Page 62 of Shot Through the Heart

“Where are you going for breakfast?” Stella asks breathlessly.

I lie down on my stomach between her spread thighs and lick my lips at the sight of her pussy.

“I’m already there,” I tell her. Not giving her a second to respond, my tongue darts out to taste her. Stella gasps, her hands clutching the sheets, and I dive in.

My tongue thrusts into her dripping entrance, desperate for more of her. Her moans fuel me on, going straight to my painfully hard cock, but I ignore it. All I want is to feast on her, to draw out those beautiful noises I love so much and feel her fall apart on my tongue.

If I could wake up and be between her thighs every morning, I’d be the happiest man alive.

Stella’s fingers tangle into my hair and she holds me in place as if I’d even consider moving. I wrap a hand under one of her legs and twine it around her hip to hold her down. Using my other hand, I find her clit and start massaging in circles over the sensitive bud. I fuck her with my tongue, loving the way she shakes above me and pants my name.

Her nails bite into my skull. I pick up my pace.

She tries to say something, but her words are cut off by her orgasm. Stella comes and I catch every drop of her release, slowing my movements as she rides through her orgasm. When she finally releases my hair and relaxes back into the mattress, I kiss the inside of her thigh before letting it go.

Stella looks down at me, a tired smile stretching across her face. Crawling up the length of her body, I hover above her and grin.

“Absolute best game day breakfast.”

She laughs, reaching out to pull me in for a kiss.

“I’m sure we can arrange that for most game days.”

The not-so-quiet giggles coming from the stairs pull my attention from the dishes I’m loading in the dishwasher. I can’t quite make out what either of them is saying, but it’s easy to tell that the girls are scheming.

By the time Stella and I made it out of bed this morning, Harper was just waking up. We spent the morning at the park down the street before needing to come back for lunch. The rest of the early afternoon was spent explaining to Harper why she couldn’t go to the arena four hours early. When Stella finally told her they could get ready, I thought Harper was going to jump out of her skin from excitement.

They went upstairs almost an hour ago to get ready for the game and I’ve been keeping busy with anything I can get my hands on. From tidying up some of Harper’s toys, switching the loads of laundry, and now dishes. Nothing seems to fully help calm the nerves for tonight’s game.

It’s not the actual match itself that has me on edge. Tonight is the first time Stella will be at one without a contract forcing her to be there. This time, she’s coming because she wants to. And she’s bringing Harper.

Stella told me that Harper had so much fun watching me on TV and that she’s been begging for Stella to bring her to a game. Neither of us thinks she actually understands what’s going on, but if she’s having a good time, I will make sure she has a seat at every game she wants to see.

“Daddy, close your eyes!” Harper yells out and I smile.

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to her calling me that. Each time she does, my heart malfunctions and misses a beat.

Turning the water off, I dry my hands on a dish rag and do as I’m told.

“Okay, they’re closed,” I call out. Turning my back to the sink, I place a hand on the counter and use it to guide me to the end so I’m facing the living room.

“No peeking!” Harper warns.

“I wouldn’t dare,” I promise, squeezing my eyes tighter to prove my point.

I listen as Harper directs Stella on where to stand and something about Marshmallow needing to see too.

“Okay, open!” Harper finally says and when I spot them, I’m pretty sure my heart works its way to my throat.

They’re both facing away from me, Harper looking over her shoulder with a cheesy grin. They both have their hair pulled back in matching braids with gold ribbons woven into them, but that’s not what holds my attention. It feels as if I’m stuck in this moment, staring at the matching red-and-gold jerseys they both have on. The number seventeen and my last name are spread across their backs.

My jersey.

“Mama got them,” Harper explains. She grabs Stella’s arm and pulls her closer while pointing at my number. “It’s you!”

It’s an effort to swallow back the emotions that bubble up.

I bend down, scooping Harper up and reveling in the laughter that follows before facing Stella.

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