "are the ones you never see coming."
He smiles, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Like a wide receiver and a journalist?"
"Exactly like that. And like an athlete who learns to stay instead of walk away." I glance at my father, who's now showing JoAnna how to build a sand castle. "Like families that find their way back to each other."
As night falls, we gather around a beach bonfire, sharing stories and laughter. My father, once a stranger to me, now an integral part of our lives. Jax, once the subject of my investigation, now the center of my world. Riley, once hidden away, now flourishing in the open.
Jax pulls out his guitar—the one he brings everywhere—and strums the opening chords to "The Playmaker," the song? * he wrote for me so long ago. JoAnna claps her hands in delight while Riley hums along, having heard it countless times.
"Still my favorite," I whisper to him as he sings about red zones and hearts on the line.
He winks at me, fingers dancing across the strings. "Always will be, little benchwarmer."
When the final notes fade into the sound of waves crashing against the shore, I look around at this beautiful, imperfect family we've created. Me—once a journalist determined to expose athletes' secrets, now keeping the ones that matter most.
The reporter got her story after all. And it turned out to be better than anything she could have written.
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