Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
I didn’t want to settle down. I wanted to fly, to explore, to see the world. I didn’t want kids now. I maybe didn’t want them ever.
What did I expect — him to ask me to be in a long-distance relationship? To stay faithful to his teammate’s twenty-two-year-old sister while she ran all around the globe? To ignore every woman far more attractive than me who presented themselves? Did I really think we could tell my brother, he’d be just fine with it, and then we’d have a relationship where we barely saw each other?
None of it made sense.
I couldn’t ask for what I wanted because I didn’t even fucking know.
Inhaling a long, deep breath, I swiped the tears from my face and grabbed Jaxson’s hand, leading him to the bed we still hadn’t made from when we’d trashed it that morning.
One last time.
I needed to feel everything that he was one last time.
And then, I’d do the impossible.
I’d let him go.
My hands trembled as I reached for the hem of my dress, pulling it up and over my head in one fluid movement. I made quick work of my bralette and panties next, and then I stood there — stripped to my soul in front of a man I knew I’d never forget.
Something in Jaxson’s gaze told me he wanted me to talk to him, that he wanted to heal my pain. But I think he knew as much as I did that he couldn’t — just the way I couldn’t heal his.
We only had one option, and that was to break together.
Slowly, he shed his clothing, too — piece by piece until the floor at our feet was covered. He swept me into his arms then, pulling me into his lap as he sat against the headboard.
There was no time for foreplay, no playfulness or dirty talk. I reached down and placed him where I needed to feel him most, and then with my hands braced on his shoulders, I worked myself onto him, slowly lowering inch by painful, blissful, heartbreaking inch.
Jaxson held my hip with one hand, the other sliding into my hair, fingers curling behind my neck. I dropped my forehead to his, our warm, shallow breaths mingling in the space between us as I rode him.
I moved slow, rolling my body into his, savoring the way it felt to stretch and open and be consumed by him. I didn’t miss how he trembled, too. I didn’t miss how he pinched his eyes closed and swallowed hard before kissing me, his tongue sweeping in to dance with mine.
Neither of us reached for our climax. It was like we both wanted to stay just like that for as long as we could, connected in every possible way, inhaling the other like our last breath.
I rode him until my legs were so sore I couldn’t move, until he rolled me into the sheets and started his own slow pace between my legs. His ocean blue eyes searched mine, piercing my soul deeper with every thrust until I thought maybe we’d succeeded in our mission.
Because he felt like a part of me, like a permanent piece of who I’d be when we left this cabin.
I welcomed the new addition, riding out the first orgasm and then digging my nails into his back to beg for another.
My bag stayed half-packed for the rest of the night, our cabin an absolute mess that we’d have to deal with in the morning. But we pushed it off as long as we could, losing sleep and losing ourselves in the possibility of what we could have been in another space and time.
I catalogued every brush of his hands against my skin, every flex of him inside me, every kiss he ghosted over my lips. Every one was a whisper of farewell, of I’ll miss you and this and us.
And I whispered it back, clinging to him as I kissed his shoulder, his neck, his beautiful, sacred mouth — all while my heart splintered in my chest.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
The morning came too quickly, and when we had no choice but to finish packing and roll our suitcases out of that cabin, I knew only three things for certain.
I loved him.
He changed me for the better.
And I’d never get over him — not as long as I lived.
Not Now. Not Ever.
Jaxson
I remember the first time I had a major injury in hockey.
I was seventeen — which, all things considered, was pretty late. I knew plenty of kids who had teeth knocked out and bones broken well before that age. Hockey was a brutal sport, one that had the ability to humble you in a split second. But I’d been lucky. I’d fallen, sure. I’d had some cuts and bruises and sprains, but nothing serious.
When I was seventeen, playing in the WHL, my time ran up.