So Kayla gives everyone their sparkling water and we all start chatting, like I only just saw the lot of them yesterday.
Mal talks about a photography trip he just went on to Croatia.
Linden talks about his helicopter company.
Bram talks about the stock market of all things, boring as fuck usually, but entertaining when he does it.
Keir, well Keir and Brigs argue over vintage cars, which is par for the course for them.
Steph, Nicola and Natasha talk about babies and kids, while Jessica, Maisie and Kayla talk about everything else but babies and kids.
And me, well of course I talk about rugby, I talk about my Ruff Love animal shelter and non-profit and how the organization is expanding (with Kayla’s help of course), and I talk about the dogs, and the city, and everything else under the sun.
Before I know it, the whole lot of us have chatted for hours and the kids are starting to whine with hunger.
“We better head back,” Bram says to me. “Ava needs to eat.”
“And I am starving,” Steph says. “I didn’t even get to have lunch.”
“Whatever you do, try to stay awake until at least seven tonight,” Kayla reminds me.
“Yeah, yeah,” Nicola says through a yawn which then turns into a dismissive wave.
Everyone starts gathering up their stuff and their kids, promising they’ll be by tomorrow night for the real party.
“Real party?” I repeat, looking at Kayla.
“Surprise number two,” she says happily. “You know it’s not your birthday until tomorrow, so…”
Jesus, she’s really gone all out this year.
“Yeah, we’ll see you then,” Keir says, putting his hand on my shoulder before he leaves the flat along with everyone else. I can hear their laughter and chatter fill the building as they all head down the stairs.
I close the door and then practically collapse back against it.
My heart is so very fucking full.
“Kayla, love,” I say to her, my voice breaking. “I can’t begin to tell you what that meant to me.”
She gives me a soft smile and walks over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and resting her chin on my chest, staring up into my eyes. “I think I know, baby.”
I shake my head. “You think you do, but honestly no words can describe it and I’m not even sure I can try.”
“You don’t have to try,” she says, closing her eyes as I cup her face in my palm, looking so small against my hand. “I know it,” she whispers.
“Well, if words fail me, I know there’s always another way.”
Her eyes open, this time the softness has dissipated. It’s been replaced with lust, making them swim with desire. “Oh, I know. I was counting on it.”
I grin at her, feeling myself get hard in a second at just the thought of what I’m about to do. I was feeling exhausted from all the surprises and talking until a few seconds ago, but now adrenaline is starting to flow through my veins, priming my system, making me feel like I’m just about to step onto the rugby pitch, which is often the case when I’m about to fuck my love’s brains out.
I lean down, holding her face in my hands, kissing her wet and hot and deep.
Then I’m picking her up in my arms and leading her to the bedroom, kicking the door closed with my foot.
Three
Kayla
Lachlan throws me on the bed like I’m a ragdoll, and I happily bounce along.
I fucking love it when he gets that look in his eyes, his usual intensity pushing over into feral mode, like he’s about to unleash the beast, his veins popping, his nostrils flaring. All he has to do is look at me and I’m already wet as fuck, knowing he’s about to give me something rough and wild.
He stands at the foot of the bed, pulling his shirt off over his head, displaying his intricate tattoos. His muscles are still pumped up from practice earlier, his abs clenching. I marvel at his body as I always do, because when you’re built like a motherfucking god, reverence is the only option.
And me, well I worship him in any way that I can.
And I do mean, in any way.
But something tells me I’m about to be on the end of receiving things right now.
“Get yer fucking clothes off,” he growls at me, his brogue getting thicker, “or I’ll rip them off of ye.”
I raise a brow. “What if I like option B better?”
“Then you can say goodbye to your panties.”
I grin at him, my body tingling in anticipation. I love all the different sides of Lachlan McGregor, but the lust-addled, panty-ripping variety is probably my favorite.
I help him out by removing my sweater and my jeans, and he does the same by stepping out of his track pants and briefs, until he’s completely naked, his cock jutting out, large and absolutely in charge.
It makes me pause for a moment, taking my time to ogle him like a good wife should, but he mistakes my distraction for disobedience.
He’s on me in a flash.
His massive, muscled body rising over me like a tsunami and I have no choice but to surrender to his strength. His large hands go around my waist, making me feel impossibly small, and he lifts me up further back on the bed, then roughly slides his palms down until his fingers curl around the lace of my underwear.
With a grunt, he gives them a vicious tug, the sides snapping in half.
“Panty-ruiner,” I say.
“I’ll ruin your bra next,” he says, his eyes latching onto my breasts.
I glance down. I’m wearing one of my most expensive favorite bras in lace and burgundy. No way in hell is he ruining that.
I give him a look, like hold your horses, and then sit up, quickly unfastening it behind me. I’ve barely been able to get it off when he snatches my bra from
