Page 121 of Branded
“I have more to my speech.”
My lips turned up. “I have no doubt that it was about to turn dirty.”
Dancing brown eyes. “How did you know?”
A shake of my head, a brush of my lips to his. “Because, more than anything else, more than anyone else, my heart has always known yours.”
Then as Eve turned into morning, as the man I loved with everything inside me slid the ring down my finger, Smitty gave me the rest.
It was dirty.
So dirty that it led to fucking—quiet fucking, but still with our bodies coming together and my heart racing, my lungs sawing.
But it ended with me soaring, Smitty’s arms around me.
And that meant it was perfect.
Thank you for reading! I hope you loved meeting Smitty and Kailey as much as I did! But Smitty’s story doesn’t end with the Breakers hockey team! If you want even more big, bearded hockey players who fall hard and fast for the women they love and get your Smitty fix, pick up book one in the Grizzlies Hockey series, MARRIED TO NUMBER TWENTY-TWO. I signed the contract. I just didn't expect her to show up ten years later, ready to cash it in.
CLICK HERE TO READ MARRIED TO NUMBER TWENTY-TWO NOW>
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Read on for a sneak peek below!
Aiden
I wake up to a heavy knock on my condo’s front door and glare blearily at my phone in the charger.
“Two in the fucking morning,” I mutter, grabbing a pillow and clamping it over my ears. “It’s two o’clock in the morning on my fucking birthday, and I have to deal with this shit.”
This shit being my neighbors.
It’s not the first time they’ve pounded drunk on my door, desperate for their roommate to let them in to what they think is their apartment.
This was sort of funny the first time.
I remember those days, drinking too much, being dumb.
But after the second and the third—where I gained status into the inner circle and a code to the keypad to their apartment door—it was no longer cute.
Now, six months later and countless times of bailing them out, I’m so not in the mood.
Especially when it’s my fucking birthday.
The knocking cuts off and I think—pray—that they’ve gotten the hint.
But it’s approximately two seconds later when it starts up again.
I glance at my phone again, see that really five minutes have passed, making it two-seventeen and officially my birthday.
Some present.
I could try to ignore it—but that just means extending the torture. Sighing, I toss back the blankets and stomp to my apartment door, whipping it open to reveal a slender brunette on my doorstep.
“Ho, mama,” she says, gaze taking a slow perusal down my body.
“Who the fuck are you?”
