The Baseball Card Boyfriend (Starrycard Creek Bachelors #3)

Chapter 14

Chapter

Fourteen

CHRISTIAN

“That’s it, Maggie. That’s everything from the truck,” Christian called, then popped a bite-sized piece of beef jerky into his mouth. He closed the pantry door and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He gazed out the kitchen windows. Only a sliver of the sun remained, casting its last rays over the jagged outline of the mountains.

He turned his gaze toward the large kitchen table, now softly illuminated by the fading light of the setting sun. Maggie stood there, notebook in hand, with Lucky sleeping peacefully at her feet, as she carefully assessed a slew of ceramic pie plates and an array of baking tools. She was the embodiment of focused intent and serene dedication. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders and accentuated her delicate features. He took a moment to offer a silent prayer of gratitude. With Maggie by his side, everything made sense. She belonged here. She belonged with him. And he belonged to her. It was surreal to imagine that at around this time yesterday, they’d walked out of the hospital.

He was no stranger to a hectic schedule as a former pro baseball player, but the intensity of his athletic career paled in comparison to the whirlwind frenzy of keeping pace with his pie princess.

The moment they were released from CCSD custody, Maggie was already plotting their next move, eager to gather every supply necessary to host the culinary club.

His dad had picked up his truck. It was waiting for them as they exited the courthouse—along with the clothing they’d left on the pool deck—which was a godsend. He could not have traipsed around the county in those ill-fitting sweatpants. The thought alone made him cringe. And Jesus, the internet would have had a field day if he’d remained in that get-up. While they were out shopping, several people had approached him, eager to take a picture. Even more had snapped covert photos on their phones. He’d never been so grateful for a sturdy pair of jeans. The last thing he needed was the outline of his anatomy plastered online.

Normally, he’d shy away from cameras, but being pictured with Maggie and Lucky made him realize how blessed he truly was. She’d tried to slip her hand from his when she’d noticed the cameras, but he’d held on. He didn’t care what anyone thought. He loved her. His family might think they were moving too fast, but he knew they’d eventually understand Maggie was the one for him.

Hand in hand, they’d wandered through the bustling farmer’s market. It was like autumn was showing off. The crisp fall air was alive with the scents of fresh produce, spices, and herbs. He’d been surprised when she asked him to pull over in front of an antique shop. She’d sifted through the timeworn kitchenware—items that looked like they could have been housed in the original Donnelly ranch house. He’d suggested buying new pie plates and bakeware, but she’d turned him down. She wanted items that had been used and cherished. He’d watched, captivated, as she meticulously sorted through a bin of rolling pins, her fingers brushing each one as if she could feel their stories. She also selected several ceramic pie plates in delicate shades of cream, pink, blue, and green. Dotted with chips and scratches, she’d gazed at them as though they were old friends.

He quietly stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his touch gentle yet possessive. “Can you commune with old pie plates?” he whispered, watching her reflection in the window as the last wisps of light disappeared behind the mountains.

She melted into his embrace, her head tilting back to rest on his right shoulder, his good shoulder. “Maybe,” she replied softly, a hint of a smile on her lips. “I was asking them if they could suggest a winning pumpkin pie recipe.”

“Did they answer?”

“Unfortunately, no,” she sighed, her fingers absently tracing the rim of an old, chipped pie plate.

Christian tightened his hold, pulling her closer. “Have I mentioned that you were amazing with Ironside? You were on fire in that courtroom.”

“You might have mentioned it fifty times, possibly sixty.”

“Is that all?” he teased. “But seriously, I’ve never seen the guy so intrigued. And I didn’t sense a trace of anxiety coming from you.”

She turned slightly, her eyes searching his. “You’ll laugh if I tell you why. I might sound a little crazy.”

He held her gaze. “Maggie, I fell in love with you in my dreams. There’s not much you could say to top that on the crazy scale.”

She gifted him with that gentle smile. “You know how I told you I got a surge of confidence when I saw your niece wearing my apron?”

“I remember.”

“It was like something was there with me, guiding me, whispering for me to trust myself, telling me to acknowledge the worry but not let it hold me back,” she replied, then tensed, her breath hitching as if she were on the brink of a panic attack.

Christian felt a protective surge and kissed the crown of her head. “What is it? Tell me.”

“Now I have to deliver a win,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she turned away from him.

“Maggie,” he said softly. She looked up, and he met her gaze in the window’s reflection. “ We will deliver. You’re not alone. And Jesus, look at your notebook. When we weren’t buying out farm stands and antique shops, you were jotting down recipes. How many are you up to?”

“I’ve got eleven different variations of pumpkin pie.”

“That’s my lucky number. And if anyone has what it takes to come up with a winning pie, it’s you. And I’ll make sure you have everything you need. Hell, I’ll buy every old pie plate in the damned state if that’s what it takes to get your pie mojo going.”

She turned in his arms and pressed her hands to his chest. “You’d do that?”

“I’d do anything to make you smile. I want to make you happy. I want this to be your home. Our home,” he said, then kissed her bare shoulder. “And that seems to start with chipped ceramic pie plates, weathered rolling pins, and dented measuring cups.”

She glanced at the antique baking implements. “They have such charm. I feel so at ease with them.” She relaxed into his embrace and rested her head against him. “I might be a baker or a pastry chef, but I only seem to remember pie recipes. Maybe I’m just a pie freak.”

He stroked her back, making slow circles. “My brothers could put that on a business card for you. Maggie TBD, certified pie freak.”

She sighed. “This pie freak doesn’t need a business card quite yet but could use a drink.”

He released his hold, sauntered over to the fridge, and opened the door. “We are stocked. I can offer lemonade, strawberry lemonade, cherry lemonade, or cherry-lime lemonade. We also have thirty varieties of loose-leaf tea. I believe we bought out those booths at the farmer’s market.”

She frowned, her brow furrowing. “The lemonade and tea aren’t for us.”

“They’re not? What about those little dried sausage thingies?”

Her expression turned to one of mild amusement. “Those are for Lucky. They’re dog treats.”

He swished his tongue around his mouth and grimaced. “Yeah, I might be needing a drink, too. I thought it was jerky.”

She burst into laughter, shaking her head in delighted disbelief. “How’d it taste?”

“Pretty damned good.” He eyed the dog. “We’ll have to share those, boy.”

Lucky jumped up and licked his hand, his tail eagerly wagging.

He ruffled the dog’s fur between his ears. “Lucky seems okay with sharing them with me. But why can’t we have any lemonade? We’re swimming in it. We’ve got gallons and gallons.”

“It’s for the culinary club. And I don’t think plain old lemonade will do it for me. I was thinking of something a little stronger. Like strong enough to knock a horse off its feet,” she said, peering at him through her lashes.

He shut the fridge door and leaned against the counter. “You were actually listening when I said that last night? I thought you were lost in your own world.”

She smiled softly. “I was, and I wasn’t. I was absorbing everything. I think when I’m trying to understand something, I can go two ways—either I spill out every thought in a blustery word salad or go silent and observant. That could be how I process things,” she said and drew her fingertips over the edge of one of the ceramic pie plates.

He returned to her and tipped up her chin. “Then it’s another thing we know about you.”

Her bottom lip trembled. “That drive from the hospital to the ranch feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It does.”

“What if everything about my past is lost?” she asked, her breath hitching as she spoke.

He stroked her cheek. He had to reassure her. “We’ll keep doing new things, visiting new places. We’ll make our own memories. I want a lifetime of them with you. And I have a feeling that baking with the culinary club will be good for you. Look what happened in the hearing room. That experience unlocked your knowledge about pies. Look at your notebook.”

She nodded slowly, her expression a mix of hope and uncertainty as she cast her gaze downward. She’d gone quiet again, her thoughts seemingly a million miles away.

“Come with me,” he said, taking her hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To get you that drink and get the dog-treat taste out of my mouth. Are you coming, Lucky?” He looked over his shoulder. The pup had conked out, curled into a ball with his eyes closed.

“He seems done for the day,” Maggie observed, lacing her fingers with his.

“It’s been one hell of a day,” he replied, leading Maggie out of the kitchen and down a hallway. He stopped at the second door, his hand lingering on the knob. “This is where I make moonshine. We call it Stumble Juice.” He opened the door and inhaled the rich, earthy scent of barley, wheat, and molasses mixed with the floral notes of wildflower honey and the piney fragrance of dried juniper berries. He flipped a light switch and a lamp in the corner cast the space in a golden glow. The room had been designed precisely to his specifications. The moonshine ingredients were housed in a large hutch while glass Mason jars of different Stumble Juice batches lined the wooden shelves on the far wall. They sparkled in the light that reflected off the hulking copper still in the center of the room.

Maggie took in the gleaming distillation machine. “This doesn’t look like it came from the days of Prohibition.”

“No, it didn’t. I had this beauty handmade. It’s a one-hundred-fifty-liter copper pot still. It’s got all the modern bells and whistles. It even self-cleans, but it follows the same basic principles of making moonshine like my great-great grandparents did using dented metal vats.”

She ran her hand along the side of the copper pot. “How does it work?”

He leaned against the wall and admired the still’s craftsmanship. “There’s a whole art to it, but in a nutshell, I start by heating the mash in the big copper pot—that’s the fermented ingredients: the creek water, barley, wheat, wild yeast, juniper berries, molasses, and wildflower honey. That heating process turns the alcohol into vapor. That vapor travels to the condenser, where it cools and turns back into liquid, creating Stumble Juice.”

Maggie nodded, taking in the information as she surveyed the shelves of past batches.

“I tinker around with the flavor, sometimes adding different ingredients to the mash, but the ingredients I rattled off were what my ancestors used,” he added, watching her.

“You’re meticulous in noting the fermentation time, batch, and proof,” she said, eyeing the tags on each jar.

“It’s kind of my thing. I guess this is how I keep a part of my family’s history alive.”

“It’s cozy in here,” she said, continuing to study the space.

“It’s my workshop and sanctuary,” he replied, feeling a sense of pride as he watched her take it all in. “And…”

“Yes?” she said, still eyeing the bottles.

“You’re the only person I’ve brought to this room.”

She paused her inspection and held his gaze. “You’ve never brought anyone from your family in here?”

“They could have looked in, but I make Stumble Juice alone. It’s like meditation or something. During the off-season, it kept my mind engaged. I’ve always needed a focus, and the moonshine culture fascinates me.” He grabbed a pair of glasses from the hutch and set them on the table. “Pick a jar. We should try some.”

Maggie perused the rows, then stopped. “This one is dated November eleventh of last year. Batch eleven. Mash fermentation time: eleven days, and…” She picked up the jar and walked across the room to the wall covered with framed photos and memorabilia. She tapped the glass case with his college jersey inside. “I’m with number eleven, so we’re going with lucky batch eleven,” she added, handing him the glass jar. And damn, he liked hearing those words fall from her lips.

“Hell yes, you are,” he answered, accepting the moonshine and pouring a little less than two fingers into each glass.

She scrutinized the amount. “That’s it? That’s like an inch of liquid.”

He settled in on the sofa. “This is one hundred and ten proof. Enough of it literally will knock a horse over. You’re the size of a baby goat. This is all you get.”

“A baby goat?” she exclaimed, joining him on the couch.

He laughed. “Fine. A medium-sized goat? I don’t know much about goats. You’re a small person. You get what you get, TBD.”

She held the glass, moving the liquid from side to side. “I bet I could drink you under the table, Number Eleven.”

Jesus Christ, he could not allow her to get blackout drunk after a coma. He bit back a grin. “No, we’re not doing that. Drink what’s in your glass and tell me what you think. I want your honest opinion. This batch is a little heavier on the honey and molasses.”

She watched him, eyes twinkling, then turned her attention to the contents of her cup. She took a sip, then closed her eyes. “It’s smooth and malty sweet.”

He watched her like a hawk. “That would be from the wheat and barley. The water, too.”

She opened her eyes. “But there’s more.” She finished what was left in her glass. “It’s flowery and nutty, and there’s a warmth to it, like a caramel finish.”

This woman was utterly incredible. He took a sip, assessing the flavors. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Not bad for a baby-goat-sized woman, huh?” she teased, the alcohol glistening on her lips.

He placed their glasses on a side table.

Mischief danced in her eyes. “Are you afraid of a little competition from a baby goat?”

“I’ll show you what I can do with a baby-goat-sized woman,” he said as he gripped her hips and lifted her onto his lap.

Her smile faded. “Christian, what about your shoulder?”

“It’s okay. I know how to allow my right side to compensate. I didn’t hurt myself. I’m not in any pain. I’ve been taking care of myself since…” He trailed off, suddenly aware that he had Maggie on his lap, straddling him. His breathing grew ragged. The closeness of their bodies sent his pulse skyrocketing, his cock growing rock-hard as it pressed between her thighs.

“You’ve been taking care of yourself since I showed up out of thin air,” she whispered, losing her teasing tone as she locked onto his gaze.

“Yeah.”

She caressed his left arm. “I don’t want to hurt you, Christian.”

“You couldn’t. You’re an angel, my angel,” he said, losing himself in her hazel hues of green, gold, and brown. This woman was complex. Fiercely knowledgeable when it came to baking and genuinely empathic when it came to caring for people and animals. But she was also fragile. Worry and doubt could send her spinning. He wanted to know every part of her. A sharp pang rippled through him, and that damned thought that plagued him returned.

What if she had someone else out there?

Sure, whoever it was didn’t deserve her, but they’d have history with her.

Maggie touched his face. “What is it? Where did you go?”

He pushed the thought aside. “Nowhere…I was just thinking. Can I ask you something?” he said, recovering and recalling a question he did have for her that had to do with her recent past.

“Of course. Anything.”

“How did you know the type of apple in Ironside’s pastry?”

A blush crept up her cheeks, turning them that shade of pink that made him want her more with each passing second. She looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes. “I guessed.”

Holy fuck!

“Maggie, you’re?—”

“A very good girl with a little bad girl mixed in,” she interrupted, a glint in her eyes.

And goddamn, he forgot about any sad sack of shit out there who could lay claim to Maggie’s heart.

“I was going to say you’re an absolute rock star, but what you said is a hell of a lot hotter. Christ, I love you.”

She glanced away. “Have you been in love before? You’re famous and handsome. I’m sure you’ve gotten plenty of attention.”

“I’ve dated a lot of women. I partied and hooked up—more when I was younger—but I’ve never told another woman that I loved her. That she was the one.” He cupped her face in his hands, his touch tender, his thumbs gently brushing her cheeks. “I love you. I don’t care how long we’ve known each other. My heart knows your heart. You are the one, Maggie.”

She blinked back tears.

“What is it?” he asked gently.

“I get this feeling that I’ve never been with anyone who’s felt so strongly for me.”

“No man could love you the way I do. We’re meant to be together. That stone and my baseball card brought you to me. I don’t give a damn how or why. You’re here, and that’s all that matters. I love you,” he whispered and pressed his lips to hers.

The scents of the distillation room enveloped them, creating an intimate cocoon. Her lips were soft, so damned soft. Her honeyed molasses sweetness drew him in deeper. She hummed the sexiest little sound and parted her lips, inviting him in. And there’s no way in hell he’d turn down the invitation. He kissed her like he made Stumble Juice—slowly, patiently, and methodically. Paying close attention to the rhythm of her breathing, he maintained his unwavering focus. She rocked her hips, moving against him like waves kissing the shoreline.

His hands slid into her hair, pulling her closer as their kiss grew more passionate. “Christ, I want you,” he said against her lips. “I want you so badly I can barely breathe.”

She tensed and pulled back, breaking the connection.

Dammit! He’d pushed her too far and let his cock override his brain.

“I can wait for you, Maggie. I could kiss you for a thousand years and never want anything more.” He watched as her breath hitched and her eyes flickered with something that made his heart clench.

“I don’t want to wait,” she whispered.

“You don’t?” he asked, searching her face for any trace of doubt. He needed to be sure that she was ready.

She gripped his shirt as if she was holding on for dear life. “But I don’t even know if I’ve done this,” she confessed, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “And what if I’m not that great at it?”

Tenderness washed over him. “You’ve done it.”

“What? Did we do it before I hit my head?” she asked, her voice laced with panic.

“No, no, hell no,” he blurted out. He took a breath, his gaze dropping for a moment as he considered his next words. “And I guess I don’t know for sure that you’ve had sex, but you’ve got an IUD.”

“I do? How do you know that?”

“The doctors wanted to make sure nothing had happened to you since I knew so little about you and where you came from. They ran tests and checked for any signs of trauma or illness. The nurse said it was routine.”

“You were there while they checked my entire body?”

“No, not in the room. They wouldn’t allow that. I waited right outside, and…”

“Yes?”

“I was sort of listening—but only to make sure that you were okay. Not to be creepy or nosy, which now sounds like I was being really creepy and horribly nosy. I’m sorry.”

“Is there anything you know about me that I don’t know?”

“Well…” he eked out.

“Christian, tell me.”

“You don’t have any sexually transmitted diseases, and you have a scar where you must have had your appendix removed.”

She blinked, processing this information. “Do you know my blood type?”

He couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “O positive.”

She watched him, wide-eyed. “They probably need thicker walls in that hospital.”

“Probably.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, then glanced down to where he was sporting one hell of a hard-on. “So, we can…”

“Yep.”

She twisted the hair at the nape of his neck between her fingers. “Anytime we want?”

“Yeah,” he bit out, his voice a low rasp.

“Without worrying about me getting…”

“That’s right.”

She rocked against him. “And you?—”

“Haven’t been with anyone in months, and I’ve had so much blood work done, I know I’m good,” he replied, damn near out of his mind.

She nodded, then arched her back. The movement was subtle, almost imperceptible, but with Maggie, he noticed everything. She lifted her gaze, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Have you thought about sleeping with me?”

“From the first night I saw you in my dreams,” he blathered again. And Jesus, he needed to calm down.

She continued gently twisting the locks at the back of his neck, driving him wild. She paused. “What did you picture? What’s your fantasy?”

He couldn’t even pretend to play it cool. “You, in my college jersey, and nothing else.”

“That jersey?” she asked, pointing toward the framed display on the wall. Encased in glass, the white jersey with bold forest green trim hung next to a framed photograph of the team.

His gaze lingered on the jersey, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. “Yes, that’s the exact one.”

“There’s a latch on the display case,” Maggie observed, her voice laced with a sultry undertone.

“Yep,” he said, reduced to caveman-like utterances.

“So…it opens?”

“Yes.”

She leaned forward, her lips a breath away from his. “Close your eyes, Number Eleven.”

He didn’t comply right away. Instead, he held her gaze for a beat, drinking in those eyes that left him spellbound—that hazel sparkle that lit a fire in his soul.

She cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he grumbled, closing his eyes, hating to look away for even a second.

She maneuvered off his lap, and his senses heightened. He listened to her footsteps.

Tap, tap, tap.

Click.

Creak.

“You’ve got it, don’t you?” he asked.

“I do,” she purred.

He inhaled a tight breath. “How long are you going to make me wait?”

“Not long. Is this something all baseball players fantasize about?” she asked.

“Yeah, but we were a superstitious bunch at RMU. As a team, we agreed no one could wear our jersey unless we knew they were the one.” He paused. “It wasn’t hard for me to stick to that rule.”

“Why?”

“I never saw myself with anyone.”

A few seconds went by before she spoke. “You never wanted to commit to a person?”

“I thought my life would be baseball, and then it all ended, and my life began again the second I saw you and learned you were real. No woman has ever worn that jersey. You’ll be the first and only woman to wear it. Now, will you please let me open my eyes? I’ve been fantasizing about this for months.”

“Okay, you can look.”

He opened his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. She’d twisted her hair into a messy bun, and wisps framed her face. The light wrapped her in golden warmth. He drank in every inch of her body. Only one button was fastened on the jersey, allowing a tantalizing glimpse of her creamy skin and the curves of her full breasts. Desire surged through him, a primal need to possess her.

There was only one thing for him to say.

He narrowed his gaze. “Get that pretty little ass over here.”

“You look a little worked up,” she cooed, sauntering around the still.

“That might just win the award for understatement of the year.”

“You should stretch,” she said, gazing at him through her lashes.

“I’m good. Remember when I took Lucky for a walk while you were picking out pie plates and rolling pins in the antique store?”

She nodded, parading around the room like a fucking siren.

“I got in my mobility exercises in the parking lot,” he finished.

She stopped next to the wall with the empty display case and traced a line from her collarbone to her cleavage, opening the jersey another inch. “Maybe I should stretch,” she mused, her eyes glittering as she held his gaze. And holy fuck, that confident air he’d seen when she’d taken control of the courtroom returned. “Hey, Number Eleven?” she continued, her voice sultry and light.

“Yeah?”

She ran her tongue across her top lip and undid the button. The jersey parted, revealing her mouthwatering curves. She took a step toward him. “I know you like to be in charge. Tell me what to do.”

A rush of carnal desire flooded his system. “Tilt your head from side to side. Do it slowly,” he said and unfastened his jeans.

“Like this?” she asked, closing her eyes and sensually rolling her head from side to side, a move so erotic, he inhaled another tight breath as he unzipped his jeans and freed his cock.

“What next?” she asked, taking another step toward him, her hungry gaze locked on his hard length.

He pumped his cock. He ached to be inside her, to feel her, to fill her. He worked his shaft and devoured her with his gaze. “Press your hands to the wall. Lean forward and lift your ass into the air. You’ll want your hips to be loose for what I’m about to do to you.”

She nodded, then turned and walked with a sexy sway. Her hands met the wall above her head, and she leaned in. The jersey lifted, revealing her buttocks. He licked his lips. Goddamn, he wanted to sink his teeth into her soft, supple skin.

“Mmm,” she hummed, extending the stretch. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I think I could go deeper with a little help.”

Hell, yes, she could.

He lost his pants, peeled off his T-shirt, and left his clothing in a heap on the floor. He came up behind her, taking in every gorgeous inch of this woman wearing his name and his number.

His.

She was his.

He was hers.

He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. “Widen your stance and brace yourself. I’m going as deep as you can take.”

She took a sharp, uneven breath as he lined up his cock with the entrance to her sweet, wet heat. Using his good arm, he steadied himself, his hand overlapping with hers. He gripped her hip with his left hand, holding her in place.

“Touch yourself, but don’t you dare come,” he growled.

Her hand slid from the wall, and she slipped it between her legs, her breathing growing ragged as her hips gently rocked.

“Keep going,” he said, moving with her, slowly pushing his cock past her delicate folds. He sucked in a sharp breath because, holy hell, he was barely in an inch, and she was wet and so damned tight. He trailed his fingertips from her hip and covered her hand as she worked her sweet bud, observing the cadence of her breath as he threaded his hand with hers, feeling her soft warmth as he took charge of her pleasure.

He pushed in farther. Every fiber of his being wanted to slam inside her, to fill her to the hilt, but he wasn’t about to hurt her. “Take a slow, deep breath, then blow it all the way out,” he instructed.

It took a few shaky breaths before her body relaxed. On her exhale, he rocked his hips and glided inside. The delicious stretch of her body accommodating his cock sent a lightning bolt of pure lust through him.

“Christian,” she whispered, and the raw ache in her voice fueled his need to make her come hard.

“This is for you. Don’t ignore any sensation. Let yourself feel everything,” he said, working her in steady, rhythmic strokes as he dialed up the pace with his hand. Each touch was a silent promise to learn every inch of her, to make her his own in every way.

“Oh, I’m there. I’m…” she moaned, her body trembling as the rush of orgasmic endorphins flooded her system.

“Take it all. Take everything,” he rasped, increasing his pressure between her thighs. She tightened around him, squeezing him, embracing him. He was close to losing it, but this wasn’t how he wanted to take her.

She rested her head against the wall, gasping for breath. “I don’t think I can walk or even move,” she said between heavy breaths.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said and scooped her into his arms.

“Christian, your shoulder,” she said against his neck.

“I’m good, TBD. My right arm is doing the bulk of the work.”

“Where are we going?” she asked as he headed out of the still room.

“I’m taking you to bed. You asked what I fantasized about. It’s this. Carrying you to my room,” he replied, taking the steps two at a time. “I want to watch you come. I want to look into your eyes, and I want to see your soul while I make love to you.”

He kicked open the door to the darkened room and gently positioned her in the middle of his bed. She rose onto her elbows, his jersey drifting off her shoulders as the light from the hallway cast a warm halo on her hair. A sultry smile curved her lips. God help him! She was a goddess, a beauty beyond anything he’d ever seen, and his reality surpassed his dreams.

He stood at the foot of the bed, basking in the knowledge that this woman was his entire world. She sighed deeply, her eyes hungrily taking in every hard inch of him. And he could no longer resist simply admiring her.

“Lie back and spread your legs,” he said, his voice a low, heated rasp.

She watched him for a beat, then opened to him like a flower welcoming the sun. He prowled the length of her body and settled his cock between her thighs. He cupped her face in his hand, and she smiled up at him. He kissed the corner of her mouth, brushing his lips across hers. “You are my everything. I never believed I’d feel joy again, never imagined I could love so profoundly. I was drowning in darkness. You rescued me with your light.” He trembled, shaking from the weight of his emotions.

She gently traced her fingers along his jawline. “Show me what you’re feeling.”

He fought to keep control, but his feelings were too powerful. He tensed. “It’s a lot…it’s…I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. I’m stronger than I look. Show me, Christian. Make love to me,” she whispered, and the warmth of her breath steadied him. He could no longer use words to demonstrate what he felt for her. He kissed her, devouring her mouth as he thrust inside, desperate to be one with her. She bucked her hips, moving beneath him, grinding her pelvis against his—an invitation to give her everything. He pistoned his hips, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her neck. Like a starving man presented with a feast, he made love to her, giving her every ounce of himself. Their bodies, slick from wild exertion, slapped with each thrust. He pulled back slightly, observing her parted lips and sweet moans as he rocked into her. Her chest heaved, her breasts pressed against him, her hands gripping his ass.

“Harder,” she said on a sultry exhale.

He sure as hell wouldn’t deny her.

He roared, thrusting like a beast. The bed creaked. The headboard slammed against the wall. He took every drop of his pain, every moment of pure hell, each clawing thought that had plagued him over the past three months, and let it go, let it evaporate, let it dissolve. With every muscle in his body moving in a rapturous harmony, he gazed at Maggie’s face as her core gripped his cock. She was on the edge, and he was right there with her.

“Maggie,” he rasped, lost to a whirlwind of sweat and lust and a love so all-encompassing that it threatened to swallow him whole.

She cried out as her orgasm took hold. He kissed her, consuming her cries and losing himself in wave after wave of his release, his soul entwining with hers as they clung to each other. The force of his release ebbed, and soon, the only sound was the one of his breath mingling with hers. He eased off her and gathered her into his arms, marveling at how perfectly she fit against him, as though she were crafted just for him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For showing me how you feel, for…loving me.” Her voice trembled, each word fragile, like she was entering unknown territory. There was a vulnerability in the way she spoke the word love , and he had a feeling that, while she might have dated or had boyfriends in the past, none of them had loved her completely and fully. In fact, most probably took advantage of her kindness.

He wouldn’t be one of them.

“You’re mine, Maggie,” he said with a fierce tenderness, his hands gently cradling her face. “And I’m yours. I never want to lose you.”

“Whatever little we know about me, I know one thing for sure,” she said, her fingers tracing his chest over the words tattooed above his heart.

“What do you know?”

She looked up, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Somewhere between waking up in that hospital and getting arrested, my heart started beating for you.”

“And I will always protect it. Always.” His voice was steady and strong. He needed her to understand that he meant it. She was his path, his future. She was what mattered now. “I have an idea,” he said, offering her a wicked grin.

“Do you?” she replied, her eyes now gleaming with desire instead of tears.

He traced the faint line on her abdomen. “We can play find the scars in the tub, and then I’ll make you come against the bathroom wall.”

“You can go again after what we just did?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes wide with surprise.

He kissed a hot trail to her earlobe and lowered his voice to a husky rasp. “Maggie TBD, I’m not even close to being done with you.”