Page 119 of From Maybe to Baby

“Oh . . . God!” she moans. “Fuck!”

Just when I think she’s done, another wave sweeps over her and she comes again, over and over, and when she finally climbs off my dick, she drops down next to me, sweaty and exhausted.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “I won’t leave you unsatisfied. I have a special surprise.”

A minute later, she crosses the bedroom to the kitchen, where the refrigerator opens. When she returns, she takes me into her mouth, her lips and tongue freezing cold from the ice cubes in her mouth. I have to say, I’ve never had the desire for ice on my dick, but it feels kind of wild, and I go with it.

She works my dick steadily, her tongue working my cock and balls. The ice quickly melts and her mouth goes from cold to just cool, then slowly warms back up to normal. The sensation is pretty fucking sexy.

With little warning, I explode again, this time down her throat. “Baby,” I howl. “Goddamn.”

Afterward, we’re tangled together in the dark, her hair spilling over my arm, her breath warm against my chest. I should say something, but the words stick in my throat. I’m not good at this—at feelings, at naming what’s there.

But I don’t need to. She’s here. That’s all I need.

Her fingers trace lazy circles on my ribs, and for the first time in a long time, life feels still. Steady. I can breathe again.

"Miss me when I was away?" she teases.

I smirk, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You have no idea."

She laughs, and it’s the kind of sound that makes everything worth it.

Yeah, she’s back. And this time, I’m not letting her go.

19

ALEXA

Turnsout managing an NHL family's schedule isn't that different from coordinating luxury travel itineraries. It's all about planning and being ready to adapt when things go sideways. Because something always does. Like when the playoff schedule collides with writing deadlines and two kids' worth of activities.

My color-coded calendar would make Ryan proud, if he wasn't too busy counting the viral hits on my new blog.Freshly Minted, Family Editionis becoming quite the thing in travel writing. Turns out people love reading about five-star hotels through the eyes of someone trying to smuggle kiddie snacks past a snooty maître d’ while maintaining professional dignity.

"Your numbers are insane," Ryan tells me during our weekly call. "That series about finding romance in family life? The one where you compared power plays to date nights? Traffic broke our servers."

"Very professional content."

"The most professional," he agrees. "Though maybe ease up on the hockey metaphors. We get it—you're dating a player."

"Living with," I correct. "Very professionally."

The major travel magazines that used to have me review luxury spas are now requesting pieces about family-friendly resorts. My Instagram following has exploded, though now it's more parents looking for real travel advice than influencers seeking perfect photo ops. It’s all good.

Jonas finds it hilarious that I'm becoming something of a parenting guru, given my former stance against family-friendly anything. Actually, everyone who knows me finds it hilarious. I kind of do too.

"That's exactly why they like it," Ryan explains. "You’re real. Messy. Learning. It's relatable."

The kitchen's become my new testing ground. Instead of reviewing French cuisine, I'm trying my best to learn to cook it. The kids are surprisingly hands-on and are actually sometimes helpful. I figure together, we're creating some kind of fusion cuisine that probably has French chefs rolling in their graves.

Jonas finds us experimenting with crepes one night. He leans against the doorway in his post-game suit, looking unfairly attractive and sweet-smelling for someone who just played three periods of professional hockey.

"Oooh, looks like we might have some budding chefs. Or at least food critics,” he says.

"Professional education."

"Of course." He grabs a piece of baguette. "Though I'm pretty sure traditional crepes are not shaped like dinosaurs."

"Innovation in journalism."

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