Page 104 of Whirlwind
“Even if I didn’t mean to say it, it’s true,” I say, crawling into his lap. His arms immediately wrap me up, and it’s what I’ve been missing for so many days, now. “I don’t know how to trust what you say. So, I’m going to trust myself—which is also hard for me.”
“What are you saying, love?” he asks after I grow quiet.
“You make me want things I never considered before,” I finally say. “A possible future I never saw as an option. When I imagine those things, I see you doing them with some woman with far less baggage than me. I don’t like what I picture.”
“Your baggage isn’t yours to carry alone,” he whispers over the top of my head as I snuggle into his chest. He smells good, the same as he does after every game. “Let me share the load.”
“No, Tyson.” I shake my head before looking up at him. “It’s time for me to unpack. I’ve been thinking about it all day. After playoffs and when work slows down, I’m going to Montana.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I confirm with a nod. “I want to visit her grave site and see if there’s anyone left that knew her. I also thought about what you said about my heritage. You’re right, it’s time I learn about that, too. I wasn’t ready before because I was afraid to know more about her.”
“Now, you want to know everything.”
“All of it,” I say. “I’m done living in fear of things, Tyson. So, I don’t need you to carry any weight for me, but I do need you to keep showing up for me. I can’t do this with you if I don’t feel like a priority.”
“You arethepriority. I’m in love with you, Kit. I’ll be in love with you until the day they slide my cold bones into the incinerator,” he says. It’s a creepy declaration that makes me smile. “I’ll still be in love with you in whatever form we take after this life. You are it for me.”
“It?”
“It,” he confirms. “The one. My endgame. Did you know bald eagles mate for life?”
“I’m the one named after an eagle,” I say.
“Whatever you are, I’m the same.”
He doesn’t pressure me to say anything similar back to him, and, like always, I’m thankful for how he lets me be me. I think I’m in love with Tyson Murphy. But I’d rather let that thought stew before I blurt it out. If it’s uncomfortable for me to think, it’s going to be awkward to say. And that’s not what I want when I tell him for the first time.
It should be said with surety and confidence. Like when he says it to me, I know he believes what he’s saying. The words need to breach my age-old armor, but I know he believes them.
“I was given something today,” I say, untangling from him and walking to the box sitting on my couch. I tried it earlier, so I know it fits perfectly. Of course, it does; it was made by the infamous Odette Quinn, who wouldn’t dare let anyone she dressed outside without looking fabulous. “Wait here.”
I take the box into my bedroom, stripping off all my clothes until I’m completely bare. I return to Tyson wearing only my new jacket—a short trench style, cut from the deepest teal-blue fabric, his last name and number emblazoned in red down the sleeve, the team’s logo proudly displayed on the back. It’s simple and classy, yet still flashy.
“Fuck,” he cusses when I tiptoe back into the living room. “You are the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s not your name on my back, but close enough.”
“Where’d your other clothes go?” he asks, a brow raised as he comes to stand in front of me.
“I won’t need them for this next part.”
“What’s this next part?”
“Where you fuck me,” I say boldly, meeting his eyes—determined to be the strong woman he sees me as. It’s time for me to be the woman who asks for what she wants and demands what she needs. “Up to ten percent of women struggle with sexual urges bordering on addiction. I might become another statistic.”
“Oh no, we wouldn’t want that,” he teases, before he hauls me over his shoulder and takes me to my bed.
For the first time, he doesn’t hold anything back. While he still pays close attention to my physical cues, there’s no verbal check-in. Tyson is trusting me to tell him if it’s too much.
He starts by devouring me with his mouth, his talented tongue bringing me to the first of several orgasms within minutes. All my senses—so ragged from this past week—are on high alert. The jacket stays on when he flips me over and takes me from behind.
“My colors look as good on you as my cum does,” he says, and I die a little at how hot his dirty talk makes me. The Kit Ashcroft of a few months back would never have dreamed of a life that included this. Could never imagine how good it would feel to have his hips pump against my ass as he drives into me.
I wonder what other dreams my anxiety and fear have gotten in the way of.
He changes our position again, and as he throws my leg over his shoulder—his fabulous cock pistoning in and out—I realize how much trust is a game of give and take. So is love.
