Once Upon A Half-Time 1(99)

I took him in my mouth, grinning as he throbbed against my tongue.

Lachlan bucked his hips. “Yeah…made me wanna go deep.”

“All the way?”

Lachlan sucked hard against me. “Fuck me, Red.”

“That’s not a cliché—”

The game was over. He shifted under me, but I didn’t let him up. Not with those bruises, and not when I still had so much to offer him.

I straddled him, touching his chest, his cheek, his lips. He kissed my fingertips, but not another word needed to be said.

We could tease all we wanted, be as dirty as we liked, but this moment was something serious, consecrating.

I pumped him in my hand and took a breath. He held me as I guided that hard cock inside me.

We both groaned. I slid down his pulsing shaft, and I shuddered as our bodies met.

Together.

I had no idea how perfect it could feel.

His hands brushed my curves, settling at my waist. I loved his touch. His gaze. The way he smiled, as if he were simply amazed by me.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“Forever?”

I raised my hand, showing him the wedding band. “Just try to take it off me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. It was hell getting it on there.”

“Well, now you have me.” I bumped my hips. “What do you want to do to me?”

“Get married…” He shrugged. “Already did that.”

I smirked. “Make a baby…whoops.”

“Have a happily-ever-after?”

I grinned. “I don’t believe in fairy-tales.”

“Better start. This one belongs to you.”

I trembled as he hit the perfect spot inside me.

The perfect husband. The perfect life.

A perfect family.

I ground against him, bouncing little by little against that thickness until my eyes closed, lips parted, and my heart raced my desire to see which would burst first.

Lachlan’s held me—not crushing me against him, not forcing me faster or slower, harder or softer, deeper or shallower. He caressed me. Touched me. Cradled me near and dropped his hand to my tummy, still flat and secret.

As much as I had wanted to prove my love to him, it wasn’t necessary. Every beat of my heart, every grace of my fingertips, every shuddered thrill that warmed my core was my love for him.

No words. No promises. No declarations.

Just us.

Connected.

Sharing a bond that seemed so impossible but strengthened with every whisper, every touch, every quiet whimper that forged our own once upon a time.

I gripped him hard, struggling as we both tensed and shifted, shuddered and moaned. A sharp, beautiful, and undeniable pleasure surged through me. The first jet of heat struck me deep.

I blinked through tears as he pulled me close. The shudders crippled me, and the only word I could breathe, say, think, feel was his name.

Another promise he had made.

And one that would come true again and again.

I slipped from him, curling against his body.

But I knew Lachlan. He wasn’t done, not yet, not even after a full game and explosion of lust and desire and love. He curled my legs over his waist and returned to me, hard, fast, and stealing a kiss.

“It might get a little rough,” he warned.

“You…or life?”

He shrugged, slipping within me once again. “Both.”

I teased him with a touch to his lips. “It doesn’t seem that bad with a husband at my side.”

“And I’ve got a wife and baby to spoil.”

“You know what?” I smiled. “I think we’re gonna be just fine, Charming.”





Lachlan’s Epilogue





I followed Jack to the sidelines after the time-out. We both stared at the clock.

Third down. Five minutes remaining. Ten points behind. Stuck on the Tigers’ thirty-yard line.

“Give it to me, Jack.”

I didn’t take a drink or a breather, and I forgot the last unsuccessful play. My bruises and pain faded. I shouted at my quarterback for the ball, and I didn’t care if half the stadium heard me.

“Give it to me.”

Jack glanced to our offensive coordinator. He’d been running the team while Coach Thompson took a four game suspension for his involvement in the scandal. He left the decision to our quarterback.

“You want it?” Jack asked.

“You fucking know I do.”

“Think you can handle it, rookie?” He grinned. “You ready for it?”

“Fucking. Give. It. To. Me.”

He tossed the playbook to the coordinator and jogged with me to the huddle.

“Your ass better be wide fucking open,” he said.

“And we shouldn’t tell our wives about this conversation.”

“Get my touchdown, we got a deal.”