Chapter 12

12

JACKSON

N o one has ever fucked me the way Harper did. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, he’s mine forever. He hisses and claws at every ounce of love or attention I send his way, but then he blooms like a flower when we fuck. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe I’m his first everything. The man fucks like a professional. He’s eager to try anything, unabashed in his want, in his desires.

Then, when we’d woken up this morning, he’d been shy again, even demure. His eyes downcast and unable to meet my gaze when he’d stretched and held back a grimace. So I’d done the only thing a man can do. I’d rimmed him until his legs were squeezing my head tight, and he came with a gentle sigh. The perfect way to start the day, Harper’s thighs pressed tight against my head.

I’d spent the day spoiling him. A bubble bath in the claw-foot tub in my bathroom. Massaging his shoulders as he sat in my lap while we watched a movie in the theater room. Kissing him senseless when he tried to argue his way out of being spoiled because, for some stupid reason, he feels undeserving of it.

“Excited for your first hockey game?” I ask as we find our way hand in hand up to the box I’d reserved.

Just Harper, me, and a box at the arena.

Harper’s lips twitch at the corners in the ghost of a smile. “I’m excited to rank the players on hotness alone.”

I love him, but I can’t say those words yet because he’ll flee like an injured bird that’s finally been set free.

“Many hot hockey players on this team,” I point out as I hurriedly usher him into the box.

Harper’s eyes flit over the entire room, inspecting the rows of leather seats as I check in with the concierge. Under my watchful eye, he grabs a cookie from the buffet and then tosses himself into a seat in the first row. Nibbling at the double chocolate cookie, his gaze lifts to mine when I finally join him.

“Seats are okay,” Harper mumbles around a mouthful of cookie.

“Just okay? How can I do better next time, my liege?”

Harper tilts his head, clearly thinking it over. Finally, he points his finger to the ice. “Down there so I can see their sweat up close. I could rest my palm against the glass and wait for one of them to fall in love with me. Like in romance novels. Our love story would be titled Seize the Puck . Get it? Because I have seizures.”

Over my dead body, will he ever sit closer than a box because absolutely no one but me is allowed to fall in love with him.

“I think I like having you in a box.”

Harper’s eyebrows dip in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I can do this.”

Harper grins against my lips when I kiss him, licking into his mouth to taste Harper and the cookie and perfection . His lips are so soft, so plush, and I can’t help but suck his bottom lip into my mouth, softly biting down until he gasps. His eyes are starry and glassy when I pull away, making me grin with satisfaction.

“Still rather be sitting down there?”

Harper blinks slowly as if acclimating to a new world. “I think you’re convincing me of the merits of box seats.”

I gently skim my fingers down his cheek, then use my thumb to gently tug down his bottom lip. “Don’t worry, you’ll be convinced by the end of the game.”

“Oh?” Harper’s eyes sparkle with delight.

I nod slowly and dip down to kiss him again. Harper lets out a barely audible sigh as we kiss, working his way even deeper into my heart. When I pull away, a soft smile tilts Harper’s lips up. Perfect.

“What do you know about hockey?” I ask.

Harper’s look is skittish. “I know there is a puck.”

“Perfect, you’re doing better than half the people in the crowd.”

I want to bottle Harper’s laugh forever, to carry it around when I need it most. Every time he laughs, it feels like I won a championship ring. Like something I worked so hard to attain is finally mine, and it’s so easy to make him laugh, just by being myself. Nothing has ever been so easy with someone before. Even when he’s spitting and clawing at me, it’s profoundly easy to be enamored by Harper.

Harper finishes his cookie with a smack of his lips, then tangles his fingers with mine. Throughout the game, he asks me questions that I happily answer. Hockey was never really my thing, but a close friend of mine played in college, so I did my best to learn. He came to my games, and I went to his games. Only fair.

The great thing about hockey is that it moves fast. Nonstop action for almost two hours. Harper makes numerous trips to the buffet, eating actual food instead of just dessert. Seeing Harper eat satisfies the caveman in me, like I’ve done something right to get him to eat. Especially considering how he lives off of premade meals and cupcakes. When we finally live together, that’ll change. I’ll cook him any meal he wants, every day, for the rest of our lives.

By the time the game is over, Harper is visibly flagging with tiredness. I worry because Honey isn’t with us, and after all the research I did, I know that tiredness can sometimes lead to a seizure. If I ever told him that I did research, he’d probably go full feral kitten on me, but I honestly don't give a shit. His safety is now my number one concern for as long as he’ll allow it.

“Can we say goodbye to my friend real quick? Then we can head home?” I ask Harper softly.

Harper tugs his jacket tighter against himself with a pasted-on smile. “Sure. That’s why we’re here.”

“False,” I say loudly, needing to combat his train of thought. “We’re here so I can spoil you, make you feel special so that I can date you.”

Harper’s face turns ten shades of crimson. “Please, fuck off.”

Chuckling, I press a kiss to his flushed cheek, biting my lip hard when he swats me away. I hold his hand as we navigate our way through the maze of the arena. Thankfully, my name is on the list to get into the inner bowels that lead to the locker rooms. Shooting a text off to Liam, I tug Harper off to the side to wait for him.

“Who is this friend?” Harper asks curiously, bending around me to watch the stream of freshly showered hockey players leave the room.

“Liam Walsh.”

Harper’s eyes widen comically. “The one who’s on the cover of every sports magazine ever? The one who just married a guy?”

“Well, sure.” I shrug nonchalantly. “He’s just my friend Liam, though.”

“Absolutely bonkers,” Harper mutters, seemingly annoyed.

“Jackson!” My shouted name rents through the air, startling numerous people in the crowded hallway. Liam pushes through the scattered people and tugs me into his arms with a deep laugh. “It’s been years .”

“Sorry, dude, I’m kind of a busy guy.”

Liam pats my back hard, then pulls away with a wide grin. “I’d offer to hang out, but the team is on a flight in a few hours. We’ve got another game a few states away tomorrow. You look good!”

Liam has always been an overgrown puppy. His wide grin, disheveled dark hair, and one single dimple popping with his grin seemingly has Harper frozen beside me. All of this was worth it just for the starstruck look on Harper’s face. Actually, it’s less starstruck and more fanboy. I’m not sure how I feel about my future husband crushing on one of my college friends, who incidentally is one of the most famous queer hockey stars of all time.

I wrap my arm around Harper and tug him against my side. “This is my boyfriend, Harper.”

Liam grins again, holding out his hand to Harper. “Nice to meet you.”

Harper shakes his hand in a daze, mouth pinched in a straight line. I am going to give him shit about this forever.

“Walsh! Media time!” a coach shouts from down the hallway.

Liam impatiently looks over his shoulder, then aims a grimace towards us. “Sorry, man. Duty calls. But the next time you’re in Boston, let me know! The four of us can get dinner.”

Liam disappears in a blur down the hallway. Harper lets out a sound that’s a mix of a squawk and a whimper. He glances down at his hand; then his gaze pings back up to me.

“I think I’ll never wash my hand again,” Harper says reverently.

Liam Walsh is going to die by my hands. “Tonight, you’re definitely wearing one of my jerseys.”

Harper’s tinkling laugh follows us on our way out of the arena. The minute we get back to my house, I hustle a laughing Harper to the bedroom. Grabbing a jersey from my closet, I throw it at him, pointing at him in an order.

“Put that on while I take care of Honey.”

I disappear down the stairs before he can even attempt to argue. Honey, being the perfect girl she is, does her business in record time. After feeding her dinner and giving her a few hard pats on the side, I take the stairs two by two to my bedroom. The sight that greets me is worth all the hustle. Harper in my jersey is worth everything, all my gold, all the breath in my lungs, and years of my life.

The jersey is three times too big for him, landing to mid-thigh, and the arm holes gape to show off the perfect creaminess of his skin. His hair is up in a messy bun with just a few tendrils framing his face. He is every single one of my teenage fantasies come true. I fall to my knees in front of him, holding back a wince as my knee aches with the force of the fall.

“Harper,” I whisper in awe.

“It’s just a jersey,” Harper murmurs, obviously a little self-conscious.

I reverently glide my hands up the back of his knees, up his thighs, finally coming to rest them on the warm, bare globes of his ass. A smirk tilts the corner of one lip up as he stares down at me in the soft light of the bedroom. I want to worship him and show him exactly what he means to me. Everything. I want to tell him I love him, scream it from the fucking rooftops of every skyscraper on the planet.

“Can you do me a favor?” My voice is low and gravelly.

“Depends,” Harper hedges, eyeing me warily.

“Turn around.”

Harper waffles for just a second but decides to not argue, shrugging his shoulders and turning around to show me his back. My name across his shoulder blades lights me up inside. If I don’t have him right now, I’m going to die. But I also know that last night was a lot for him, so he’s probably still tender. The last thing I’ll ever do is cause him pain. So, I’ll have to settle for eating his ass. It’s my burden to bear.

“I want to eat you out until you cry,” I whisper against the small of his back.

“Fuck,” Harper whimpers and clumsily reaches back to heavily rest the palm of his hand atop my head. “I took a shower while you were with Honey. That’s why my hair is up.”

That’s all the permission I need. I push him onto the bed and bend his legs until he’s in the perfect submissive pose. He rests his head on his folded arms with a contented sigh, eyes already hooded just from the idea of my mouth on him. I carefully push the jersey up to his mid-back so it’s perfectly bunched, still showing off my name across his shoulder blades.

I part his ass cheeks, proceeding to bury my face in the crease of his ass. God. The smell of him is intoxicating, clean, fresh, with just a little of Harper’s normal musk. My mouth instantly waters. I take that as a sign to dive in. Harper’s spine curves as I lick into him, using my tongue to fuck him until he softens against me. The moans that fall from his lips are divine, the sound an angel surely makes when they weep with joy.

I take mercy on him and lick my hand, pumping his painfully hard cock as I plunge my tongue inside him. His thighs tremble, and the pleasure-filled sounds from his mouth intensify.

“Jackson, oh my God.” Harper’s hand reaches back to hold my face tight against his ass.

I grin in success against him, roughly biting at a cheek until Harper squirms beneath me. The sound of my name on his lips is great, but I think Daddy would sound even better. I spear my tongue into his now loose hole and pump his cock hard, smearing the gathering wetness around the swollen head.

Harper lets out a decidedly pained whimper, just before he softly cries, “Daddy.” A moment later he’s coming all over my hand, his hole clenching around my tongue. My cock is so hard that I could cry myself. Just when he’s about to collapse with relief, I grab his hips between my palms and flip him over onto his back.

Harper stares up at me in some sort of wonder, maybe also a little bit of worship. I hurriedly undo my pants with my clean hand and shove them off until I’m naked. Straddling his slim hips, I use his cum to furiously pump my cock as I lean over him. His eyes are a liquid forest. I could easily fall into their depths forever.

“Say you’re mine,” I pant out, hand working furiously over my cock.

“I’m yours,” Harper repeats, like the good boy he is.

“Forever.”

Harper swallows loudly, gaze dipping to my cock, then back up to my eyes. “Come on me. Paint me with your cum until everyone knows I’m yours. And then tomorrow you’ll fuck me again and plug me up so I can walk around with your cum inside me. No one will ever question who I belong to ever again.”

I come with the force of a car crash, painting the concave creamy skin on his stomach. Like some sort of fucking caveman, I smear my cum into his skin, then lean down to kiss his sweet mouth. I’m not stupid, I know what he said, and what he didn’t say. It might take months, years, or decades, but one day Harper will know who he belongs to, and it’s going to be me in the end.

My parents are the best people in the world. I never wanted for anything growing up. Copious amounts of love, a safe home, whatever new toy I wanted they did their best to afford, and they both spent weekends shuttling me to basketball games. Just a few years ago, I surprised them by paying off my childhood home so that they could retire a few years ahead of schedule.

Although retired, I don’t think either of them has ever stopped working. My father was a principal in Atlanta for thirty years, and my mother was a kindergarten teacher for almost just as long. Now they spend their time helping at-risk youth in the city, instead of traveling as I’d hoped they would. But their love is plentiful and they want to share it, so I can’t fault them for that.

Harper grips my hand tight as we walk up the three stairs that lead to the doorway of my parents’ old brick three-bedroom house. One knock is all it takes before my mom opens the door with a flourish, a wide grin on her wrinkled face.

“Jackson!” Her warm arms envelop me before I can even blank. But I don’t let go of Harper’s hand, even when he tries to wiggle away.

Finished with me, she lets go of me to immediately take Harper in her arms. Harper stands straight as a stick, clearly stunned by my mother’s welcoming embrace.

“You can call me Mila.”

Harper swallows hard. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh my lord, he’s the cutest thing, Jackson. The absolute perfect shade of his hair. You’re beautiful!”

Harper’s skin goes roughly the shade of a tomato at my mother’s compliment.

“He’s the most gorgeous thing in the entire northern hemisphere,” I readily agree.

I can practically feel the rage rolling off of Harper. But he bites it back in my mother’s presence because, again, he’s the perfect boy. My childhood home smells like cinnamon, greens, and turkey when we walk through the door. A few years ago, I surprised my parents with a decent renovation. New wood floors, a new kitchen, and a new bathroom. My father had grumpily tried to refuse, but I’m great at convincing people to let me do nice things for them. Case in point, Harper.

My dad sits in the recliner at the end of the living room, glasses halfway down his nose, a tablet in his wrinkled hands. His face lights up at the sight of me. I’m so glad to be home.

“Hey, Dad.” I press a greeting kiss on his forehead. “This is my boyfriend, Harper.”

Harper waves shyly from where he stands beside my mother.

“Wow, you nabbed a stunner,” Dad teases out of the corner of his mouth, only loud enough for me to hear.

“I’m going to marry him,” I whisper back, a secret just between us.

Dad’s answering grin is incandescent. My heart goes into overtime when Harper joins my mother in the kitchen, falling easily into step beside her to finish preparing for Thanksgiving dinner.

“The Falcons are looking good this year. That young new quarterback might get us somewhere for once.”

I plop down on the sofa, gaze still firmly on Harper in the kitchen. “Hate to break it to you, Dad, but the Falcons aren’t going for the Super Bowl this year.”

Dad scowls. “Not with that attitude; they aren’t.”

“Will my optimism for them guarantee them a playoff spot?”

“We must manifest our own dreams, son.”

I chuckle softly. “I will think fondly of the Falcons.”

“Good.”

“So, about your blood sugar.”

If looks could kill, I’d surely be dead. Maybe that’s why Harper has no effect on me. I spent so much of my life on the other side of my father’s withering glare.

“I’ve got it under control,” Dad expertly promises.

“Really?”

Dad waves dismissively. “It’ll be fine. Give me grandkids soon, though, just in case. And I have some gold coins buried in the backyard underneath the azaleas.”

“Dad!”

“I’m just saying!”

“Am I interrupting?” Harper asks softly, gaze pinging between me and my father.

“No, son. Do you follow football?”

Harper plops down on the sofa beside me, easily tucking himself into the line of my side. “I know the hot quarterbacks.”

My father arches one single eyebrow. “Well, that is the important part. Did you play any sports as a kid?”

“I was sports averse.”

My father hums with curiosity, eyes sweeping over Harper. “Piano?”

Harper’s grin is wide. “Yes, sir.”

“And what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a data analyst.”

Dad laughs and slaps the sides of the recliner with barely contained joy. “Finally, someone who enjoys math. Harper, tell me, do you enjoy sudoku?”

And then I sit there for almost an hour as Harper and my father proceed to work on a sudoku book together. No amount of squeezing Harper’s thigh distracts him. Nothing. Finally, I give up with a kiss on his cheek and join my mother in the kitchen. She puts me to work helping with the sides, then finally lets me carve the turkey. My reward for my hard work is getting to snack on the best parts of the bird while plating it for dinner.

Food covers every inch of the table once we all take a seat. I let my hand rest on Harper’s thigh, trying to calm the nervous shaking of his leg. Harper shoots me a grateful smile when I plate his food for him.

“Before we eat, let’s say what we’re thankful for today.” Dad looks towards Mom, a soft, gentle smile on his face. “I’m thankful for Mila as always and the amazing home she’s created. But I’m also thankful for NFL RedZone.”

Mom laughs and slaps him on the arm. “Idiot. I’m thankful for the small garden out back we planted this summer. I’m also thankful for Jackson and his boyfriend, Harper. It’s nice to have a full table.”

Harper blushes hard, keeping his gaze on his full plate. To help not embarrass him, I decide it’s my turn.

“I’m thankful for cupcakes,” I say confidently, earning a confused look from both my parents.

Harper bites his lip to keep from laughing. “That’s what I was going to say.”

“Well, you can’t copy me,” I point out, squeezing his thigh. “You’ll have to say something else.”

“I’m thankful for hot athletes,” Harper says, chin in the air.

My parents laugh at us both and dig into their food. I use their distraction to kiss Harper’s cheek since I know he hates public displays of affection. Harper ever so slightly leans into the kiss, a relieved sigh falling from his lips. Perfect.

We eat dinner in relative silence. The pie is what makes Harper the most excited. My mother bakes the most amazing dark chocolate pecan pie. Harper must agree because he inhales it in only a handful of bites, staring forlornly down at his empty plate once it’s gone.

“I’ll send some home with you,” Mom says with a hearty chuckle.

Harper’s grin could power an entire city. “Thank you! It’s the best dessert I’ve ever had.”

“I can give you the recipe if you want?” Mom asks, not meaning anything by it.

Harper’s face falls just a little, but he pastes that carefully practiced smile on his lips. “I’d love that, thank you.”

By the time we’re standing at the door saying goodbyes, Harper is visibly tired, and I know it’s time to get him back home. Mom whispers something in Harper’s ear as they hug. Harper’s eyes quickly flick to me, then back to her. He nods once, and my mother’s grin is ecstatic.

“Remember what I said about the Falcons,” Dad says as he slaps my back hard.

“I’ll think only good thoughts. I promise.”

Back in the safety of the car once my parents have disappeared back into the house, I tug Harper towards me to kiss him senseless. Our tongues twist together as Harper meets me beat for beat. His fingers curl hard into the fabric of my shirt, tugging me closer as if he’s momentarily forgotten we’re parked in my car in front of my parents' house.

“Shhhh,” I say against the warm skin of his cheek. “It’s alright.”

Harper whimpers once, then seemingly gathers himself, his fingers slowly falling from my shirt. He clears his throat awkwardly as he pulls away from me. I watch him settle back in his seat, fastening his seat belt with unsteady hands.

Once back home, Honey waits for us at the front door, little barks of joy escaping her as she wiggles around for attention. Usually, I’d take care of her, but Harper pats my cheek and walks her to the back door. I watch them play in the backyard through the French doors. After a while, Harper dips down into a low crouch and buries his face in Honey’s fur as she sweetly licks his neck.

The bond between them is deep. Not only because Honey is Harper’s savior in a way but also that deep, unshakable bond between a dog and their best friend. My mind wanders to a future I wish for so deeply with Harper. A future with children, more dogs, and a gentle life full of making Harper smile. He’d be a wonderful father, kind, patient, and easily able to make our children laugh. It’s a future I can so readily imagine if only Harper will stop fighting me every step of the damn way.

Like we talked about the other day, dreams change. A decade ago my dream had been superstardom, my name known around the country. But in one moment, that’d been ripped from me. I’ve spent the last decade trying to rebuild my dream, the future that I want for myself. All it took was Harper for me to realize what I wanted. I just want a soft life full of laughter, and I know that’s what I’ll get with Harper.