Winter Miracle Page 29

  “It’s been my one condition. I’ll testify as long as I can keep studying. I couldn’t stay in New York, so here I am a thousand miles away with a new name and nothing of my former life.”

  “Fucking hell.”

  I nod again, laughing a little through the tears. “An accurate description.”

  “When do you testify?”

  “It was supposed to be a month, then two. Now? Who knows?”

  Cayden pulls me into his chest. His heartbeat is the best sound in the world. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, okay?”

  I smile because he’s right. I just said it. I’m a thousand miles away, under protection, and no one else knows except for Cayden and the FBI.

  The relief I feel is palpable, the burden of keeping this to myself finally lifted.

  We stay like that for a long time, silent.

  Cayden makes dinner—two of the finest frozen meals money can buy, canned Coke to wash it down, but I couldn’t care less.

  He takes my hand when we’re done and pulls me upstairs. We start to kiss, moving into the first room we can find — Colton’s, given the lacrosse sticks piled up like a plastic tepee in the corner.

  The kiss becomes mores, our hands groping and moving, the desperation from the both of us all-consuming now there is nothing left to hide.

  I notice Cayden wince when I touch his lower back, but he’s not about to stop.

  A bird coos outside.

  We’re so caught up in each other we don’t notice the snap downstairs as the front door opens, the whine of it opening wide.

  A light flickers on, a golden glow moving down the hallway. Voices mingle in the stairwell, meeting at the roof. I don’t recognize them.

  I read the look on Cayden’s face. Oh, shit.

  The voices are moving upstairs now, language loose from inebriation.

  “Nice place. I wonder what happened to the mirror?” says a female. “And these guys are from your football team?”

  “Yeah,” comes the voice. “The Becketts. Fucking ballers.”

  Laughing follows, from both parties. They’re drunk alright.

  They’re moving down the hall, almost at the door to Colton’s room.

  Cayden grips my wrist. He pulls me towards the closet, sliding open the mirrored door. It’s less than a couple of feet deep inside. Chest to chest, we fall in, pressed up against one another amongst clothes and shoes. The last thing I see before Cayden slides the door closed fully is his eyes, alert but calm, always calculating the situation.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper. “Who is it?”

  “A guy from the team.”

  “He has a key?”

  “They all have keys,” Cayden whispers back. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you can’t exactly take a girl back to your dorm room around here.”

  “So you’re providing a public service, like a hotel?”

  “Something like that.”

  “It’s your house. Why are we hiding?”

  I see Cayden smiling. He shrugs. “Let’s see what they do.”

  Right on cue, the guy and his mystery girl swing into the room.

  They’re kissing. I can hear them, close to the closet. The lights remain off, but their shadows dance together behind the closet door. Cayden’s arms are by his side, his breathing steady. I remain still in front of him, can’t even comprehend how we’re going to explain our way out of this one if we’re busted.

  You said it yourself. It’s Cayden house. He’ll just kick them out.

  I’ve never been much of a voyeur, but the idea is intriguing.

  He places his hands on my shoulders and moves a finger over my mouth,

  The sound of bodies impacting a bed permeates the room. They break apart, breathless. “You want to do it right here, on one of their beds?” asks the male.

  “You’d prefer the kitchen table?” the girl laughs.

  Clothes scamper across the floor. It seems endless, their foreplay, the air in the closet quite the opposite, already hot.

  There are ‘mmm’s and ‘ahhhs’ trapped in that cave of mouths outside. There’s a slap of flesh, a laugh, a thud on the floor followed by a long ‘oooohhhhh, that feels so fucking good’ as the inevitable happens.

  Their bodies come together, wet.

  Unbelievably, I can feel Cayden getting hard between us. Right now? I think, and I swear he’s smiling in the dark.

  Strange as it is, I’m a touch turned on myself. Sometimes I’d masturbate listening to the couple next door back in New York, pretending I was the lucky girl on the other side of the wall who could come over and over.

  And now you are.

  Cayden pushes a coat aside, his other hand exploring, reaching through the darkness for my face, climbing up my cheekbones, an exploratory finger hooking into the side of my mouth.

  My need overtakes my fear.

  I press up against him, my waist rotating around his dick, the action stifled by the lack of space.

  “I’m going to come all over your stupid fucking face, you hear me?” comes the female’s voice.

  Both Cayden and I stifle laughter.

  “Yeah, fuck me,” the male’s saying, his words slurred. I bet he thinks he sounds real sexy, but from in here’s it’s pure cheese.

  Still, I’m wet thinking about them.

  It’s too much, the energy outside, the bodies copulating just feet away, sexual energy rising.

  Cayden holds my jaw in one hand and with the other reaches down under my skirt. He pulls at the lace, one side and then the other, my panties slipping down my thighs, catching in the center, stuck to my sex. I push my legs apart and they fall softly to the floor, a damp bundle.

  God knows why, but I spread my legs wider, pressing my elbows tight into my body so as not to bump the door.

  With a bundled hand he lifts my skirt up until I can feel his cock against the soft mound of my pussy.

  Cayden takes a finger and runs it up my leg. It climbs up the delicate skin there, the inner leg he’s been so privy to of late. The digit tickles my labia, an unbearable flicker, before it dips inwards.

  I can’t help it. My mouth opens involuntarily, but it is soon cupped by Cayden’s hand, a cage of fingers to keep the sound in.

  “Yes, your cock’s so fucking good. It’s making me so fucking wet.” The girl outside screams as Cayden makes contact, a finger sinking slowly inside me.

  “Fuck my pussy! Yes, yes,” come the cries.

  Cayden adds a second finger. The sensation is exquisite. I bite down on his shoulder. The mix of fear and pleasure is too much, their proximity too close, too heightened in this situation.

  Cayden removes his fingers from my sex. He takes them in his mouth, rolling his tongue over them, savoring the salty arousal of my pussy.

  He takes my mouth and I can taste myself, him, all at once. My loins respond, a pulsing ball of need building in my core.

  Slap. Slap. Slap.

  A pause outside.

  “Ahhhhhhh, fuck. You’re so fucking hot.”

  Their breathing is getting heavy, labored with the effort, but they continue. The bed rocks and creaks, shaking itself to pieces. The male stops speaking.

  The bed stops crying out.

  Cayden’s fingers pause inside me.

  Their shadows move. Suddenly, something slams into the closet, the door buckling. The voices are right there, only a mirrored door separating us.

  “Oh, oh, oh,” the female moans.

  It’s so visceral, so close I feel I could reach through the closet door and touch skin, the sweat on the guy’s back, his buttocks as they flex into her, over and over and over again. The door buckles inwards and they’re on the bed again. The slapping changes timbre.

  “You’re so fucking tight,” says the male.

  “I love your big, Trojan cock inside me,” comes the response.

  Cayden’s lips depart mine. He strokes my cheek, the dampness under my armpit, moving his hand over my arm and lifting it
until it’s high above my head. I grip onto something there, a railing. He takes my free hand and brings it to meet the other. It’s crazy, insane, but I know what to do.

  I brace my legs against his thighs and kicks upwards carefully, pulling myself up on the railing so my feet leave the ground, fighting through suits, shirts, my face curtained by them.

  When I’m high enough, the side of my cheeks against the cold metal, a clothes hangar at my back, I feel his hands gripping me under my legs, holding me in position. The pressure on my hands relaxes. I no longer have to hold my weight, kneeling above him like this, air on my open sex, exposed.

  Cayden moves his left hand until it cradles my ass and lets go with the other so I’m suspended there in the cradle of his arm.

  I hear his belt unclasp, the zipper moving down against the din of sex outside, the constant moaning and screams as the guy and the girl fuck each other senseless.

  Cayden’s pants fall to the floor. I lower myself just enough to feel the tip of his cock part my folds, sliding minutely in and out with my breathing, the sweat, my moisture, his moisture, all falling together down my legs and the shaft of his cock.

  But I’m not ready.

  Not yet.

  I hook my entire arm over the railing above, my legs over his shoulders and, in one motion, leverage my body up until my pussy is in his face, smothering it, my legs wrapped around his head, trapping out the sound of anything else, forcing him to focus on my wet sex.

  Cayden responds with his tongue, his nose tapping at my clit as he presses in.

  “Keep going. I’m getting close,” the girl pants, my own arousal rising in unison.

  I pull away from Cayden’s face, letting my body fall completely into his hands, his cock swallowed up inside me. He holds a full ass cheek in each hand, squeezing them like pillows as his cock slips back and forth, completely out, then in, our actions seemingly silent against the building crescendo of ‘fuck,’ ‘oh,’ and ‘baby’ outside.

  Cayden forces his face to the side, burying it in whatever dress or article of clothing is there to stifle his voice, the guttural sounds that seem to stem from deep within his throat, emanating from his very groin.

  “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she’s rambling outside, over and over, stuck in a loop, a pre-climax mantra.

  Cayden’s hands are slick. They begin to slip on the smooth exterior of my ass. I oscillate against him, my mouth limp.

  A renegade finger works its way into the crack of my ass, separating my buttocks and perilously close to my exposed anus. He presses at the hot indent there with the tip of a finger, playing at the edges before slowly working his way inside.

  He applies pressure, half a finger disappearing inside my most taboo place.

  It’s too much.

  I lose control, moaning into his ear. He’s forced to push me back into the clothes at the rear of the closet to shut me up. More pressure and I’ve taken the finger completely.

  “I’m going to come. I’m going to come,” pants the girl.

  The guy responds with something unintelligible.

  There’s a clattering. Something is knocked to the floor. My movements regroup, my intensity unmoved as a disturbing tightness pulls at my core, that wonderful precursor to orgasm.

  A tie flutters in Cayden’s face as he strokes into me, a shadowy visage.

  The closet door has slid open slightly and in this sliver of space I see them, their bare bodies glossy blue in the darkness, a sheen of sweat over both. The girl’s cherry hair is splayed across the bed and her legs are wide, that perverted vortex between them filled with his thrusting organ.

  The girl’s holding her breasts. “I’m going to come,” she screams, and then her head is back, her belly pushed to the ceiling unnaturally. Her cries echo through the entire house as I keep pressing down on Cayden in the closet, his cock pounding into me, hands slippery on the underside of my ass.

  He fucks me harder. I gasp, loud enough to be heard. My pussy begins to pulse in rhythm with his strokes, squeezing his cock. The finger in my ass slides out to the first knuckle before pressing in again, the sensation of his cock filling me too much to handle.

  “I’m going to come,” and this time it’s the male, pulling his cock free, kneeling over her as he releases. He slumps beside her, his cock spent.

  Cayden grunts, finding his own release, his cock pumping deep inside me, his finger still buried in my ass.

  I can’t stave it off any longer. I come, biting into Cayden’s shoulder hard as my orgasm lights every nerve in my body at once.

  We remain silent, even as I continue to shudder and jerk with the aftershocks of my climax. I allow air to rush back into my lungs, my head awash with pinpricks of light. I’ve never come so hard in my life, my very soul shattered and then reassembled before my eyes.

  I look past the slit in the door, see the couple still trying to recover their breath, the male’s cock flaccid.

  I slide off Cayden’s, feeling the slick heat of it against my legs.

  It’s far from flaccid.

  Now what? I think.

  Thankfully, it’s not long before the wayward couple stands and dresses, moving boisterously back down the stairs.

  The front door closing marks their exit.

  Cayden slides the closet door open. I stumble out and collapse onto the bed, completely wasted, the lingering smell of sex still in the air.

  Cayden’s shaking his head. “Well, I can’t say I’ve done that before.”

  I sit up. “You were turned on by your own teammate, weren’t you?” I tease. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  He jumps onto the bed beside me. “You had everything to do with it. In fact, I was tempted to slide that door open and show them how it’s done.”

  “A bit of friendly team rivalry?”

  Cayden sniggers, shaking his head. “I mean, you did see the size of the poor guy’s cock, right? I’ve seen fruit bats with bigger dicks.”

  I pout. “I don’t know. It looked proportionate if you ask me.”

  He kisses me, pushing me back onto the covers still warm from our guests. “Oh, I’ll show you proportionate.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CAYDEN

  I’m up before the sun rises. It’s nothing new. Three days out of five I’m on the field by now, the dew still beaded under my boots, the air calm and quiet.

  But it’s the weekend. Even Coach can’t touch that.

  I look across at Indy. She lies face down, a small smile on her face. I let my fingers hover over the scars on her shoulder. If I had known…

  I hold my side, still tender from the beating Dwayne and his crew delivered me, but they’re going to get what’s coming to them.

  It’s crazy. Everything is crazy. Hunter’s in the hospital. Colton’s been expelled. I’m fucking adopted. And Indy? To think of what she’s been through. It’s not over for her. She’s simply trying to get on with her life as best she can. She didn’t have to tell me anything — she probably shouldn’t have — but I’m glad she did, so I too can bear a small part of that pain, her burden.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I whisper to her, brushing a loose strand of hair back over her ear, amazed by the symmetry, the delicacy of it.

  Perfect.

  I head downstairs expecting to be greeted by at least Colton, but I’m alone. There are over thirty missed calls and texts on my phone, everyone from Coach to Colton himself. I go to dial my brother back, but move my thumb from the screen at the last moment realizing I don’t know what the hell to say. ‘Oh, hey, it’s your fake brother here. Sorry I can’t help Hunter.’

  I’m angry. I won’t deny it. Being a Beckett is my identity. It is who I am. What am I without it?

  You’re the same. You know that.

  I think about my birth parents, consider why they would give me up, abandon me to…

  It could have been worse.

  I might track them down in time, but I’ve got bigger things to worry about at the
moment.

  I call the hospital direct.

  “I’m sorry,” says the nurse. “I can only provide that information to direct family.”

  “I’m his brother,” I reply, “Cayden Beckett.” The name and connection seem oddly alien now.

  “One moment.”

  A voice. “Fucker.”

  It’s Colton.

  I rub my forehead. “I’m not in the mood, Colton. Is the doctor there?”

  Colton the prankster departs. “Look, Cay, I understand why you left. That was fucking heavy what we dropped on you, and I’m sorry you had to find out that way, I really am, but you have to push it aside. Hunter needs you. He needs his brothers. Dad sure as fuck isn’t going to be appearing anytime soon.”

  “You’ve been with him this whole time?”

  “I wasn’t going to leave him here alone, was I? And he’s cut up, bro, really cut up about what happened. Do you think that’s fair? He’s the one with the shitty blood disease and you won’t even see him?”

  Colton’s right, of course, but I can’t bring myself to capitulate. “I’ve got to deal with this in my own way.”

  “By running? Forget it. Man up.”

  “I can’t. It’s a big deal.”

  “No, brother, it’s not. So what we don’t share the same blood. Who fucking cares? We grew up together. You bashed Tim Scott in sixth grade because he took my Transformer. You taught me how to pick up girls, how to smoke my first joint.”

  I smile at the memory. “We almost burnt the house down.”

  “The maid had a fucking fit when she found out.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Adria—tits like melons.”

  “I remember.”

  “So why does it matter?” he continues. “We have something better than blood, a real bond. We’re the fucking Beckett brothers, Cay. Forget Dad, Mom, all that bullshit and focus on your real family.”

  I can’t believe my baby brother is speaking sense right now. “Is this really Colton Beckett? Because he sounds oddly coherent.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck you too,” I reply with affection. “So, Hunter. How is he?”

  “He’ll live. I’m going ahead with this transplant thing. They’re about to start the tests.”