Chapter 23

Mazzy

Iwait for Foster in the family lounge. The mood is jubilant, given that the Titans trounced the Washington Breakers, 7–1. I’m buzzing still from a sweet goal that Foster scored from an almost just as sweet pass from his new left-winger, Atlas Karolak. I screamed so loud when that red light came on as I jumped out of my seat, my throat feels a little shredded.

Kiera introduces me to some of the other SO’s as we wait, and it feels a little disingenuous as I shake hands and answer questions. I’m introduced as Bowie Jane’s nanny, which is accurate, but it’s not the reason I am in the family lounge tonight. I’m here because Foster and I are going out after for what is technically our second date. I don’t point that out though, and not one person seems to think it odd that I’m here and Bowie Jane is not.

Maybe they assume hockey tickets are just a job perk… or maybe Foster told everyone we’re dating. Maybe no one gives a damn one way or the other, but everyone makes me feel welcome. A few of the wives with kids reiterate offers to help with Bowie Jane on my days off as well as promise to set up playdates. It’s all very sweet, a nice way to spend the time waiting, but it doesn’t exactly quell the nerves swirling in my belly about what will happen when Foster walks into the room.

As it turns out, my nerves go haywire when I finally spot him, talking to who look to be the parents of one of his teammates. As he converses, his eyes casually move around the room and when they land on me, he motions for me to join him. He’s wearing the suit he left the house in—a hip, light blue plaid pattern that’s just a bit ostentatious. Foster admitted it’s custom-made and that he has a few like it that he wears sometimes when he’s feeling the vibe. His hair is damp from his postgame shower and his stubble is thick with a few days’ growth.

I move toward him, clutching tight to my purse over my shoulder. I get no more than halfway across the room when he exits the conversation with the older couple and walks in my direction.

We meet near a cluster of furniture occupied by a group of older men and I don’t know if they’re family members or VIP visitors, but they’re not paying any attention to us.

We don’t touch, but stand staring at each other.

“What do you want to do?” he asks casually. “Are you hungry? Want to grab something to eat?”

I shake my head. “I’m not hungry, but if you are—”

“I’m not. Want to grab a drink with the team? It’s tradition to celebrate over at Mario’s after a win.”

“If you want to—”

Foster gives a slight shake of his head. “I want to do what you want to do. I made plans for the first date. You choose the second.”

I chew on my bottom lip as I consider options and while I don’t know the specifics of what will or should happen, I do know one thing. “I don’t want to go to Mario’s. We’re just… too new and I don’t want to face scrutiny while we’re still figuring things out. How do you feel about going home? Maybe just talk.”

“We can do that.” His words are carefree and I don’t sense any disappointment we’re not going to hang out with friends. I also don’t sense any lecherous excitement that I chose to go to his home… where there’s a bed and the potential for the sex I begged for after our first date. In my mind, that’s a given. We both want it and frankly, I don’t care if we talk first. We talk all the time and I’ve gotten to know so much about him the past five weeks that I’m confident in my choices. There’s no risk in being intimate with him because the feelings are already solid and I’m as confident in this path as I can be.

I caught an Uber to the game knowing Foster would have his truck. He leads me out of the family lounge, through the basement floor of the arena to the players’ parking garage. He opens the door and I climb up into his truck.

On the drive to his house, he holds my hand the entire way, his elbow resting on the center console, his left hand on the wheel. Occasionally, his thumb glides over my knuckles as we chat… an affectionate gesture that stirs the butterflies in my belly. I’ve observed him enough with Bowie Jane to know that tenderness and touch are important to him as expressions of care.

The butterflies go a little crazy when we get home. My heart thuds as we walk into the kitchen and nerves make me start to second-guess. I put my purse on the island and hear Foster’s heavy gear bag hit the tiled floor.

I turn to chastise him, a stern look on my face and the words on the tip of my tongue to tell him to pick it up. I know it will earn me a grin and an eye roll, a gesture he’s picked up from me, but my words don’t come out because his mouth is on mine.

Hands diving into my hair, he holds me captive as our tongues tangle and there’s no holding back the groan of pleasure warbling out of my throat.

Foster lifts his head just enough to look me in the eye. “Want the wine or want me to continue kissing you?”

My head swims with a million things I want, but wine isn’t one of them. “No wine.”

That’s all he needs before he’s kissing me again. I raise my hands and cradle his face in my palms, feeling the prick of stubble before I run my fingers through his thick, tousled hair. As our bodies inch closer, our lips meet in a sizzling tangle, igniting a frenzy between us. Our tongues dance, exploring every crevice, battling for control. The heat between us radiates and I feel like I might go up in flames just from this shattering kiss.

Finally.

This is happening.

Foster’s fingers dig into my skin, possibly leaving bruises in their wake, which I’m totally okay with. I don’t mind things being rough and as he lifts me up with a force that almost takes my breath away, I eagerly wrap my legs around his waist. I feel his hardness press against my center and I’m overwhelmed by the speed at which he responds to me. My body reacts of its own accord and I grind against him.

A feral sound rumbles in Foster’s chest as he walks me right into the kitchen wall. My entire body trembles from the opposing sensations—the coolness of the wall at my back and the heat of his mouth on mine, the softness of his hair slipping through my fingers and the hard length of his erection grinding against me.

Foster pulls his mouth from mine, his eyes locking on me with an intensity that makes me squirm. “You sure about this?”

I roll my eyes at him. “Why are you even asking?”

Foster isn’t charmed by my flippancy. “I’m serious, Mazzy. Everything changes after this.”

That humbles me a bit because this isn’t just some quick tumble to get off. It’s the start of something big. “I know. And I’m sure. Are you?”

“Yeah… I’m sure.” Foster rests his forehead against mine for a moment. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy. I just want to make sure you feel the same. We’ve been so worried about Bowie Jane that I want to make sure we’re both on the same page.”

His words—the vulnerability within them—touches me. I lean my head back, forcing his gaze up. “I’m in this with you. I want you not just physically but… well, I want to see where this goes. This isn’t casual for me.”

“We’re on the same page then,” he murmurs, pressing his mouth to mine for a soft kiss.

Foster turns and carries me to his bedroom. As soon as my feet touch the plush carpet, his embrace tightens and our lips meet in a slow, fiery kiss. Our hands roam freely over each other’s bodies, igniting sparks of pleasure with every touch.

With effortless grace, our clothes disappear as if they never existed, revealing every inch of skin that has been longing for this moment. Foster reaches into his wallet and produces a condom, placing it carefully on the bed as we continue to touch, caress and probe.

There’s urgency in our actions because the desire for each other has been building since our first kiss. Foster guides me down onto the plush mattress and joins me, our bodies now completely bare and intertwined. As he presses his heated skin against mine, I’m overcome with a shiver that spreads through my entire being. My legs instinctively part, the invitation clear in what I want.

His cock throbs against my center and with a deep moan, I arch my back. Foster’s lips find one of my sensitive nipples and he sucks with a powerful force, releasing with a soft pop that makes me gasp.

“God, that feels good,” I whimper, my hips undulating with need.

“Everything about you feels amazing,” Foster whispers huskily, his breath hot against my skin. “Especially when we’re pressed together like this.”

My hips tilt, circle, and the friction against his dick makes him groan. I love eliciting that from him and I do it again. With a growl, his lips crash into mine, our tongues battling. So damn good I could kiss him forever but then his mouth is gone, and he starts to move down my body. He trails his lips over the curve of my collarbone, my breast, flicking a nipple with his tongue. I arch my back again, purring my contentment as my hands grip his hair.

When he reaches my belly, his intent known, I spread my legs wider.

“Yes,” he groans at my bold move.

With the first swipe of his tongue over my clit, I cry out from the enormity of pleasure sweeping through me. His hands grip my thighs hard and when I buck once, nearly dislodging his mouth, he presses one hand on my lower belly to hold me down.

The act of doing that… of taking control away causes something inside to break free. My orgasm crashes through me so violently, tears leak from my eyes. My heels dig into the mattress, my ass lifts and my legs slam inward against Foster’s head.

He laughs against my wet flesh, gently tonguing me down from my release. I have to force my hands to unclench their grip on his hair and when I look down my body, I find him staring up at me in triumph.

He should look pleased.

That felt better than I had any right to expect and happened faster than any man has ever made me come. “You’re an oral god,” I murmur. He grins and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “Now I need you inside me.”

Foster needs no further invitation because he surges up my body, grabbing the condom along the way. I just lie there, enjoying the view as he goes to his knees to sheath his cock. His body is so beautiful, but I only get a cursory glance because I’m mesmerized as his strong, capable hands roll the rubber down his shaft.

When it’s on, he stares at me. First my face, then a long, slow perusal of my body before him, legs still spread wide.

Foster places his palms on my thighs, only to glide them gently over my skin. Down toward my hips, then back up again to hook behind my knees.

Guiding my legs around his waist, he lowers onto me, positioning himself at my entrance. His mouth presses on mine and the sensation of him kissing me while he works himself in makes my head swim from pleasure overload.

Fingers digging into his shoulders, I tighten my legs around his waist and Foster slides all the way in with a satisfied groan.

“Fucking tight,” he mutters against my lips. “Absolutely perfect.”

Yes… feels perfect.

More than.

I swivel my hips, a silent request for him to move. Foster lifts his head, smiling down at me. “Greedy?”

Biting my lower lip, I nod.

He pulls out, plunges back in with enough force, my body rocks. An unladylike grunt pops out and he stares at me expectantly. “Good?”

I nod again. “Just like that.”

Foster starts a rhythmic thrusting into my body but I’m not a passive participant. I writhe against him, my hands on his ass encouraging him to go harder, deeper, faster. Our breathing falls in sync, both of us panting with stolen kisses in between filthy words.

Slipping his hand in between our bodies, his fingers massage my clit and I didn’t think it was possible, but I soar higher. Another orgasm immediately rages. “I’m going to come again,” I gasp, stunned by how quickly my body has recharged. It’s never been like this, but then again… I’ve never been this moved, this turned on, this into a guy before.

“Going to fall with you,” he murmurs, picking up the already impossibly fast pace he’s set. My body rocks as he slams into me, over and over again, and I start to disconnect. That weird moment where I can’t focus on a coherent thought, things turn slightly numb and my vision goes hazy.

“F-u-u-c-k,” Foster groans as he plants deep and shudders. That snaps me past the divide between pleasure and ecstasy and my entire body explodes.

I buck from the force of my release, even as Foster drops his weight on me. His arms wrap tightly around my back and I can feel his entire body shaking as his hips jerk.

“Jesus,” he gasps as I hold him tightly, my own orgasm skittering up and down my spine.

“Understatement,” I pant, rotating my hips, prolonging the pleasure.

Foster buries his face in my neck and presses his lips there. “Fuck that was incredible.” He shudders again and a sense of tenderness and triumph sweeps through me that I could make him feel so good. “We are totally doing that again as soon as I regain feeling in my body.”

Laughing, I squeeze him tight in an affectionate hug. “I’m down for that.”

Foster lifts up slightly, presses a quick kiss to my forehead. “Be right back for some cuddling.”

He withdraws with a groan of disappointment and I get under the covers as he walks into his bathroom to dispose of the condom, the loss of his body heat chilling my skin. When he returns, he slips under with me, rolling me to my side and pulling me back into the spoon of his body. His skin is warm, his embrace comforting.

Too comforting. I could get used to it and I don’t know if I have any business even thinking of a future like that. I’m naturally family-oriented, desire the commitment and monogamy, want children of my own. In ordinary circumstances, this soon into a relationship, I don’t think about those things. It’s impossible to think about those things because you can’t possibly know if a man is cut out to be that way.

Except… I do know that Foster fits the mold of what I’d want in a partner. I’ve observed it firsthand—how he fought for his daughter, how he works his ass off to make her new life work, and in the daily way he shows her love and tenderness. He’s shown it to me as well.

I push those thoughts away because frankly, they scare me. Not because I’m afraid of a serious relationship or a permanent future with someone. They scare me because a child is involved. Bowie Jane has been through a lot and while she’s proven herself strong and resilient and was completely receptive to her father asking me out, this has suddenly become a lot deeper than anticipated.

And to be honest… I’m not sure either one of us really thought too hard about the long-term repercussions if things got serious. Not sure we really thought about what would happen if they didn’t get serious.

Guilt sweeps over me that I didn’t think longer or harder on this. I was a bit too swept up in the attraction and flattery of being desired by Foster. I’ve been too intrigued because he is genuinely a good man, so it has made trusting all of this so much easier.

“I’d love to know what’s got you so worked up,” Foster murmurs.

My neck twists in an attempt to look over my shoulder at him. “What? How did you—”

“Your entire body stiffened and you’re far too quiet to be the Mazzy Archer I adore.”

I adore.

“Why do you have to say things like that when I’m having a crisis of conscience about things?” I grumble.

“I do adore you,” he reiterates. “And why is your conscience rearing its ugly head?”

“Because of Bowie Jane.”

“No,” he says adamantly. “Not about her. About something you’re feeling.”

“I’m wondering if this is just all too rushed and if we’re doing her a disservice.”

I expect a flat-out denial. I expect reassurances. I expect Foster to defend his daughter’s maturity and remind me that we did due diligence with Bowie Jane before we embarked on this.

But his silence is telling.

Finally, he says, “I always worry about Bowie Jane. I always wonder if I make good decisions as a parent. I fret constantly over her security and I often feel like a failure.”

I spin in his arms. He loosens his hold to allow this and when we’re face-to-face, I chastise him. “You’re an amazing father. Bowie Jane couldn’t be luckier.”

“But did we rush?” he asks, circling back to my original concern. “I can’t say if we did or not because I’ve seen no negative fallout yet. By all accounts, Bowie Jane is as well-adjusted as she can be. Will that be the case tomorrow? Next week? I don’t know that either. So our choices are to keep pushing this forward—this thing between you and me—or we abandon it before things get too deep.”

“They’re already too deep.”

He doesn’t deny it, merely stares at me expectantly, leaving the ball in my court. His unwillingness to pull away tells me exactly how he feels, and it makes me feel marginally better because I trust Foster. He’d never do anything to hurt his daughter and he’s taken all the steps necessary to make sure he was fully transparent with her so she understood.

“Come here,” Foster murmurs, pulling me in close. I turn my head, place my cheek against his chest and am lulled into security by the steady drum of his heartbeat and how he holds me. His hand strokes my lower back, soothing me with touch, and before long my eyelids grow heavy.