Authors: C.M. Seabrook
Mackenzie
Cold.
That’s what death feels like. Cold. Dark. Lonely.
“Fight, Mackenzie.”
I hear Theo’s voice, demanding I wake up. But as hard as I try, I just keep sinking deeper, drifting further away.
At least the pain has stopped.
“BP’s dropping.”
“She’s crashing.”
“Fight, Mackenzie.”
I’m not a fighter. I never have been. If there’s a choice between running and fighting, I’ll always choose option A.
It’s easier.
Less painful.
But…
Theo
.
Logan
.
I promised I wouldn’t run again.
This isn’t running, it’s dying.
A shock rips through my body, so intense it feels like every muscle convulses at the same time.
Pain. More than I can handle. It holds me in a viselike grip. Too hard, too tight. But at least it’s something. As long as there’s pain, I know I’m alive.
I fight. Harder than I’ve ever fought before. I fight for Theo. For Logan. For our future.
I try to fight it, to break free, but I can’t.
All I can do is keep breathing…
Two months later
Theo
“Daddy, look.” Logan pulls on my leg, and when I don’t immediately comply, she stomps her feet and lets out a loud wail, “Daddy.”
She’s been more demanding lately, but with everything that’s happened, it’s to be expected.
“What do you have?” I crouch down to her level, and she hands me a sheet of paper that looks like a toddler’s version of a Picasso.
“See.” Her face lights up when she points at the squiggly lines. “Daddy, Logan, and Mommy.”
My chest tightens. “It’s beautiful. Can we put it on the fridge?”
She nods, and I use a magnet to place it beside her growing collection of artwork.
I would never have guessed six months ago that this would be my life. Retired MMA fighter, turned full-time dad. It’s good though. I still have the gym, and once everything settles down, I plan on becoming a trainer.
Moody’s shown a lot of potential. I just need to kick his ass into gear. Get him a few fights and see what happens.
But that’s still months away. Right now, I have other things I need to focus on. Like the fact that Logan has decided to draw giant red circles on the coffee table.
“Logan, no.” I grab the crayon from her, and she sticks out her lip. “You color on paper only.”
“Hello?”
“Gamma.” Logan takes off at a run towards the front door.
I breathe a sigh of relief, grab the overnight bag from the chair, and meet them there. I love the kid more than I ever thought possible, but I’m more than thankful for the nights my mom volunteers to watch her.
“Thanks for doing this.”
My mom smiles, snuggling into Logan’s tight hug. “It’s my pleasure. We’re going to have lots of fun, right?”
Logan giggles and nods.
The two of them have gotten extremely close over the past couple of months.
Once they’re gone I go to the bedroom and start packing. It’s the first time in years that I’ve planned a trip to Vegas that didn’t involve fighting.
At least I hope it won’t. I’ll fight if I have to. What I’m about to do is worth it.
I palm the small box in my pocket and take a deep breath.
“What are you doing?”
I turn at the sound of Mac’s voice. She’s standing in the doorway, dark hair brushed up in a messy bun, sweat glistening on her forehead from her run. She’s wearing a dark t-shirt and running shorts that hide the majority of her scars, but there are a few pink, puckered marks that are noticeable on her arms and legs.
She’s self-conscious about them, but to me, she’s never been more beautiful.
Almost losing the person you love will do that to you. Make you see their wounds as evidence of survival, rather than a blemish.
“I’m packing,” I say, pulling out three pairs of her shorts from the dresser, then placing them in the suitcase.
“I can see that. Are you going somewhere?”
“No.
We’re
going somewhere.”
She quirks a brow and crosses her arms. “When?”
“Tonight.”
“What about Logan? The gym. We can’t just leave–”
“Everything’s taken care of.” I cross the room, capturing her in my arms, touching my lips gently to hers. “Our plane leaves in four hours.”
“Four hours?” Her bottom lip pushes out in a pout, so similar to Logan’s, it makes me laugh.
“It’s more than enough time to pack.” I nip at her lip, then lower my mouth to her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. “Enough time for a lot of things.”
She moans when I brush my thumb over her nipple.
“I’m all sweaty.”
“I like you sweaty.” I grin, pulling her shirt and sports bra over her head.
When I start to kiss her stomach, brushing my lips over each of her scars, she tries to stop me.
“Don’t.”
“You’re so beautiful.”
She shakes her head, and there are tears in her eyes.
It’s been over a month since she was released from the hospital, and even though her injuries have healed, I know she’s still battling the ones I can’t see. Stefano and her mother might be dead, but the wounds they left on Mac’s soul are still fresh. It’s okay though. We’re working through them. Day by day, she’s fighting past the fear that has ruled her life for so long.
“I want to see you.” I pick her up, then lay her on the bed, moving between her legs. “Let me see you.”
She relaxes slightly and nods.
Her fingers curl in my hair when I lower my mouth to her breast, sucking and teasing the taut nipple.
“I don’t care about the scars. They’re just proof you’re still here with me.” I kiss her hard, almost desperately as images of her bleeding in my arms make my throat constrict.
I know I need to be gentle, to go slow, but after all the shit we’ve been through, the months of recovery, of police reports and media coverage, I just need to be inside of her. To possess her. To feel her legs wrapped around me and know that she’s mine.
I need that closeness now more than ever.
She feels it too. I can sense it in her kiss. Her hands are in my hair, on my body, pulling at my shirt. “I need you inside of me.”
I groan, shifting my weight onto my arms so that I can look at her.
“Marry me.”
“What?” She blinks.
“Marry me.”
She places her palms on my face, and stares intently with an unreadable expression.
I hold my breath, waiting.
“Yes,” she whispers, sliding her fingers into my hair and pulling my mouth towards hers.
I grin, and let out an exaggerated sigh that makes Mac laugh.
“God, I love you. I can’t live without you.” I nuzzle into her neck, kissing her earlobe. “Ever.”
“You don’t have to. Now make love to me,” she says, her hands skimming under my shirt.
Reaching behind my head, I tug off my shirt, then tear the rest of our clothes off, pushing the half-packed suitcase to the floor.
When I slide inside her, she moans into my mouth.
We devour each other.
What starts out as soft, slow, and steady, soon turns into a hard, fast, frantic rhythm. Each thrust harder than the last.
We both need this. An almost primal claiming.
I hold her thigh, angling her so I can thrust deeper, harder.
This is heaven.
The feel of her.
The smell of her.
The fucking taste of her.
Her.
Mackenzie.
The only girl I’ve loved, ever wanted to love.
She’s flawed. Damaged. But she’s mine.
Forever.
I drive deeper, moaning in pleasure at the feeling of being buried inside of her.
“Theo.” My name on her lips nearly does me in.
Her legs lock around my hips, and she arches wildly against me, her muscles tightening, convulsing as she screams out her orgasm.
I can’t hold back any longer. I bury my cock so deep inside her that I can feel her womb pressing against the tip. My release explodes through me so hard I swear I see stars detonate before my eyes.
I collapse on top of her, unable to move, not willing to let her go.
Still inside of her, I cup her face, my heart full. “I’ll never get enough of you.”
“I’m good with that.” Her smile lights up her eyes.
Satisfaction, relief, joy…emotions I can’t even name wash over me.
She’s mine. Heart and soul.
Together we’ll fight whatever life brings us.
I blow out a heavy breath, rolling and pulling her on top of me, loving the feel of her sweaty skin against mine.
She melts against me, her breathing starting to resume its normal pattern.
We lay there like that for several minutes, both quiet, pensive. I can almost hear her thinking. I don’t push her. She’ll open up when she’s ready.
“I mailed my application to nursing school today,” she says, her voice unable to hide the sliver of insecurity.
“That’s good.” I squeeze her arm, knowing what a big step it is for her.
“I don’t even know if I’ll get in.”
“You will.” I kiss her forehead. “And if you don’t, you’ll just keep trying.”
She nods against my chest.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” She trails her finger over the ink on my arm.
“Vegas.”
She lifts her head to look at me, brown eyes curious. “Vegas?”
“You said
yes
.” I wait for her to understand, and when she doesn’t, I add, “Unless you want a traditional, big, white church wedding?”
It isn’t what I want, but for Mac I’ll do it. Tux and all.
Her mouth parts, eyes widen, then she shakes her head.
“No. Vegas is perfect.”
Tightening my arms around her, I kiss her hard. Happiness exploding in every cell of my body.
“Then let’s go get married.”
About the Author
C.M. Seabrook
is the author of the Amazon bestselling fantasy romance
Cara's Twelve
, as well as the
Therian Agents Paranormal Romance Series
, and co-author of the
Mated by Magic series
.
When she isn't reading or writing sexy stories, she's most likely spending time with her family, cooking, singing, or racing between soccer, hockey and karate practices. She's living her own happily ever after with her husband of fifteen years and their two daughters.
She loves creating new exciting characters - from sexy, bad boy alphas, to the passionate, fiery women who love them.
Canadian born and bred, she started life in Edmonton, Alberta, and now resides in London, Ontario. She attended Western University where she graduated with an Honors degree in Anthropology.
Her guilty pleasures include red wine, pasta, binge watching Starz originals, and hanging out with her rescue pup, Jaxx.
She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached at [email protected]
SIGN UP FOR C.M. Seabrook's NEWSLETTER FOR LATEST NEWS!
eepurl.com/b-dWE9