Page 217 of Cross the Line
Sweet, intoxicating pain tears through me. Breaking me apart. Starting in my chest with my tears tracking down my temples, all the way down my body. A million butterflies spark to life in my belly, and I’m floating.
Soaring and falling all at once.
Falling harder and faster with every relentless thrust. Because…
“Serendipity,” I choke with every wrack and shake of my body beneath his while he pistons into me, taking me higher and higher.
Chasing the light… the sun…
“Seren-fucking-dipity.” Jayden growls into my mouth with one last thrust before he comes undone.
His body convulsing with mine when he collapses over me. Ragged breaths blustering into my hair with a slew of endless kisses.
Every spurt of his release scorches through me like pure fucking sunshine coating every inch of me.
Singeing every last part of my soul. Until there is no me without him.
***
The sunset isbeautiful from up here—the ocean to one side and the expansive golf club to the other. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been winding down my days with a hike.
The quiet centers me, and Blanca loves the climb. We park at the lot, trek thirty minutes to her favorite viewpoint, rest, then head back down.
With the Comets’ game tonight, Samson is with us. I’m grateful for the extra distraction, because unlike sweet Bee, he’s a menace out here.
“Samson Broussard, I’m going to take you straight home on your own if you don’t come back here now!” He gives me a skeptical, goofy look. “Don’t look at me like that. I mean it today.”
I swear Blanca is sniggering behind me. Samson peers past my legs, tongue lolling, then zooms by. He only stops when she wraps a lap around a tree trunk. Apparently, he’s not dumb enough to try that trick.
“If you don’t listen to me out here, I’m not bringing you anymore,” I tell him, clipping his lead to his brace.
All idle threats, and he knows it.
This is the highlight of my day when the guys are on the road. Game days run super late, which means they won’t be home until after midnight.
The pups and I pile into the car and head home. By the time we pull in, Samson is snoring, and Blanca looks unimpressed with his antics. The radio commentary is still on, and I just about catch Andersen’s goal as I unload the pups. It takes a bite out of my nerves for the elevator ride.
Before going up to the apartment, I grab the mail at the front desk.
“Good evening, Miss Finley,” the concierge says, mail already in hand. “This is everything for today.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” I tell him while he fusses over the pups, doling out dog cookies before I head for the elevators again with a “Good night.”
“Good night, Miss.Oh, and enjoy your evening with your visitor.”
My visitor?
I pause, turning to look at him as he adds, “I sent her up just before you arrived.”
Her.
I relax, checking my phone for a text from Christina. She hasn’t been herself the last few days, and when I offered to cook her dinner, her decline was instant.
I may not make every home game, but I watch each one—or listen on the radio. Chill isn’t in my vocabulary when my guys are on the ice. I live every second with them. Feel every hit...
Which is why Christina didn’t want to come over tonight. Things between her and Matheo are a mess. She’s made it that way with her fear of opening up to him. Although I can’t blame her, it’s hard for me to see her pine after him and him after her.
I’m glad she changed her mind about tonight. Maybe we can spend the rest of the evening watching a movie and drowning her sorrows in ice cream… while I keep a close eye on my notifications.
