Fall with Me (Playing for Keeps, #4)

by Becka Mack

For those who think they’re better off alone, that they’re not worthy of the love they crave, because they’ve dealt with the pain of people leaving. The power to let them win or rise above it with your head held high is yours and yours alone. The only person who needs to think you’re worth it is you.

“I said they were hideous; I didn’t tell you to take them off. Wear whatever the fuck you want.”

“Ditch the fucking ring,” he whispers against my lips, and the second that platinum band princess cut diamond is skipping over the ceramic tiles, his mouth is on mine.

“I’m gonna fuck you the way a bride deserves to be fucked on her honeymoon, and when I’m done, you’re going to thank me and ask for more.” He whips his belt free from his shorts. “Got it?” I swallow. “Got it.” “Good girl. Now take off those panties and show me how badly your pussy wants my cock, honey.”

“If you were my bride, I’d fuck you like you were my lifeline. I’d eat your pussy like it was my last meal, and I’d drive myself inside you over and over again, like you were the only place I’d find my salvation.”

“If you were my bride, Lennon, I’d have spent the week worshiping you. We’ve missed a few days, but that’s okay. I’m gonna worship you now, and I’ll do it until you can’t remember your own name. Do you want that, honey? You wanna be worshiped?”

She drags her thumb across my lower lip. “It’s cute you think your cock holds that much power.” My head drops, a dark chuckle shaking my shoulders. Pressing my palm against the base of her throat, I tell her lowly, “I’d give you the chance to take that back, one last opportunity for soft and slow, maybe even a little sweet.” I nip her lower lip. “But I’m afraid I’m all out of those.”

“I love lots of things. Like pussy. I love pussy.” She smiles wider. “You’ve made it quite obvious it’s your favorite meal.” “I was talking about my cat.”

She giggles, lifting herself off me, sinking slowly. “You wanna come?” “Fuck, I wanna explode.”

One thing about me? I’m gonna serenade my cat every chance I get so he knows how much I love him.

“Silly kitty, chunky kitty, I kiss your tiny nose. Fluffy kitty, handsome kitty, I love your extra toes.”

A body connects with mine from behind, shoving me into Adam. Carter Beckett, our captain, spins with flourish, and for the hundredth time I wonder if he was really meant to be a figure skater, not the leading goal-scorer in the NHL.

“Lennon,” I whisper, the contents of my plate falling to my feet.

“I knew it!” Cara screeches. “Jaxon’s the sixty-nine king, isn’t he? That man looks like his only dream in this life is to go out suffocated by a pussy sitting on his face.”

Maybe that’ll take this edge off, the jagged one that’s been a thorn in my side ever since Lennon Hayes strolled into my arena with her perfect fucking curls and her perfect fucking tits, just to open her perfect fucking mouth and act like she was going to vomit at the sight of me.

They’re exactly how I remember them. Deep and rich, cinnamon and spice. Intoxicating then, fucking intoxicating now.

Lennon’s jaw tightens, nostrils flaring. She clears her throat. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Jason, was it?” My mouth dips to her ear. “You and I both know you know what my name is. Your throat was raw from screaming it all night.”

“You’ll probably just be a lonely old cat man for the rest of your life.”

Jaxon Riley is the reason I’m still breathing, and I don’t know how to face him.

That must be why I snarl out, “Yes, Dad.” “You can call me Daddy, honey. My only stipulation is that I’m buried eight inches inside you while you do it.”

“Do you have any tattoos the pictures don’t show?” “Yeah, actually, he does.” The doors pop open, and I grab Jaxon’s wrist, yanking him forward, pushing him out ahead of me. “He’s got an arrow pointing to his giant cock, and I traced it with my tongue before he fucked my throat.”

“You jealous, honey?” “As fucking if. It’s rude as fuck to flirt with you when you’re with someone else. I could’ve been your girlfriend for all she knew.” “I’ve never found jealousy hot, but I gotta tell ya, honey, I’ve got half a mind to yank down those leather pants, bend you over the hood of my car, and remind us both how good it feels to have that tight little cunt strangling my cock.” “Jaxon!” I spin around, crashing into his chest, because for someone reason he’s right behind me. “Stop saying that word!” “Cock?” My eyes dart around the garage before I whisper, “Cunt.” “Hmm . . .” His lower lip slides beneath his teeth as he thinks. “Nah, don’t think I will. Filthy word for my filthy girl.”

“Oh, you’re so handsome, aren’t you? Yes, you are. You’re Lennon’s handsome boy.” “He’s Daddy’s handsome boy,” Jaxon argues, reaching for him. The cat smacks his hand away, hissing, then nuzzles his head into the crook of my elbow. “You little shit. I gave you a home!”

My brows jump. “Sorry, what?” “I sleep naked.” “Yeah, I got that. Back up for me real quick. Did you just call your dick Magic Mike?” Jaxon smiles, running a palm down his proud chest. “Yeah.” “Uh huh, and”—I pop my chin on my fist—“why have you done that?” “’Cause he likes to dance, Len, and he’s magical and incredible, like a mythical creature. You know that, honey.”

And when he’s done tossing his peanut and tree nut products? He opens the cupboard beneath his sink, pulls out a disinfectant, and wipes down the inside of his fridge, the countertops, and every single handle in his kitchen.

“What are you doing?” “Hugging you. That’s what the girls said to do.” “What?” “I texted the girls. They said you probably needed a hug, so I’m hugging you.”

Huh. My memories didn’t do Magic Mike justice. Was he always that big? That veiny? That angry purple head looks desperate for release, and my vagina screams We could take care of that! at my brain, which sends a signal to my legs to walk themselves over to him and spread myself wide.

Jaxon doesn’t need to know I was only crying because I had just realized—knee-deep in Red (Taylor’s Version)—that Taylor Swift will, one day, stop making music, and I’ll no longer have a soundtrack to my life.

“Oh my God,” I murmur, running a hand over my mouth. “You are so fucking weird. Why do I like it so much?”

I pick up the small green book, and something thick and foreign settles in my throat, something I can’t swallow down as I read the words scrawled over the cover. Lennon’s Guide to Making Coffee The tightness in my throat expands to my chest, pulling it taut as I flip through the pages, directions on how to use the machine, recipes for different drinks. He’s even added a section that tells me which cereal pairs best with each drink.

“You made me an instruction manual,” I whisper, and goddammit, there goes my chin. “Oh. Yeah. That. I mean . . .”

“It’s not a big deal. You didn’t know how to use it.” “There are recipes.” “Yeah.” “And cereal pairings.” Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. Not the tears. Hey, God? Are you there? It’s me, Lennon. “’Cause you like to eat cereal when you have your morning coffee,” he mutters, and oh my fucking God, is Jaxon Riley blushing right now? “You made me an instruction manual,”

“Hey, tidbit.” He kicks off his boots, drops his gym bag to the floor, a grocery bag to the counter. “I didn’t get you Timbits because they’re not tree-nut-safe. I got you these instead.” He opens the grocery bag, pulling out two boxes of cereal with tiny Timbits on them. I pick up the boxes, my heart pattering as I read the names. Timbits Birthday Cake and Timbits Chocolate Glazed. “They’re nut-free,” he says, and fucking shit, there goes my goddamn chin again.

sprawl out next to her, poking her thigh with my toes, because I want attention and I have none.

“Lennon?” He pauses in his door, right before I can shut mine. “I think you’re funny and cool and you’re definitely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my entire life. You’re also strong and brave, and nobody is worth you feeling worthless.”

I think that’s the thing about power. You have to consciously decide you want it. That you want to feel it coursing through your veins as you take control of your life, your destiny. And you have to go after it. Because this life is mine. The decisions I make are mine. I get to decide the way this life plays out. I get to decide what I want and how I chase it.

A rough palm skates up my throat, gripping my jaw, tilting my face to his. “What do you want, honey?” “You.” He licks the corner of his mouth, right where a grin is starting. “’Bout fuckin’ time” is all he murmurs before his mouth collides with mine.

“You can be as vague or detailed as you like. Tell it to me in a few words or a lot of words. I don’t care, honey, just say it. And when you’re done, I’ll treat you the way he didn’t. Give you what he wouldn’t. Fuck you the way he couldn’t.”

“Astrophotography. A perfect life is one where I spend the rest of it stargazing.

“It’s doing something bad to me, honey.” “What?” “Makin’ my brain scream mine.”

It’s not until I hear the door close that my hand is finally able to find my hair, except it’s not my hair at all. It’s my silk wrap. Jaxon wrapped my hair before bed.

“It’s Britney, bitch,” Carter says simply, rolling his eyes when I only blink at him. He throws his arms out. “We’re the bitches.” “Wanna hear our tagline?” Garrett asks. “I really don’t.” “‘Oops, I did it again’.”

Yeah, she’s happier. So much fucking happier than when I found her in Cabo. The scary part? I’m happier too.

Slowly, I pull it over my head. It’s one of those huge hoodies, super oversized, and when I look down, I find the giant front pocket that opens at the top. My jaw drops in slow motion. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Len, is this one of those⁠—” “Cat sweaters!” she shrieks, picking up Mittens again, shoving him in the pocket of my new favorite hoodie. “Now you can bring him everywhere!”

I definitely don’t have her naked and on the kitchen counter in thirty seconds flat. And I definitely don’t spend the rest of the night fucking my roommate on Valentine’s Day. And I most definitely do not come all over her pussy four times before the night is over. I also come in her mouth, on her tits, and all over her perfect ass. Oops. Happy Valentine’s Day.

“Are you monitoring the Instagram page?” He looks away. “I always look to see what you post. You’re funny.” Those last two words are a whisper that makes my brows jump. “What was that?” I touch my ear. “Can you repeat it?” Narrowed hazel eyes come to mine. “I said you’re annoying.”

“Jaxon.” I look at him through my camera lens. “Keep your fists to yourself. Don’t need you complaining all night about another split lip.” All that irritation fizzles. He grins, a beautiful, lopsided sight. “But your pussy is the perfect balm when you come all over my face.” He winks, and I capture the moment forever.

Yeah, I’m not even gonna lie: my panties are straight-up wet. It’s just . . . too much. The ego, the arrogance, the violence, the goal, the pride, and the filthy fucking mouth. A girl can only handle so much, and my line in the sand was washed away a long time ago.

“Come on, honey. I always feel better when you’re on your knees.”

And did I choose my sweater because it’s the same color as Lennon’s? No, but also, yes.