Page 29 of Wake Me Up (New England Bay Sharks #5)

W hen I pull up in front of the house, the boys begin gathering their things, both laughing and joking around the way ten- and twelve-year-old boys do.

“Thank you for taking us to the batting cages tonight, Tripp,” Cane says while he pushes his door open. “It was so fun to kick my brother’s butt in something!”

“Yeah, okay,” Cash utters, climbing out of the back seat. “Thanks, Tripp. But next lesson I hope is on the ice.”

“Can’t take losing, little brother?” Cane harasses his brother shamelessly just as Freya steps out onto the front steps in her pajamas, making her way to the truck.

“Did you boys have fun?” She smiles sweetly. “Looked like it in those videos.”

“It was the best!” Cane chimes up.

“Good,” she answers, looking between the two of them. “Avy is asleep. Why don’t you go in and get ready for bed? I need to talk to Tripp for a minute to figure out your lessons for the next few weeks, Cash.”

If the boys think it’s weird that their mom wants to see me alone, they certainly don’t act like it. They just thank me once more before jogging into the house. Once she sees they’re out of sight, she takes me by surprise when she climbs up in my truck, closing the door behind her.

She’s wearing blue fleece pajamas with white polka dots, looking absolutely beautiful in them too. She shivers slightly, and I press the button for her seat warmer and turn the heat up a bit. It’s November in Maine, and the nights are cold.

“Thank you for taking them to do something that Cane would like tonight.” From the sentiment in her tone, I sense she’s really appreciative. “I’m sure that meant a lot to him.”

“He seemed to have a lot of fun.” My lip turns up. “Especially kicking his brother’s ass in batting. Hell, he kicked mine too.”

“I bet he liked that.” She laughs, but soon, it dies in her throat. “I’m sorry I was such a head case the other day.”

The energy shifts in the truck as she grows quiet, and I’m not entirely sure what to even say or do—scared I’ll do something wrong and push her further away.

“It’s okay,” I say, playing it safe. “I understand this is a fucked-up situation we’re in. Sorry for making it more complicated for you.”

Her hands wring together, and I wish more than anything that I could just grab her hand and hold it tightly. I wish I could pull her onto my lap and kiss her worries away too.

Or fuck her worries away …

“My kids really like you,” she whispers.

“And I guess I just … don’t want to do anything that stops you from wanting to be around them.

” She turns her head just enough to give me a once-over.

“Sex and feelings will inevitably do just that. I’ll get attached.

You’ll move on.” She looks at me, embarrassed. “You get the picture.”

“Darlin’, if I was planning on moving on, I wouldn’t have married you,” I drawl, reaching over and tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I’m not going anywhere, Freya. Not until you make me anyway.”

She rests her cheek on the headrest, looking at me. “I just don’t even know how to do this. I have kids. I don’t want to move too quickly.” She cringes. “What if they find out we got married?”

I can hear all the worry in her voice, so I cup her cheek, rubbing my thumb against her face to try to ease her concerns. I don’t have the answers for her when it comes to her kids, but I know I don’t plan on doing anything to hurt her or upset them.

“I don’t know what to tell you to do about your kids.

They are yours, and you know them better than anyone else.

And as someone who lost his father at a young age, I know my mom never wanted to do anything to upset my sister and me.

” The words about my dad—something I hardly ever talk about—come out unexpectedly, but before I can wish them back, I dip my face a little closer, looking into her eyes.

“But I will tell you this: If you want to go slow, we’ll go slow.

But please, don’t push me away. I’d cut my arm off before I hurt you, Freya. You’ve been through enough. ”

These feelings have grown so fucking fast. I look at this woman, and I see a future. I don’t want to be her fake husband. I want to be anything she needs me to be. Same goes for her kids.

I’m not this guy. But for them … I want to be.

“You lost your dad?” she whispers, and when I nod, her face becomes distraught. “I’m sorry, Tripp.” Her eyes dance between mine for a moment. “It makes sense now though.”

“What does?”

She smiles sadly. “Why you care about my kids so much. It’s because you’ve been there.” She pauses, looking into my eyes.

Suddenly, her lips are on mine, and she’s kissing me hard and fast. The longer we kiss, the more blood rushes to my cock, making it stand up straight in desperation.

Pulling back, she’s as breathless as me, gasping for air. I expect her to look scared or to run away.

Instead, she smiles, dipping her forehead to mine. “I have to go inside before the boys get suspicious.”

“When can I see you again?” I slide my palm along her face and into her hair.

Her lips press to mine once more, and she pulls back. “Text me.” She shrugs before pushing the door open and giving me one last smile. “Oh, and let me know about a lesson too, Coach .”

For once, when she closes the door and walks away, she doesn’t look regretful or distressed. Instead, she almost skips along.

And, yeah … I watch her ass sway while she does.

It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes since Tripp left my driveway, and he’s already texting me. After checking in on the kids, finding them somehow sound asleep, I plop down in my bed and grin down at my phone.

Tripp: You told me to text you. You didn’t say I had to wait at least twenty-four hours to not look like a desperate asshole, so here I am, texting you .

Tripp: By the way, you looked pretty sexy in those polka-dot pajamas.

Me: Wow, Coach. It’s only been, what, fifteen minutes? Little eager to message me, aren’t you?

Tripp: Well, you do remember we’re married, right? So, I figured fifteen minutes was an appropriate amount of time.

I’m surprised with myself when I don’t feel sick over the word married , but … I’m shockingly at ease with it.

Me: I suppose you have a point.

Tripp: I’m still thinking about that kiss, darlin’.

Tripp: You got me all worked up …

My cheeks burn, and I cross my legs, clenching them together to ease the ache. I’m a mom of three. I shouldn’t go down this slippery slope that could turn to sexting. I mean, Lord, I’m too old for this shit. But … even I am worked up after that kiss.

Me: Oh, really?

Tripp: Yep … I just got back to my house, and let’s say, I’m gonna need a cold shower.

My stomach tingles, and between my legs throbs.

Me: I was thinking about taking a shower myself.

Tripp: Does that mean you’re naked, Freya?

Me: Do you wish I were?

I stare down at the message I just sent, and my eyes are wide because I can’t believe myself right now. What the hell am I even doing?

Tripp: Do you want the truth?

I swallow, chewing my lip and holding my breath.

Me: Yes.

A moment later, a picture comes through, and I gasp. It’s not a dick picture—well, not exactly. But instead, it’s a picture of him from the neck down, in front of a mirror, shirtless but wearing sweatpants. And through the sweatpants … is his incredibly long, hard dick, standing proud and tall.

My mouth waters, and before I can stop myself, my hand is sliding beneath the waistband of my pants, under my panties, and to the flesh between my legs.

I type a message out, but then hover my finger over the Send button. It’s riskier than anything I’ve ever written. Jamie and I never sent dirty messages to each other. Our sex life was great, but this just wasn’t something we did. Yet … I’m so turned on from this. Swallowing my fear, I press Send.

Me: You’re so big.

Tripp: I’m hard, just for you. I keep thinking about you riding my leg the other day while you rubbed on my cock, and my dick is throbbing.

Me: You should do something about it …

Tripp: Is your pussy throbbing too, beautiful?

Me: Yes.

Tripp: Do you have your hand between your thighs?

I look down, seeing my hand resting between my legs, but I haven’t started really touching myself yet. My nipples poke out through my top, and my breathing is quicker.

I decide to shock him, and instead of answering with words, I snap a picture of my knees up, legs spread, and my fingers barely nudging inside my heat.

Tripp: Fuck …

Tripp: Are you imagining your fingers are mine, baby?

Me: No. I’m imagining it’s your hard, huge cock.

Tripp: Fuuuck … that’s hot. I’m jerking my dick right now, imagining it’s your tight pussy wrapped around my cock. I’m so fucking hard for you, baby.

Me: Show me.

It’s not a picture he sends a moment or two later, but a whole-ass video of him working his hand up and down his cock.

He’s not standing up anymore, but it looks like he’s in bed.

My mouth waters, and I wish I could have it wrapped around him right now.

My fingers work in and out of my heat, and soon, they are soaked—proving how turned on I am.

The video comes to a stop, and my chest is heaving.

Me: I’m so close.

Tripp: Me too. Come with me. Close your eyes and imagine my cock is thrusting in and out of that greedy little pussy of yours. Take it, Freya. Take my fucking dick like the good girl you are.

Within seconds of reading his filthy message, I’m exploding on my own fingers. My hips thrust off the bed against my palm, and I drop my phone onto the bed so I can muffle my own moans with my hand.

My head is spinning, and I keep my eyes squeezed shut while my body continues to tremble.

Finally, I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling.

But unlike the last time Tripp Talmage made me come, this time …

I don’t feel ashamed or upset. Instead, I grab my phone and read his message with a smile on my face.

Tripp: I hope that was okay, darlin’. If not, I’m sorry.

Me: It was good.

Me: Thank you.

Tripp: Any chance you’d want to talk on the phone for a bit?

Tripp: I’ll keep it PG, I swear.

Me: Okay.

A few minutes later, he’s calling me, and even though I’m still a little shaky and out of breath, I slide my thumb across the screen to answer.

“Hi,” I say bashfully.

“Oh, hey,” he replies in a teasing voice. “Sorry it took me a second. Had to … rinse off in the shower.”

“Wow, that was a quick shower.”

“Well, I didn’t have to fuck my hand since I had already done that,” he drawls assertively, making me squirm yet again.

I swallow. “What happened to PG?” I ask, feeling my cheeks heat up.

“My bad.”

The sound of rustling hits my ear, making me frown.

“What are you doing? Sounds like you’re being attacked.”

“Getting dressed,” he answers nonchalantly.

“You could have gotten dressed before you called me, you know?” I say, baffled that he felt the need to hurry. “That way, you didn’t feel rushed.”

“Didn’t want to keep you waiting, darlin’,” he drawls slowly. “Plus, I figured, the longer I left you alone with your own thoughts, the more likely you would be to ghost me again. This seemed safer.”

I don’t understand it—how the man the country paints as being grumpy could also be the man who gives my son private lessons, brought me and my daughter treats at the hospital to brighten our day, married me so that I could afford surgery for Aviana, took my sons to a batting cage so that Cane didn’t feel excluded, and now …

rushed to get dressed so that he didn’t keep me waiting.

“You still there, or did you turn into Casper?” he murmurs into the phone.

“I’m here,” I say, fighting back a smile.

And as I snuggle in my bed, chatting on the phone with a boy the way I did when I was a young teenager, I try to remind myself that it’s okay to enjoy this. It doesn’t change how much I love Jamie or the fact that I’d give anything to bring him back.

And while we laugh and talk about anything from favorite foods, places we’ve traveled, or things we’ve seen, I make a vow that I’m going to allow myself to be selfish for a little while. I’m going to accept this gift that is Tripp Talmage.