Page 33 of The Pucking Date (Defenders Diaries #3)
STAY
FINN
I t’s early when I wake up, the kind of light that slips in slow, soft around the edges. The city’s not awake yet. Just a faint glow at the window, like the world’s holding still for us.
Jessica’s curled against me, her cheek resting on my chest, hair spilling across my skin. She’s still sleeping, lips parted slightly, breath warm and even. She’s wearing my shirt, and this time, it doesn’t feel like a dare. It feels like home.
And fuck me if this isn’t the best I’ve felt in years.
I let my palm drift slowly across her back, the curve of her spine familiar. Claimed. She shifts slightly, murmurs something I can’t make out, then settles deeper into me. I could stay like this forever.
This isn’t one of those mornings where she bolts at dawn and I have to start from scratch yet again, crack another joke, pretend I’m not wrecked.
The last three days haven’t been a damn Groundhog Day loop where I lose her upon waking and spend the next twelve hours trying to win her back.
We finally stopped hitting reset. For the first time in a year, no part of me is waiting for the rug to be pulled.
And yeah, I know the season’s about to start.
I know my contract’s still up in the air.
But in this moment? None of that matters.
Because Jessica Novak is asleep in my bed, wearing my shirt, wrapped around me like we’re permanent.
If the contract with the Defenders falls through, we’ll figure it out.
Maybe that means L.A. Maybe somewhere else.
But she’d come with me. And I’d go anywhere for her. It’s just logistics at this point.
Coach can glower. Adam can check me into the boards all he wants.
Sooner or later, they’ll have to understand, this isn’t a fling.
This is it. Christ, I’ve even started picturing what a ring would look like on her finger.
Not because I’m rushing. Because when you know, it’s like this. Certain. Like there’s no other way.
I press my lips to her hair, breathe her in. Vanilla and sleep and something that’s purely Jessica. Mine.
Her phone buzzes somewhere across the room. The vibration cuts through the quiet, low and insistent. She groans softly, nuzzles into my chest, and tightens her arm around my waist. “Shit. That’s probably Joy.”
I hook a hand behind her thigh and drag her on top of me. “Ignore it,” I murmur, tone rough with sleep and want. “I’ve got plans.”
“You always have plans.” She giggles, low and breathy, her body settling over mine.
Silky hair spills down her back, spilling over her shoulder, trailing across my chest and fanning down in a messy, sunlit waterfall.
The morning light cuts through the window behind her, catching in the strands, dancing across her cheekbones and that wicked little smirk that says she knows I’m all hers .
Jade eyes blazing, she leans down, brushes her mouth over mine—slow, soft, maddening.
Just enough to make me lose my mind. Her hips roll, light and lazy, the hem of my shirt riding up as she moves.
I let my fingers slide beneath the cotton, palms meeting warm skin and muscle and the familiar curves I could trace blind.
“Spread them sweet legs for me, darlin’,” I murmur against her lips.
“Maybe I like making you wait instead.”
My fingers tighten. “Easy now, Red.”
She arches a brow. “What are you gonna do, Carolina? Discipline me?”
I flip her fast, rolling her beneath me, her laughter catching in her throat as I settle between her thighs.
My cock is hard, and neither of us is wearing underwear.
She is slick, wet, ready for me, and I slip into her heat without a warning.
Her mouth opens as if she was about to protest, but the sound dies in her throat, her hips grinding to meet mine.
“Go on, sugar. You were sayin’?” I tease, thrusting slow and deep. She looks down at our bodies joining, and I follow her gaze, increasing the pace.
“It feels so good,” she moans. “Own me, Finn. I need you.”
“I’m taking what’s mine, darlin’,” I growl, cupping the soft, heavy weight of her breast, brushing my thumb over her hard nub. I feel the delicious heat of her core, her nails digging into my back, her hips rolling against me.
“Look at what you’re doing to me, Finn,” she moans, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, my cock sliding in and out of her pussy, her watching me claim her. She’s breathing hard, and I can feel her tightening around me as I increase the pace .
Bzzz.
She ignores the ring. And so do I. A few more thrusts, and the tension in my body releases in short, quick bursts, just as I feel her clenching around me, waves of orgasm rolling through her.
I collapse on top of her, burying my face in her neck, still rolling my hips in slow, lazy thrusts to catch that final wave. Her legs wrap tighter around me, her breath hot against my ear. I kiss her—slow, open-mouthed, like I can’t get enough. Because I can’t.
When I finally still inside her, I don’t move. I don’t want to. But the thought sneaks in anyway.
“I know it’s a little late to ask,” I murmur against her lips, “but we kind of skipped the condom. You on anything, Red?”
She freezes just slightly. Then tilts her head back, wide-eyed, looking like she just got busted sneaking out of the kitchen at midnight.
I blink. “Wait—no?”
“Uhh…about that?—”
Bzzz.
The phone again. Demanding. Relentless.
She groans beneath me. “Shit. I really do have to take that.”
I rest my forehead against hers. “Tell Joy I’m filing a formal complaint.”
She laughs, breathless and flushed, and slips out from under me. My come glides down her thigh as she moves, her legs bare, hair a wild mess. She snags my boxers from the floor and wipes herself with a shrug that’s almost sheepish.
“Sorry,” she says, grinning, and tosses them aside.
I prop myself up on one elbow, watching her move. Watching us move, like it’s something we do all the time. Like she lives here. Like this is normal. She crouches next to that oversized tote she drags everywhere—her whole life shoved in there, always ready to vanish at a moment’s notice.
I need to get her a smaller purse. Something impractical. Delicate. A bag that says, I’m staying. Not one that doubles as a getaway plan.
“Hang on,” she murmurs, digging through it one-handed. “Phone’s in here somewhere.”
I watch as the contents start to spill—lip balm, a crumpled receipt, a charger, a pair of red lace underwear she clearly forgot was in there. She chuckles under her breath, batting it aside.
“Jesus, this bag’s a disaster.”
She finally snags the phone from the bottom and stands, distracted. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Her call connects, and I watch her pace—animated, amused, completely absorbed in whatever Joy’s telling her.
There’s a lightness in her words I haven’t heard in weeks.
Joy in her movements. Like she’s celebrating something.
I love watching her like this—free, unguarded, mine. Everything I never thought I’d have.
That’s when I notice the contents scattered around her bag. A white bottle. She didn’t see it tumble out. I sit up straighter and frown as I lean over to pick it up.
Prenatal vitamins.
The world tilts. I sink onto the edge of the bed, the bottle shaking in my grip like it might explode. The label blurs, then sharpens.
Prenatal vitamins. Real as the woman laughing across the room. My fingers tighten around the bottle, and everything else in the room dulls .
Jessica is talking now, voice bright, animated. She’s pacing slowly, back turned, tangled in her own joy.
“Wait—what?” A chuckle. “You’re serious? They matched it?”
She pauses, listening. Nods. “No, that’s huge. He’ll be thrilled.”
Her words blur into white noise, drowned by the roar building in my chest. The bottle’s still in my hand. Plastic. Weightless. Impossible. How long has she known?
The math hits me like a slapshot to the chest. Montreal was three months ago. She would’ve known for weeks by now. Weeks of me chasing her, cajoling her to let me in, showing her how much she means to me. And she said nothing.
My fingers tighten around the plastic until it creaks. Jessica’s words drift over, bright, excited, while I sit here holding her secret.
Is it mine?
Of course it’s mine.
Right?
Why the hell wouldn’t she tell me? Was she planning to keep it quiet if I signed with LA? Raise our child like I never existed? Like that night in Montreal was just a mistake she could erase? My gut twists. Because this feeling is familiar. Not the shock, not the betrayal, something worse.
The sting of finding out too late. Of realizing everyone else knew before I did.
The year Dad’s scandal broke, I didn’t get a warning either. Just headlines. Bank statements. Questions I couldn’t answer.
My jaw locks. The bottle is still in my hand. Across the room, Jessica’s laughter fades. “Okay, I’ll call you back.”
I hear her footsteps. The soft thud of her phone hitting the bedside table. “Finn?” Her voice is closer now. Happy. Unsuspecting. “That was Joy. The Under Armour deal came through?—”
She stops. I look up, meeting her eyes, the bottle still clutched in my fist. And watch her whole world shatter in real time.
The same way mine just did.