Page 38

“And… I should go. I have an interview I need to edit.” I spin around and head down the player’s tunnel.

It suddenly dawns on me that I’m falling for a man who I agreed to be temporary with, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I’m falling fast—and hard.

"Stop...Peyton. Where are you going?" Hunter's voice rings out behind me, laced with concern.

I don't answer, just keep walking, my arms wrapped protectively around myself. I need to get away, to put some distance between us before I completely lose my grip on this fragile thing we've built.

But Hunter isn't letting me go that easily. He catches up to me as I make it down to the locker room, his hand wrapping around my wrist as he pulls me back around to face him. "Peyton, please stop. Tell me what I did wrong. I don't understand why you're running from me."

"You didn't do anything wrong," I insist, my gaze fixed on a point over his shoulder. But I can't ignore the pull of his touch, the way my body yearns to be closer to his.

I want his hands all over me. I want to feel the safety I feel when he wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his chest. But I can’t say that. It’s not fair. I'd be asking him for something he’s been avoiding with other women for the last four years.

His eyes narrow, and he glances around, taking in our surroundings. We've ended up in the players' locker room, the showers just a few feet away. The memory of my fantasy, of being pinned against the locker room wall, flashes through my mind, and I have to fight to keep my composure.

"Obviously I did something you didn't like, because you're running away, making some lame excuse that you have editing to do,” he presses, his frustration evident. "What's going on, Peyton? What did I do?"

"Nothing!" I exclaim, the words bursting out of me, echoing loudly through the locker room.

His brow furrows, and his touch trails down to my wrist before settling at my hand, weaving our fingers together like he’s trying to tether me to him—and it’s all I want.

His eyes lock on mine, steady and searching.

“Then why are you upset?”

“Because you keep doing everything right,” I blurt out, my voice shakier than I wish it was. “And it’s been so long since I’ve had someone take care of things in my life. I’m used to keeping things together for everyone else.”

Understanding dawns on his face, and he takes another step forward, closing the small gap between us.

"I know you have. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think I had some motive. Jesse has talent, and I know what it feels like when someone steps up for you as a kid. Especially with his dad being overseas," he murmurs, his voice soft and tender.

His words gut me—sharp and quiet and true—and I nod, blinking hard.

None of us can fill the hole my brother left behind when he deployed.

But Hunter... Hunter didn’t just try. He showed up.

This—this—is exactly what we were supposed to avoid.

Getting attached. Getting invested.

And I tried. God, I tried.

But somehow, Hunter’s already under my skin, lodged into my heart, my every thought, wormed his way into places I didn’t even know were vulnerable.

My voice barely makes it out, but it’s enough.

"You’re more than I gave you credit for when we first met," I murmur, the words thick with everything I’m not ready to say yet.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted you to see.”

His gaze locks on mine, so intense it pins me in place.

Then he grabs my waist with his other hand—just enough pressure to steal my breath—and he’s kissing me.

Hard, searing, wrecking. Like he’s trying to undo both of us in a single breath.

Every thought flees, every fear dissolves, until there’s nothing left but the two of us and the heat blazing between us. Urgent, raw, stealing the breath from my lungs.

He cages me against the wall, the chill of the cinder block doing nothing to compete with the wildfire heat of his chest against mine.

I gasp against his mouth as he presses into me, all hard muscle and male heat, every part of him demanding more.

My mind spins—somewhere between yes yes yes and what the hell are we doing?— because we’re standing in the middle of the Hawkeyes' locker room, and someone could walk in at any second.

The thought has panic flickering at the edges of my mind.

But then Hunter groans low in his throat, grinding against me, his hands frantic at the hem of my sweatshirt, and everything rational inside me collapses.

He’s not worried. Not even a little.

He's laser-focused—like nothing else exists except for me.

And God help me, I don't want to exist anywhere but here with him, either.

He tugs the sweatshirt, T-shirt, and sports bra up over my head all at once, tossing it somewhere behind him without looking.

His mouth is at my throat, nipping, sucking, dragging heat across my skin as his body presses even tighter against me, my body responding instantly. Heat pools low in my belly.

"You’re driving me crazy, Collins," he rasps, his voice wrecked.

I fumble with the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin, and he rips it off one-handed, baring the thick cut of his shoulders, the muscles shifting under inked skin.

Next go our shoes, one by one—leggings and pants next until my cotton panties and his boxer briefs are the only two things left.

The sharp smell of ice, rubber, and sweat fills the air—the scent of hockey and male and everything that’s so achingly Hunter.

He kisses me again, slower this time, dragging his teeth over my bottom lip, teasing it into his mouth.

It’s a claiming.

A slow, devastating claiming.

And I don't want it to ever end.

His hands slide down my ribs, palming my hips.

"Tell me this is against the rules. One word from you will make me stop," he rasps against my mouth, his forehead resting on mine.

The air between us buzzes, so charged I can barely breathe.

I shake my head, my fingers diving into the waistband of his joggers.

"Don't you dare," I whisper.

He lets out a sound that’s half groan, half growl, grabbing my thighs and lifting me against the wall with a roughness that sends my pulse skyrocketing.

I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, feeling the hard, thick ridge of him grinding against me.

It steals another whimper from my throat.

His hand cups the back of my neck, his thumb stroking the side of my throat as his eyes lock on mine.

"I need you," he breathes, voice cracking on the edge of it. "I need you so fucking bad, Peyton. I did it all for you—Jesse, the PT, the movie nights, Sproutacus...every single moment. Because for once in my life, I want to be the kind of man who deserves you."

Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but they’re swallowed by the desperate slide of his hand between us, his fingers sliding the thin layer of my cotton panties to the side. The air hits my bare skin, cold and shocking, but he’s already there, touching me, stroking me, coaxing me to open for him.

"Please," I gasp, my hips rolling against his hand.

"Fuck," he mutters, leaning his forehead into my shoulder. "You’re already soaking wet. So responsive for me, aren’t you?"

My legs are already beginning to shake, my body desperate for the deep, thick penetration that only he can deliver.

He slides his finger back out of my panties and slides his boxer briefs down with one hand. His hard cock bobs under me.

"Condom?" he pants, looking down at the rubber mat floor of the locker room for his pants.

"I'm on birth control," I whisper, the words shaking free. "I want to feel you, Hunter. Nothing between us. I want all of you."

His hand trembles as he guides himself to my entrance.

"Are you sure?"

I nod fiercely, digging my nails into his shoulders. "I’m sure."

And then he thrusts into me in one deep, slow slide, and the world tilts off its axis.

I cry out, the stretch, the pressure, the overwhelming fullness of him stealing my breath, making my toes curl, suspended behind him.

He groans something filthy into my neck—something about how tight I am, how good I feel—how he sees stars every time he enters me, but it blurs around the sound of my own heavy panting.

He pulls out slowly, then drives back in, each motion grinding my back against the locker room wall, each thrust shoving the air from my lungs. But I wouldn't want it any other way. Being taken by Hunter Reed is rough, and careful, and protective…and completely addicting.

"I’ve wanted you like this since the first time you smarted off to me at the charity event," he grits out, fucking me harder now, his hands braced on the wall by my head. "Since the second you told me I was an asshole."

I gasp out a broken laugh, my body already climbing too fast, too high.

"Maybe...I like assholes," I manage to gasp.

He huffs a low laugh, then buries himself deeper inside me, making me sob.

"Then you’re in luck because I’m just your type," he growls against my ear.

I’m going to come undone on a damn locker room wall, and I wouldn’t change a single second of it.

I’m close.

So close.

Every nerve ending screams for release as he drives into me harder, rougher, his hands grabbing at my hips, anchoring me to him.

"Is this your fantasy? Taking you against the wall of the locker room?” he asks.

I nod. I can’t count how many times I’ve dreamed about this since he moved in, and it’s even better than I imagined.

“Come for me, Peyton," he commands, voice dark and wrecked.

I shatter at his words, coming hard around him, clenching so tight he curses low and filthy against my skin.

He thrusts once, twice more—and then he's following me over the edge, emptying into me with a deep, guttural moan that makes my whole body tighten again.

Afterwards, as we lie tangled together on the bench, our breathing finally slowing, the weight of what just happened settles over us. Hunter's fingers trace idle patterns on my arm, and I savor the intimacy of the moment.

"Peyton," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "What are we doing?"

I chew on my bottom lip, my heart pounding. "I... I don't know," I admit. "I feel like I can’t decipher between real and fake anymore.”

He nods, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Me neither," he confesses. "I don’t think faking it is supposed to feel like…this.” He trails off, his thumb brushing over my skin.

"I'm scared, Hunter," I whisper, my eyes searching his. "I don't want to get hurt again."

"Hey," he soothes, pulling me closer. "I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to."

I let out a shaky breath, snuggling into his embrace. "I don't want you to go," I murmur. "But what does that mean?"

"Maybe we figure it out together."

“Really? I thought you didn’t do relationships.”

“I didn’t. But for you? I’d do anything not to lose you.” Hunter presses a tender kiss to my forehead. “Will you come to New Jersey with me for Christmas?”

I can’t stop the wide grin stretching across my face.

There’s still so much to figure out. Like, is he going to get traded to New Jersey? Am I going to win the syndication deal? Where do we both end up after all of this? But I can’t worry about any of that because right now, I’m the happiest I’ve been since… Since, I can’t remember when.

“You want me to meet your mom?”

“She’s begging to meet you and…she doesn’t ask for much.”

"This is just for her, then?" I tease, looping my arms tighter around his neck.

He shakes his head, that cocky grin I can never resist tugging at his mouth.

"Absolutely not. I just had a sudden fantasy of trying to fuck you in my childhood bedroom. Sixteen-year-old me would lose his goddamn mind if he knew I was bringing home a girl like you."

He leans in, brushing his lips over mine. "Hope you’re cool with twin beds, Collins."

I laugh, the sound bubbling out of me before I can stop it. "You are so kinky, it’s almost impressive."

"Almost?" He smirks. "Eliminate rule number one and you’ll see just how twisted I can get."

He drops his forehead to mine, voice low and teasing. "So, you’ll come?"

“It’s the first time I’ll have missed Christmas with my family, but I can’t seem to bring myself to turn down the promise of you trying to sneak to second base on your twin bed. You really laid the hype on thick.”

“Have I told you that baseball was my second-best sport in high school?”

“I’m shocked, can you tell?”

“I’m taking that as a yes, Passenger Princess,” he says.

“Yes, I’ll come.”

Relief washes over Hunter’s face, and he pulls me into a fierce hug, his lips finding mine in a kiss that leaves me breathless.

I melt into his embrace. This is uncharted territory for both of us, but the thought of spending the holidays with Hunter, of being welcomed into his family, fills me with a warmth I haven't felt in a long time.

I have no idea what this means for us, or if it means anything, but I can’t turn down this opportunity to see where Hunter comes from—what’s shaped him into the person I’m falling for, no matter how much I’ve tried to resist it.

New Jersey, here I come.