Page 20

Chapter Twenty

Natalie

T he roar of celebration fills the private jet, echoing through the spacious cabin as champagne bottles pop open, spraying arcs of gold into the air.

Laughter and victory chants bounce off the sleek leather seats, and the team, grown men, the best in their field, are acting like kids on Christmas morning.

The Icehawks did it.

A clean sweep.

I watch as Connor pours a ridiculous amount of champagne into the oversized Stanley Cup replica someone smuggled onto the plane. Blake is perched nearby, his arm draped over the back of the seat, a lazy, satisfied smirk stretched across his face despite the ice pack secured to his shoulder.

I adjust the wrap carefully, making sure it stays snug against his bruised skin. “How’s it feeling?”

Blake exhales, tipping his head back against the headrest. “Like I got hit by a truck, but in a good way.”

I shake my head, rolling my eyes. “That’s not a thing, Maddox.”

He grins at me, the afterglow of victory making him look ten years younger.

“I don’t know, Doc,” Logan chimes in from across the aisle, raising his champagne glass. “Getting your ass kicked for four straight games and winning? Feels like a damn good truck to me.”

A cheer goes up around the cabin, another bottle popping as Ryder, who's still hyped on adrenaline, launches himself over two rows of seats to tackle Connor.

The plane rocks slightly, but no one cares.

It’s all victory. It’s celebration.

And yet…

My eyes drift across the cabin, to where Hunter stands near the cockpit, silent.

The team captain is half a bottle deep in celebratory champagne, nursing his injuries but still smiling. The rookies are already singing some terrible victory anthem and the assistant coaches are grinning ear to ear.

But Hunter isn’t celebrating.

He’s watching. Calculating. The tension in his broad shoulders is too tight for a man who just got the win of his career.

"Take it easy tonight," I tell Blake, not taking my eyes off Hunter as he chokes on a laugh at the sight of Ryder leading the awful singalong at the front of the plane. "No heavy lifting those champagne bottles."

"Yes, Doc," he grins, giving a mock salute with his good arm. "Thanks for getting me out there tonight. It was amazing to be a part of the clean sweep."

"You did well to sit out those first two periods." I adjust the ice pack, making sure it covers the worst of the swelling. "I thought Hunter was going to burst a blood vessel when I told him I was only giving you 20 minutes on the ice."

Blake's grin widens. "Worth it though. Did you see their faces when I stormed out for that final period? Vancouver thought they had us."

"That goal was pure magic." I shake my head. "Sophia's gonna be one proud fiancé when we land."

Blake nods gratefully. "Thanks, Nat. Really. We couldn't have done this without you."

My heart swells with pride. It's a simple sentence, but it hits deeply.

I make my way down the aisle, checking in with each player.

Connor is now animatedly re-enacting his final save, using Ryder’s champagne flute as an imaginary puck, making the rookie protest dramatically when sparkling wine splashes onto his shirt. Logan simply reclines in his seat, an ice pack strapped to his bruised ribs, a satisfied grin stretching across his rugged face as he listens to their endless antics.

The laughter, the camaraderie… it feels like family. Like home.

I move toward Hunter, slipping past the clusters of players. The private jet is pure luxury—mahogany paneling, plush cream leather, soft overhead lighting. A catered spread of food sits untouched at the bar, glasses of champagne lined up like trophies of their own.

I pluck a flute from the counter as I pass and step in beside Hunter..

He barely acknowledges me at first, just tips his chin in my direction as I hold the glass out to him.

“Coach,” I tease lightly. “You won. You’re allowed to drink.”

Hunter’s lips twitch, almost a smirk. But not quite.

“I don’t need it,” he murmurs, his voice rough, barely carrying over the noise of the team.

"Come on. Congratulations are in order, Coach," I say softly, leaning against the plush leather seat beside him. "You did it."

He exhales and smiles. " We did it."

He reaches for my hand, his thumb gently brushing over my knuckles. The warmth in his touch sends sparks through me but he quickly pulls away before anyone sees.

"You finally got them back, after all these years. You showed Vancouver what they missed out on," I say. "Not that you could tell by the total lack of enthusiasm you're showing."

For a brief second, he glances down, eyes darkening with something deeper, something more intense than simple pride. When his eyes lift back to mine, the determination burning in their depths takes my breath away.

"Yeah," he says slowly, almost as if he’s admitting something that’s difficult to say out loud. "But it's weird, you know. Like it doesn't feel… finished ."

My brows furrow gently, confusion flickering through me.

"What do you mean? You beat them, Hunter. Decisively. Isn’t this exactly what you’ve been chasing for twenty years?"

"Yes," Hunter agrees, his voice low, husky.

He glances around the plane at his celebrating team, a gentle smile curving his lips.

"But I dunno. It's weird. I stood there after the game tonight, and watched my team celebrate. It should have been the moment I felt all of this… this…" He shakes his head. " Pressure… disappear."

I reach out for him, holding him by the shoulder as he stares off in the distance, opening his heart to me.

"It's like… I don't just want to beat Vancouver. I want it all, Nat. I want the trophy. Until I have that, this—" he gestures around, champagne and laughter filling the cabin, "—it isn't enough."

Admiration floods through me. The strength, the sheer unwavering determination of this man leaves me in awe.

I've known Hunter Brody long enough now to understand exactly what drives him. He won't rest until he's at the very top, until every doubt and every question ever raised about him is silenced permanently.

My fingers tighten gently in his hand, drawing his gaze fully back to me.

"You want the cup, don't you?" I ask, lowering my voice.

He nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Then we'll just have to win the whole damn thing," I whisper, offering a small, teasing smile. "Together."

The intensity fades slightly from his eyes, replaced by warmth, by affection that sends a thrill through me. He raises our entwined fingers to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles.

"Together," he murmurs, his voice a soft promise that echoes deep in my heart.

The tender moment shatters as freezing water crashes over us. I gasp, the shock of ice hitting my skin making me jump. My polo instantly plasters to my body, water streaming down my back and legs.

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry!" Ryder's eyes go wide with horror as he stands frozen, empty tray still in his hands. "I was aiming for Connor, I swear!"

Connor doubles over laughing, pointing at Hunter's drenched suit. "Your face, Coach! Someone get a picture!"

I glance at Hunter, and my breath catches.

Water drips from his hair, running in rivulets down his neck. His expensive suit is completely soaked through, clinging to every muscle. But it's his expression that makes me take an instinctive step back.

His jaw flexes, a muscle ticking dangerously as he stares Ryder down. The rookie shrinks under that lethal glare, looking like he wishes he could disappear into the plane's luxurious carpeting.

The entire cabin falls silent, everyone holding their breath, waiting to see if their coach is about to throw someone out of the plane at 30,000 feet.

I shiver, cold seeping through my now-transparent polo and leggings. The thin fabric clings uncomfortably to every curve, making me acutely aware of just how revealing this situation has become. Laughter continues to ripple through the cabin as the team takes in our bedraggled state.

I grab Hunter's soaked sleeve, tugging him toward the back of the plane. "Come on, Coach. Now you definitely need that drink."

As we squelch past Connor, still howling with laughter, Hunter's hand shoots out lightning-fast and flicks his ear. Hard . Connor yelps, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated pout.

"That's for encouraging him," Hunter growls, but I catch the tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth.

Water drips from both of us, leaving a trail across the aisle as we reach the back of the plane. My wet clothes stick everywhere, and Hunter's thousand-dollar suit is definitely ruined. But somehow, I can't stop grinning.

"Champagne fixes everything."

I reach for the bottle but suddenly I'm yanked away from it by an arm around my waist.

Hunter's grip is so firm I'm forced against him as I spin. Before I can protest, he pulls me into the tiny airplane bathroom. It’s bigger than a regular one, but with Hunter’s broad frame taking up most of the space, it feels impossibly small.

He slams the door shut and flicks the latch, locking us in. The click echoes in the confined space, making my pulse quicken.

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow, trying to keep my voice steady despite the heat building between us. "And how many people just say that?"

Hunter doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he presses me against the cool wall, his hard body pinning me in place.

His eyes darken, smoldering as they lock onto mine. "You think those morons are paying any attention to what we're doing?"

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. "Hunter..."

His name comes out as a whisper, almost a plea. He leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear.

"You wanted to celebrate..."

I shiver as his lips brush my earlobe. My hands move on their own, sliding up his chest and over his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath.

"You’re all wet," I murmur, trying to regain some semblance of control.

He grunts and shakes his head, then, before I can react, his hand is sliding down the front of my leggings, slicking through my folds and rubbing against my heated core.

A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest. "Hmmmm, and so are you."

The growl in Hunter’s voice sends heat spiraling straight to my core, and my knees wobble as his fingers glide through my slick, swollen lips. His thumb circles my clit, the rough pad pressing firmly, making my body arch off the wall.

“Fuck, Hunter,” I gasp, my hips instinctively grinding against his hand. "We shouldn't—"

“You like this, don’t you?” he growls, his lips brushing my neck as he slides one thick finger inside me, pumping slow.

“Yes,” I whimper shamelessly, my hips thrusting to meet his touch. “God, yes.”

He withdraws his hand abruptly, leaving me panting. He locks his glare on me, those eyes flashing with dark desire as he swallows hard.

"Then shut the fuck up and come here."

Hunter’s powerful hands grasp my hips, lifting me effortlessly off the floor. He deposits me roughly onto the tiny marble sink, my back pressed against the mirrored wall.

He hooks his fingers roughly into the waistband of my drenched leggings and panties, tugging them down in one fierce motion, baring me completely to him.

I shift uncomfortably on the cold sink, trying to find a stable position. My head bumps against the mirror as I try to angle myself better.

"Wait," I whisper, gripping the edge of the sink. My legs are spread wide, but the awkward height has me perched precariously. One wrong move and I'll slide right off. "This isn't—I can't get—"

Hunter steps between my thighs, his broad shoulders supporting my weight. His hands grip my hips, steadying me.

“Grab onto something, sweetheart,” he commands, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. “You’re gonna fucking need it.”

Before I can respond, Hunter’s strong hands grip my inner thighs, forcing them wider apart, spreading me open for him. The possessiveness in his eyes makes me throb, my pussy dripping wet, aching for his touch.

Then his mouth is on me, tongue plunging deep into my slit, devouring me with relentless hunger.

"Holy shit," I moan, my head dropping back so hard it bangs against the mirror again. "Oh, Hunter, fuck…"

I cry out, biting down hard on my knuckles to muffle the sound as he licks me roughly from my entrance up to my clit, sucking hard and flicking his tongue in quick, fierce strokes.

His stubble scrapes deliciously against my inner thighs, adding to the sensation. I’m panting harder now as he works his tongue over my clit with savage intensity.

My fingers tangle in his damp hair, gripping the back of his head, pulling him closer as I rock my hips shamelessly against his mouth.

“Yes— fuck —right there, Hunter, don’t stop—”

He groans against my pussy, the deep vibration nearly undoing me. His tongue lashes my clit harder, faster, and suddenly I’m right there on the edge, teetering dangerously close to oblivion.

“Come on, Natalie,” he growls roughly, his voice raw and commanding. “Give it to me.”

His lips close around my clit, sucking mercilessly while two fingers plunge deep inside me, curling perfectly against that spot that makes my vision blur.

My orgasm hits me like lightning, ripping through my body as I clamp my hand tightly over my mouth, muffling the scream as I shudder and convulse around his fingers.

Hunter doesn’t relent.

He holds me down, pinning me to the sink as he continues feasting, licking up every drop of my climax, prolonging the pleasure until my body goes limp, completely wrecked.

A thunderous roar erupts through the plane, snapping me back to reality as the entire team starts chanting "BOSTON! BOSTON! BOSTON!" at the top of their lungs.

The sound vibrates through the tiny bathroom where I'm still perched on the sink with Hunter's face buried between my thighs.

Slowly, he rises to his feet, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand, eyes blazing with raw, animalistic satisfaction as he turns his ear to the noise in the main cabin.

With an odd smile creeping on his lips, he leans in, lips brushing mine in a filthy kiss, letting me taste myself on his tongue.

“Well, sweetheart, sounds like we're headed to Boston in the next round,” he whispers darkly, his cock straining visibly against his soaked pants. "You ready to meet my parents, baby?"

My post-orgasmic haze shatters instantly.

I freeze, still perched on the sink, my thighs trembling.

"Y-your... parents?" The words come out in a squeak.

Hunter's wicked grin widens as he straightens his tie, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

My stomach drops straight through the floor of the plane.

His parents?

Oh, fuck.