This story is not like the others in this series. The MCs are parents of students who go to BMA and both are widowers.
Bridget lost her husband last year, falling into depression, barely able to move on. If it had not been foe her children she would have become a full alcoholic. Thanks to the help of her sister and best friend, as well as her children she manages to get up in the mornings, but still doesn’t live. Her husband has left her a good economic position so she doesn’t have to worry about working, her former life as a blogger and instagrammer seems empty and she doesn’t know what she will do with her life once her children leave home.
Zeke is her new neighbor, a former member of a MC, he is the polar opposite of her late husband, but even so she cannot help but feel attracted to him.
Their meet at midnight where they enjoy a bottle of wine and that’s how their relationship begins, following by nights of wild sex, but even so Bridget will need months to accept that she has move on and let their families and public know about their relationship.
Zeke doesn’t try to console her, change her or fix her, he like her the way she is, broken. And that is what ends up making her fall in love with him.
Bridget’s children are great: 17-year-old Ryder is his mother’s protector, always looking out for her and 8-year-old Jax is super sweet and funny.
Zeke’s daughter, 16-year-old Luna, is joy personified and with great taste for fashion.
This story has captivated me bc not all are 🌈 and 🦄 , sometimes in your darkest moments you will find light and happiness. It’s absolutely beautiful.
How dare this man, this miscreant, know me better than my husband of sixteen years? I already knew this large biker with tattoos was informed about wine, but I also knew he’d surprised me thus far so I wouldn’t be shocked if he turned out to be some kind of midnight sommelier. “You don’t want me to leave, and we both know that. So sit the fuck down.”“Why are you here?” I blurted. Apparently I couldn’t handle him. “Because I don’t like the thought of you sitting alone out here in the middle of the night,” he replied. “Because you have good wine. And because I can’t stay away from you. Because I can’t stop fuckin’ thinking about what your tongue tastes like inside my mouth. Because I can’t stop imagining what other parts of you taste like. And because I know you’re imagining the same shit, despite the lies you’re trying to tell yourself. I’m not here to act on shit, as fuckin’ difficult as it is with you wearing those goddamn shorts,” he continued, while I was doing my best to look like a mute idiot, though not by choice. His eyes ran over me and the jersey short shorts I was wearing. My legs were on fire. “But I am plannin’ on acting on it when you’re ready. And not so pissed.” Zeke’s voice was rough and full of sex. Something moved in his eyes. “Well, I’m okay with you bein’ pissed ‘cuz I like angry sex, but I’ll wait. So tonight, I’m here to drink your wine and sit with you so you’re not out here alone in the middle of the night.” By the time Zeke stopped speaking I was about to jump out of my skin. Claw it off. Rip my clothes to shreds with my bare hands and leap across the coffee table and have that angry sex I knew was going to be fucking incredible. I didn’t tear off my skin. Or my clothes. I didn’t pounce on the man torturing me, nor did I string expletives together and shoo him out of my backyard. No, I just sat there, listening to music and drinking wine with this midnight man.
“If your husband hadn’t died, you would’ve stayed whole. You would’ve been flawless. Sure, a few surface scratches that are inescapable. But you would’ve been whole. Beautiful. But yeah, you would’ve been nothin’ more than a neighbor. Been around plenty of beautiful women, need more than that. But you’re broken now. You’ve got scars instead of scratches—the ugliest kind of scars that never heal pretty. I don’t do well around people who aren’t already scarred. Wouldn’t have touched you if you weren’t broken in a way that can’t be fixed.” He paused. “Because, baby, I’m not gonna fix you. I don’t want to fill you up,” he said finally, after leaving me hanging for a full minute. “I don’t want you to be whole and healthy. Because I’m selfish, sure. But if there was a chance I thought you might heal, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. You won’t though. I know that. I know you’re broken. I’m okay with being second best to a dead man if that’s what I’m gonna be, but I don’t think that’s how you work. I think you’re gonna find new places for me—for us. Different places. Darker ones.” I didn’t move. Didn’t retreat, though he gave me the moment to do so. His hand settled on my jaw. Firm, bordering on painful. Then he moved. On top of me, poised at my entrance, hard and ready. “At first, I just wanted to fuck you,” he said against my mouth. His hand trailed up my hip toward the side of my breast. It moved to caress my nipple. I bit my lip. “The second you opened the door, I wanted you naked and underneath me. Then I wanted you naked and on top of me.” He tweaked my nipple to the point of pain. “And of course I wanted to eat your pussy.” I inhaled sharply as his other hand moved between my legs. “But then I saw more of you. More of that pain mingled with the fact you’re fucking crazy. Strong. Funny. A great mother. I didn’t want to just fuck you anymore. I wanted to be inside you and see into your soul. I wanted to fuck you until you saw into mine. I wanted to screw into damnation.” And he did exactly that.
“The problem is not whether I want to be with you,” he said when his eyes finally met mine. “The problem is that I want all of you. That I want you, but not just at midnight. Not just in the darkness. I want you in my bed. Every fucking night. Worse, I want to be in your bed. In your house. I want to wake up with you. I want our kids in the same fucking house. I want shit that you’re not ready for and that I don’t deserve. Those boys sure as fuck don’t deserve me sleeping in their father’s bed. And I don’t know how to keep coming over here pretending I want less. Midnights with you are more than I deserve in a thousand lifetimes, but I’m greedy and cruel, and I’ll forget this with wine and you on my lips. When I’m inside you, I’ll forget. I’ll stop caring. And I’ll force myself into your life. I’ll steal it. And I won’t be able to live with myself.”“You can’t steal what’s already yours,” I choked out, unable to stop another tear from following the trail of the first. His eyes moved then. Not across my body with hunger. But across my face with reverence. His hand lightly cupped my cheek. “No, baby. You’re not mine. Not yet.” And then he walked away.
No, there was me, waking up to something cold and heavy being slipped on my finger, and something warm and gentle on my neck. “I know this is the second time you’re doin’ this. I know that you have a lot of feelings about it. What people think.” His voice was rough, not with sleep but with emotion. He’d been awake for a while. I knew what was happening, but I didn’t want to open them. Didn’t want to make it real. I wanted to linger in a dream. “We don’t have to tell anyone,” he continued, kissing my chin. “You don’t have to wear this.” His hand circled the ring he’d placed on my finger. The one that fit perfectly. “I don’t need the ceremony of it all. You can keep your last name. Just want you to be mine. Even if no one else knows.”