Page 110 of Penalty Kiss
Tara laughs, a sound that makes the new yellow paint on the walls seem brighter. “Oh, I’m sure you were. A man has to defend his title.” She steps closer, close enough that I can see the tiny flecks of gold in her blue eyes. “I just want you to know something, Cam. I would have loved you if you were a plumber. Or a baker. Or the guy who restocks the vending machines.”
Her fingers find the front of my shirt, twisting the soft cotton. “I loveyou. Not the job. Not the fame. Not Dane-gerous Seoul. Just… you. The guy who gets a goofy grin when he talks about his mom’s cooking and who reads to stray cats at the shelter.”
My throat closes up. All my life, I’ve been the show. The performance. The guy who fills the room with noise so no one sees the cracks. But she doesn’t just see them. She runs her fingers over them like they’re the most beautiful part of me.
“I’m keeping the nickname, though,” I manage, my voice thick. “Sounds cool for a minor league hockey owner.”
“Then Cedar Falls Chaos certainly has a ring of truth to it, considering its co-founder. And Cam, you will always have a place in your fans’ hearts.”
“Hey, I’m a stabilizing presence,” I protest, pulling her flush against me. My hands settle on her hips, learning the perfect curve of them all over again.
“You’re a beautiful disaster,” she corrects, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “And you’re my beautiful disaster.”
This is it. The life I walked away from feels like a black-and-white movie compared to this— her in my arms, in this kitchen, in this town that’s become home.
She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, and the teasing light in her eyes is replaced by a fierce, brilliant clarity. It’s the look of a woman stepping into her own power, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“And,” she says, her voice steady and clear. “I’m not just Tara Haynes anymore, either.” She takes a breath, and it feels like she’s inhaling a new future. “I’m Taralyn Delacroix. And I’m not running anymore.”
Her real name, no longer a secret or a burden, but as a declaration. A flag planted firmly in the ground of this life we’re building.
My heart thuds against my ribs, a heavy, steady beat.TaralynDelacroix.
I lean in and kiss her, not with hunger, but with a reverence that feels like a vow. It’s a kiss that saysI see all of you. I choose all of you.
Her lips part under mine, soft and sure, and she pours all of her relief, her fight, and her freedom into the kiss.
When I pull back, I trail my thumb over the paint smudge on her cheek. “I like that name,” I say, my voice rough. “Sounds like the woman who’s going to be the First Lady of the Cedar Falls Chaos.”
A laugh bubbles out of her. “Is that an official title?”
“We’ll make it one.” I grin. The weight of expectation, of fame, of a future I was supposed to want, is gone. All that’s left is this. Her. Us.
I slide my hands from her waist, up her back, until my palms cup her face. “I love you, Taralyn Delacroix.”
“I love you, Cam Wilder.”
And then there are no more words. I lift her in my arms, and she wraps her legs around my waist without hesitation.
I carry her to the brand-new quartz countertop, sitting her on the cool, smooth surface. The paint roller she was using clatters to the floor, forgotten. Her paint-stained hands are in my hair, pulling me closer, her nails scraping lightly against my scalp in a way that makes my entire body tighten.
“This countertop is new,” she breathes against my lips, a playful warning in her tone.
“Good,” I growl, moving between her thighs, my voice dominant. “We should break it in properly. Make a memory this house will never forget.”
She squirms, trying to close the distance between us, but I pin her hips with one firm grip, my callouses rough against her smooth skin.
“Stay,” I growl, my voice low and commanding. “You don’t move unless I tell you.”
Her lips part, defiance flashing in her eyes like a spark ready to ignite a wildfire. But she nods, that single flicker of submission making my length throb hard against the thin barrier of her shorts. I can feel her heat, her need, radiating through the fabric, beckoning me.
I tug her shirt over her head, the soft cotton brushing against her skin before it's discarded onto the floor. Her lace bra is a pathetic barrier—her breasts spill against the cups, begging for my touch, my taste. I snap the clasp, and the sight of her bare curves makes my mouth water. Since the moment I got home, I’ve noticed her hard nipples through her shirt, and now, I stare at them, my heart pounding in my chest like a kick drum.
“Perfect,” I rasp, my voice barely recognizable. I drag my thumb over one tight peak, her nipple hardening under my touch until she gasps, a soft, desperate sound that sends a bolt of lust straight to my groin. “So damn perfect, Taralyn. Mine.”
I pinch and pull it the way she likes, and she arches into my hand, desperate for more, and I reward her by leaning down,taking her nipple into my mouth. I suck, I bite, just enough to hear her moan break free from her lips. Her fingers twist in my hair, tugging, urging me on.
“Cam—” she moans, my name a plea on her lips.
