Page 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Blake

I slouch in my favorite leather chair, half-listening to the sports highlights droning on the massive screen.

Connor and Logan argue about last night's Bruins game while Ryder demolishes his third protein bar. Coach Brody scribbles plays on his clipboard while picking up his phone every now and then, smiling as her taps away on his screen.

The ESPN logo flashes on the TV, and suddenly her face fills the screen.

Sophia.

My spine straightens.

She’s glowing in the picture - taken at one of our recent press events, smiling in that way she does when she’s being polite but calculating her next move. She looks sharp, professional, confident in my favorite black powersuit.

And then I hear the fucking words.

"Sophia Hart - the name on everyone lips. Was she ever actually talented, or did she just sleep her way into the industry?"

The room shifts.

Connor sits up straight. Logan stops mid-conversation. The banter dies a sharp, ugly death as we all turn toward the screen.

The anchor's voice drips with fake concern.

"Sources close to the situation suggest Ms. Hart's relationship with team captain Blake Maddox may have influenced her rapid rise within the organization."

"Was she ever actually talented, or did she just sleep her way into the industry?" A female panelist sneers. "The numbers don't lie - their social media engagement skyrocketed after that skating video went viral."

The lounge falls silent. My knuckles whiten around the armrests.

Another panelist - some smug asshole in a navy suit - leans forward with a smirk.

"Look, I’m just saying, she goes from an assistant to running the Icehawks’ entire brand in what… a few months? Come on. Women in sports know how to work the room. Especially with the men in charge."

Every muscle in my body locks up.

"Fuck this." Logan hurls his water bottle across the room. "They can't just-"

"Turn it off," Coach Brody barks, but I barely hear him through the roaring in my ears.

My vision tunnels in on that screen, on the words crawling across the ticker at the bottom in bold white letters:

SOPHIA HART: REAL TALENT OR JUST BLAKE MADDOX'S GIRLFRIEND?

Someone from her old job comes on next. A smarmy-looking prick in an overpriced suit, shaking his head like he’s about to drop some insider wisdom.

"I mean, listen, Sophia was always ambitious. Knew how to play the game. Knew how to get close to the right people. And clearly, it's paid off."

Laughter. Smug fucking laughter from the panelists.

"Cap." Ryder's voice cuts through the haze. "You better shut this down before-"

"Before what?" My voice sounds foreign, deadly calm. "Before they destroy everything she's worked for? Before they reduce her to nothing but my girlfriend?"

Connor steps forward. "Blake-"

But I'm already moving, shoving past him toward the door. These vultures want a story? I'll give them one they'll never forget.

"Where are you going?" Logan calls after me.

"To fix this." The door slams behind me with enough force to rattle the glass.

I know what he’s thinking. I’ve kept my private life private for years. Refused to let the media get close, refused to let them twist my life into their narrative. I never let them get a headline off me.

But this?

This is Sophia.

And I’ll burn the whole fucking industry down before I let them do this to her.

I yank my phone from my pocket and dial.

"Eli," my voice comes out all rushed as I storm down the stairs towards Sophia's office. "Remember how you told Sophia about my birthday? Yeah, well, now it's my turn for a favor."

"I'm listening, kid. What's up?" Eli says on the other end of the phone.

What's up? What's up?!

I'm about to shake things up at Icehawk HQ. That's what's up.

***

I race towards Sophia's office not even bothering to knock, just bursting inside, my lungs desperate for some respite.

But it's empty.

The coffee cup I brought her before we walked in this morning sits cold, untouched.

"She left about an hour ago." Natalie's voice startles me from the doorway. "In tears apparently."

My hands clench into fists. "Where? Where did she go?!"

"I don't know… I've been trying to call her." Natalie holds up her phone, shaking her head, panic in her eyes. "She's not answering."

The image of Sophia crying hits me directly in the heart. Fuck. I should have been there. Should have known something was wrong when she didn't show up in the Player's Lounge after her meeting.

Instead, I sat there watching those bastards tear her apart on ESPN while she was dealing with this… whatever this is… alone.

"Those assholes in the board room-" Natalie starts.

"What happened?" My voice comes out as a growl.

"I don't know the details, but Lucy, the graphics girl, she said Greg and Big Mike tried to turn her into some kind of NHL Barbie doll. She walked out."

Pride and fury war in my chest.

Of course she walked out. She's too damn smart to let them reduce her to some puck bunny.

But the thought of her alone somewhere, hurting...

I'm already moving, brushing past Natalie toward the parking lot.

"Blake!" Natalie calls after me. "When you find her-"

"I'll fix this," I promise, not breaking stride.

Fifteen minutes later, reaching her apartment in record time, I pound my fist against the door, my pulse slamming harder than my knuckles against the wood.

"Sophia, open the damn door."

Nothing.

Fuck this. I'm not waiting.

Being patient when the woman I love is hurting?

Fuck that.

I take two steps back, plant my foot right next to the handle, and kick with everything I've got. The door splinters inward with a satisfying crash and a wave of lemon and goddamn citrus smacks me in the face.

Sophia leaps off the sofa, her hand flying to her chest. "DID YOU JUST brEAK MY FUCKING DOOR?!"

I storm inside, my chest heaving with each breath. "I'd break down the whole damn world to show you how amazing you are."

The words die in my throat when I see her face. Tears streak down her cheeks, her eyes red and swollen.

And there, by the window, sits a packed suitcase.

"Sophia, what the hell is going on? Natalie said-"

"Don't, Blake." Her voice shakes, her hands trembling as she wipes at her face. "I can't—I just can't do this right now."

I stare at her, at the way she folds her arms around herself like she’s trying to hold herself together, like if she lets go, she’ll shatter.

"You left the office," I say, taking another step closer. "You walked out of that boardroom, and now—now you’re here, packing? What the fuck happened?"

Her throat bobs as she swallows hard. "I quit."

"You quit ?"

She nods, her hands dropping to her sides.

"I walked in there expecting a strategy meeting. You know, the normal stuff. Maybe even a fight about the PR issues, about the media storm and how that's starting to get at me." Her voice turns sharp, her hazel eyes flashing. "But no. They had flowers waiting for me, Blake. Flowers. And wine. Like I just won some fucking award for being your girlfriend!"

I bristle.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means," she exhales, frustration thick in her voice, "the board doesn’t just want me as the face of the Icehawks. They want me as the face of the entire fucking league ."

My head jerks back. "What?"

"Yeah," she lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. "The NHL’s golden couple. Sophia Hart, the pretty girlfriend, smiling on billboards while they parade me around as if I have nothing else to offer except a fucking Chanel sponsorship."

She glares at me. "I don't even like Chanel! It smells like cat urine."

I exhale hard, pride and fury battling in my chest.

Of course she walked out. Of course she didn’t let them win.

I've gone toe to toe with the woman and look where that got me? Head over heels in love with her.

But the suitcase still sits by the window.

"Okay. So you quit. Attagirl." I take another step toward her. "So why the hell are you packing?"

We both look to the small suitcase. I want to grab that fucking thing and hurl it through the window, watch it explode on the pavement below.

"Were you really going to leave?"

She nods, but there's hesitation in the movement. "I... I don't know. Part of me didn't want to, but-"

I cup her face in my hands. My thumbs brush away her tears, and something in my chest breaks at how small she feels against my palms.

"Then don't. Stay. With me."

"I don't know who I am here, Blake. I came to prove myself, and now I'm just—"

I silence her with a kiss, pouring everything I can't say into it. All my rage at those bastards who hurt her, all my pride in what she's accomplished, all my desperate need to keep her here with me.

"You are not some PR pawn," I murmur. "You are not some pretty face they get to dress up and parade around. You are the smartest, most badass woman I’ve ever met. You built that team’s entire fucking brand with your bare hands, Sophia. You made it stronger . You made it better ."

"The Icehawks are gonna make the playoffs because of you. "

"Blake… I—"

I tilt her chin up, making her look at me.

"You’re not leaving, sweetheart." There's no question in it. "Not this town. Not this life. And sure as fuck, you're not leaving me."

"So what then?" Sophia asks. "I just quit and then let the paparazzi keep following us?"

"Fuck no."

I capture her lips in a fierce kiss, guiding her down onto the plush sofa cushions. My hands frame her face as I break away to look into those hazel eyes.

"First, I need to be inside you. Right now. Because the thought of you leaving..." My voice catches. "I've never been so fucking terrified in my life."

"Blake..." Her fingers trace my jaw.

"And then," I continue, trailing kisses down her neck. "I have a plan."

"A plan?"

She arches beneath me as my hands slide under her shirt, finding the hard peaks of her nipples. I trail kisses along her neck, savoring the scent of her perfume. Her hands fall to my arms, fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt as she starts tugging at it, pulling it from my shoulders.

"Yeah." I nip at her collarbone. "Eli's not the only one pulling the strings in this town, you know."

Her suitcase stands like an accusation by the window and I kick it over as I lift Sophia into my arms, carrying her toward the bedroom. Her legs wrap around my waist, and I can feel her heart racing against my chest.

"I love you, Blake."

I lay her on the bed, pulling my shirt over my head, staring down at the best damn thing that's ever happened to me.

"I love you too. Remember, you're more than them, sweetheart."

My fingers find her panties, and I pull them down with a swift movement.

"And I'd give up everything if it meant you'd stay right here. With me."

I drop onto the mattress and cage her in beneath me.

"Blake," Sophia whispers, breathless, her fingers fisting in my shirt.

I kiss her hard.

It’s not sweet. It’s not slow. It’s claiming.

I swallow her moan, letting my tongue slide deep, coaxing her into submission. My hands move, skimming up her sides, gripping her waist, pulling her against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me.

My cock is rock hard, pulsing painfully against my pants. I reach down, freeing myself, watching as Sophia’s eyes darken the moment she sees it.

"Not now, sweetheart," I growl, grabbing her wrist firmly and pin it above her head.

Her eyes widen, pupils dilated with desire, as I guide her other hand above her head, pinning it to the pillow.

Our eyes lock and her breath hitches.

She squirms beneath me, her hips lifting to meet mine, the heat of her pussy sliding over my dick. The friction sends a jolt of pleasure through me, but I need more. I need all of her.

"You like this?" I roll my hips, dragging my cock against her slick folds, not giving her what she needs yet.

Her body shudders, drawing an evil, satisfied chuckle from my chest.

" Yes ," she whispers, hooded eyes never looking more sexy. "Blake… Please…"

I lean down, capturing her mouth with mine. Our tongues clash, and I can taste her need, her desperation. It mirrors my own, driving me to the brink of control.

"Tell me," I growl, lips brushing against the corner of her mouth. "Tell me you’re not leaving."

Her body arches into mine like she’s already surrendering. I position myself at her entrance, but don't press inside just yet.

I need to hear it.

I need to know she'll never leave me.

"I—" She swallows, moving her ass across the sheets so my cock slides up and down her pussy. "I wasn’t really going to leave."

I smirk against her skin, dropping my hips to apply more pressure. "Damn right you weren’t."

I reach between us and grip my cock, nudging her clit, sliding down until I'm almost inside her.

I look back up. "You know why? Because you're mine, baby. Mine. "

I thrust into her, filling her completely.

Her back arches, and she cries out, her glorious cunt clenching around me as I roll my hips until there's nothing left to give. My cock disappears, filling her as her eyes clench shut, deep moans making my skin burn.

Each thrust is a claim, a promise. Each sexy fucking sound from her lips is a surrender, an acceptance of what we've found in each other.

We move together. Not just in this room, in this moment, but anywhere we go. Forever.

Her nails dig deeper into my skin, and I can feel her orgasm building, her body tensing around my cock. It's the perfect release after everything.

I lean down, claiming her mouth in another fierce kiss, swallowing her cries as she comes apart beneath me. Her pussy squeezes my, so fucking tight.

"Argh! Fuck, baby!"

I pound into her, relentless, hard and fast. Her release triggers my own, and I spill into her, my cock pulsing with each wave of pleasure.

Panting and exhausted, I roll off her, pulling her into my arms.

She snuggles against my chest, her breath warm against my skin. I can feel her heartbeat, her contentment, her trust.

And now, with my heart already laid out for the one person who I care about more than anything, it's time to put the rest of the world on notice.

No one messes with Blake Maddox.

But more than that…

They don't mess with his girl.