Page 29 of Whirlwind (Seattle Blades #4)

H e asks again when I don’t answer. It’s not that I’m afraid to say the word—it’s that I can’t decide. There’s so much to learn, to know, to try, to perfect.

I want the slide of his dick inside me, but I also love the way his mouth works me over.

And whatever he’s been doing to my ass is so beyond anything I could imagine.

Statistically, it’s not a high percentage of women who enjoy anal sex.

Of those, most prefer anal surfacing, or shallowing, as opposed to penetration.

I wonder what demographic I’d fit into.

“No, but you said you were tested last week. Did you get the results?”

“Yes, clean. Are you okay with this?”

“Yes, please,” I say on a sigh, and he chuckles. Seconds later, he has one of my legs lifted on the bed and he slams inside from behind. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

The sensation of him raw is so different than it was the first time. Intimate in a new way, as if we couldn’t be closer or more connected.

Tyson traces my spine with his fingers—a light touch, almost a tickle, but not. A stark difference from the smart sting of his bite, yet it accomplishes something similar. He leans over me, licking and nibbling my shoulder.

“The way I feel when I’m inside you,” he whispers. I’m unable to tell if he’s talking to me or himself. Either way, I like hearing it. “It’s almost as good as when you smile at me.”

“Tyson,” I cry out, turning my face to his as best I can. He doesn’t know. He can’t know that he’s just said the sweetest thing I’ve ever been told. I don’t want him to know; I’ll keep my silly romanticism to myself. “Kiss me.”

“Anything you want,” he says, then seals his lips to mine. “Everything you want.”

He pulls out long enough to flip me around to my back, then, he’s pushing back in. My knees ride up over his hips and he stares down at me as he pistons in and out. Harder, faster. With a palm under my neck, he lifts my face to his and kisses me again, again, again.

“Tyson,” I repeat, my nails digging into the skin of his pecs.

“Fuck, yes, Kit. I’m not going to last much longer. I need to fill you up.”

“Oh, God. Please.”

“You need to come with me, love. We do this together.”

I slide a hand between us, administering what I need on my clit, all while my fingers skim his cock moving in and out. It’s enough—the feel of slick skin—more than enough to shove me over the edge.

“Come in me.”

“Fucking hell, Kit.” His body tenses around mine. After a handful more pumps, he’s doing what I asked. The warmth pouring from him to me is shocking ecstasy. I moan, and it spills more. “Holy shit, the things you do to me.”

“I think you did it to me,” I say when I catch my breath and he’s collapsed atop me.

“No. It’s you. You make it feel new again. I have no stamina with you,” he says, and I preen.

“You’re going to give me a complex if you keep saying such sweet things.”

“Good—you deserve to know how fucking perfect you are. Stay here.”

He pulls out, and I instantly decide I don’t like that very much, at all. He sees my grimace and apologizes as he rushes to my bathroom. A few minutes later, he returns with a wet washcloth and meticulously cleans me up.

“Thank you,” I say, pulling the bedding down and climbing into my covers. “Will you stay?”

“Of course. Let me kennel Nightmare.”

“Oh, shit. Yeah,” I say, feeling badly that I’ve completely forgotten about the one thing in life that wholly relies on me.

“I got it,” he reassures.

“I’m a bad fur mommy,” I say when he comes back and crawls into bed with me.

“No, you aren’t. You were distracted, is all.” He brushes my hair off my face and presses a kiss to my nose.

“It’s been an eventful night.” I snuggle closer to him.

He hums when he pulls me closer still, his heart beating against my cheek.

I listen as it calms and mine begins to synchronize with his.

It doesn’t take that long. Strange how our bodies become so easily in tune with each other, even if our brains might fight it.

I don’t want to fight it—fight the idea of him.

Or us. But there’s more for him to know. More I need to share of myself.

“Tyson?”

“Yeah?”

“My father knew,” I say, feeling like a boulder is stuck in my throat. “He saw and didn’t stop it.”

“God damn it, love,” he curses, squeezing me tighter. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“He said I was like her—my mother. That I was just asking for men’s attention. But I never did.” My face is buried in his chest, and I keep it there. I don’t want to see the look on his face. Nor do I want him to see that I quit crying about this years ago.

“I know, I know you didn’t,” he says. “You should have had someone on your side, Kit.”

“I dreamed of it,” I tell him. “But I have that now.”

“You do. You have a lot of people on your side. A lot of people who love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to my hair. “You are safe here.”

He squeezes me tighter, and I know the truth of his words as I lie in his arms.

“Good morning,” Tyson says when he notices me watching him.

I woke up hours ago. Wanting to let him sleep, I snuck out of bed and went straight to my computer. With my headphones on, I started a replay of Skyrim . Probably my twentieth playthrough, or close to it. I didn’t even notice he’d gotten up until about fifteen minutes ago.

He’s doing his usual morning yoga routine, only this time, it’s in my living room with Nightmare stretching and rolling around next to him.

“Has he perfected his downward facing dog, yet?”

“Surprisingly, no. But he’s getting there,” he says with a laugh.

“Aren’t you, buddy?” Nightmare yips and spins in response.

Tyson ends with a warrior pose. Dressed in nothing but boxer briefs, every muscle is a feast for my eyes.

The bruises spattered here and there are an enhancement rather than a deterrent to his athletic beauty.

I don’t think I’ll ever tire of simply watching him.

Even the way he walks toward me is with an air of graceful power.

“Hi,” I say when he’s in front of me and pulling me in for a kiss.

“Hey.” His lips are cool; his tongue still has a hint of his morning coffee. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“Last night, I suggested you talk to your father. Knowing what I know now, I wish you’d stay no contact.”

“You didn’t know,” I say. “I thought about what you said, though.”

“Which part?”

“Learning about my heritage,” I say. I lay in bed for a good half hour, mulling over his suggestion, analyzing the truth of why I’ve never explored that part of me.

I’m surrounded by Native culture here in the Pacific Northwest, and I’ve never let myself appreciate any of it.

It’s easier to ignore it, to lie and say it doesn’t mean anything to me.

That’s not honest, though. “I haven’t done it before out of fear that he’s right.

That I am like her. Like someone who could leave her family without a word. ”

“Kit, no. You would never,” he says.

“I know, but a lifetime of intrusive thoughts are hard to ignore.”

“Especially if they’re reinforced by a parental figure,” he says, not leaving out his obvious disdain for my father.

“Right. So, thank you for being a voice of reason for me.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, pressing another kiss to my lips. A girl could feel spoiled with such free affection. “I had something else I meant to talk to you about last night.”

“Good something or bad something?”

“Good. Or I hope you think it’s good,” he says, his brow wrinkling. “The Blades have their foundation gala in a couple of weeks. I was hoping you’d go with me.”

Dates don’t get invited to the gala. Wives and girlfriends do. Tyson and I haven’t put labels on what’s happening between us; we’ve had no conversation about it. Which is something I’ve appreciated. He lets me go at my own pace, whether that’s as slow as a sloth or speed-running through it.

With my limited experience, I can’t say how many men would have shown the amount of care and patience Tyson has. I suspect it isn’t a high percentage—especially of men who look like him, are successful pro athletes, and have a line of women waiting and willing.

Which reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to ask him about.

“Can I ask you something, first?”

“Anything.”

“Why the sex worker?”

He releases a deep sigh. Worry wrinkles around his eyes.

“I was in my head after Isla and Cillian got back together. Had my own daily pity party and everything. I was reckless and stupid, picking up random women at every opportunity to try and fill some void,” he says.

“I constantly felt like I was walking around with a chip on my shoulder and something to prove. My competitive nature was getting the best of me in the worst way. When she approached me that night, all I saw were her freckles. Not the price tag, the potential ramifications, or my career.”

“So, you’re not that great at compartmentalizing,” I say, remembering what he said last night on the boat.

I’m not sure how it makes me feel, that he hired her because of an attribute that reminded him of Isla.

My gut twists some, but my head knows that’s stupid.

He has a past—we all do. His just involved other people in ways mine hasn’t.

That’s not his fault. If only my jealous side could catch up to my logical side.

“I am,” he says with conviction. “For a few months, I was messy, then I got my shit together. I’m not the man I was then.” His mouth opens, as if there’s more he wants to say, but he stops himself.

“Tell me the rest.”

“Don’t let this scare you,” he says with that grin I’ve come to look forward to. “But I’m not even the same man I was when I came to Seattle. And I have you to credit for that.”

“Me? Why? All I’ve done is be a spying neighbor and a test of your willpower,” I say, and he bursts with laughter.

“No, Kit,” he says, lifting me by my underarms so I can wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.

He walks us to the kitchen, perching me on the edge of the counter.

“You’ve been oxygen to my lungs. You are the most refreshing thing to ever stumble into my life.

You make me think from a different perspective and contemplate things I’ve never considered.

You’ve made me a better man in mere weeks. ”

“I’m the air you breathe?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.

“Yes, you fucking brat. Do you want some breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

“Can I ask you something, now?” He takes eggs from the refrigerator, first, then digs around, inventorying vegetables.

“It’s only fair.”

“How close are you to your grandmother? You don’t talk about her much, either.”

“We’re complicated,” I say.

“How so?” He grabs ham, cheese, an onion, and a red pepper, and begins chopping.

“I love her, but I don’t have a lot of respect for her.

I mean, she’s done the best she knows how.

But has never had the courage to try for better,” I tell him.

She’s not a strong woman and, by default, centers men in her life—when it should have been me who was most important to her as a child.

She never complained about watching me while my dad worked, but she also never stood up to him when he was cruel to me.

“I know she loves me, too. But neither of us makes much effort. I haven’t been home since moving here, so I haven’t seen her in a decade. ”

“This is your home. Not Maine,” he says, reaching over to massage my hand that is clenched into a fist. I hadn’t even noticed I’d done it, but he had.

Tyson is always so calm, a balm for me every time my edges start to fray.

I’m jittery and tense so often, and he’s like a warm lavender bath soothing it all away.

I’m not sure how he notices everything that he does about me, while I also wonder how I can offer anything of equal value in return. What do I bring to his life that compares to how he supports me?

Do I refresh him enough to be an equal in his world? Can I give him what I think he eventually wants in life? Marriage? A family?

I don’t know.

“Sticking feathers up your butt doesn’t make you a chicken,” Tyler Durden once said. Just like dating a man doesn’t make me wifey material.

Once again, I’m left clinging to whatever I can get while all this lasts.

“Yes, I’ll go to the gala with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I nod several times, until he stills me with fingers on my chin and a kiss to my lips.

“You know that makes us…more, in the eyes of the rest of the team.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Fuck yeah, I am. As long as you are, too.”

“I am,” I say, sounding more confident than I should.

I’m good around the team, having spent plenty of time with them in casual settings over the years.

That’s not worrying—being labeled a wag is.

That’s not really my scene, and I have little interest in invites to all their bachelorette parties or baby showers with women I barely know.

While I like to dress up now and then, primping daily sounds about as fun as walking over hot coals barefoot.

The ladies are nice enough, but they’re also reminiscent of the girls who relentlessly shunned me and called me a weirdo nerd my whole life. I’m not sure I’ll ever be truly comfortable in that environment, and I don’t know how that would impact Tyson over the long run.

“Hugo is going to be so sad.”

“The poor guy. I should probably break up with you and date him.”

“Try and see what happens, Ashcroft.”