Page 31

Holy shit, he’s huge.

I felt him through our clothes when we kissed, but he was wearing jeans. I’m having a hard time focusing on the task at hand when I’m on my knees, his shorts tented in front of me. To avoid looking at him, I have to concentrate extra hard to do up the final straps on his brace. My finger grazes his inner thigh and he jerks almost imperceptibly.

My core is throbbing, my mouth watering. It would be so easy. I could slide my hands up his thigh and under his shorts.

I’d have full access to wrap my hand around his cock, checking to see if the girth matches his length. I could probably get his shorts down and—

No, stop. I can’t be thinking this right now. The second the brace is secure, I remove my hands without lingering. I hope I’m keeping my face blank, though I haven’t been able to control the flush that’s creeped up my neck to my cheeks.

“How does that feel?” I ask. Damn it, I didn’t mean for it to come out all husky .

He regards me with a tilt of his head, eyes dark, pupils wide in the dimly lit stairwell.

Clearing his throat, he flexes his leg, moving it back and forth. His brows shoot up, his gaze locking with mine again.

“It’s not pinching.”

Relief floods me. “What else?”

He takes a tentative step and, unfortunately for me, closes the distance I’ve put between us. A stray curl falls across his face as he concentrates on testing it out.

“It feels”—he pauses, searching for the right word—“supportive.”

I nod, still trying to ignore the situation in his shorts.

“That’s good.” I take another step back and then circle him so I can check out the back of the brace. It gives me an excuse to hide my face and try to compose myself. With his shorts pulled taut, I can see the perfect outline of his ass.

I want to bite it.

Having him in my apartment has been a nightmare. But when I think about him leaving, my stomach flips, unhappy with the idea. I’m in way too deep and if I go deeper, the pain will be that much worse when he inevitably leaves.

He doesn’t get to choose whether he’s traded. He has to go wherever the league says. Even if he wants to stay here, he wouldn’t be able to. Unless he retires.

That’s a decision he has to make for himself, without my influence. We aren’t together and we only met a few months ago .

But even though we haven’t known each other long, I understand him—his quiet resilience, his protective nature, his different masks.

Though I still think he’s a jackass sometimes, he’s softer than I could’ve imagined. In personality. Not in physique. In that category, he’s hard everywhere.

Hard and huge.

And I’m back to thinking about his cock, which still has not abated. His strong hand grips the railing so hard, his knuckles are strained.

“I want you to walk back to the apartment with this on, carefully, and see how it feels.” I try to use my most clinical voice.

Hopefully that’s how it came off. I can’t hear myself think, not with my vagina roaring in my head, screaming at me to get that cock inside her.

No. I can’t.

Plus, he’s still injured, and even with how sweet and gentle he is, I know that’s not how he would be in bed. He’d be rough and—

Stop. God. Pull it together.

With a nod, he lets me go ahead so I can hold the door open. He moves slowly and cautiously. My eyes can’t decide where to land.

I watch his face for any signs of pain or discomfort and then the brace to see how it moves with him, assessing where things may need adjusting.

I’ve been busting my ass trying to get this prototype ready so he can try it out. It takes so damn long to develop new devices, but I wanted something for Julien while he’s still recovering .

We make it back to the apartment and Julien lets himself in with the key I had made for him. Before he fully makes it through the door, he turns to me.

“Where’s Levi?” he asks.

“Did you just notice I wasn’t carting a wiggly toddler with me?” I ask, incredulous at his lack of perception.

“I was distracted,” he mumbles.

I have to snort, feeling the tension break as I laugh, though it’s more like a giggle. He narrows his eyes but there’s humour in them.

“Maggie picked him up early today—it’s grandkid day.”

Once a month, Maggie and Thomas have all the grandkids over for a fun night where they spoil the living daylights out of the kids. Whenever I pick up Levi, he’s clinging to Thomas, hearts in his eyes.

I get teary every time, so grateful for this family that has welcomed us wholeheartedly.

Julien smiles, knowing how much Levi loves it there. When we get into the apartment, it’s quiet and dark. The tension begins to simmer again. I try to make myself busy in the kitchen, reheating leftovers of the dinner Julien cooked for us yesterday.

There’s a Whales game tonight so we eat early. Julien gets so tense he can’t stand to eat anything during the game. That doesn’t stop me from eating all the snacks though.

“Jersey,” Julien says from the couch. Like I could forget.

Given that athletes are a superstitious bunch, I was surprised when Julien still asked me—ordered me—to wear his jersey. I’d thought since he got injured when I wore it to the game, he wouldn’t want me to anymore .

I was wrong.

Despite his injury, that game ended their losing streak with a shut-out. So I guess that’s all thanks to me for wearing his jersey, and it would be blasphemous not to now.

It’s not a burden, though sometimes I wonder if he puts it on during the day when I’m at work so it smells like him when I wear it.

I toss him his jersey before pulling mine over my head, effectively dousing my body in his delicious scent. My suspicions might be confirmed when I spot Julien eyeing me with what can only be described as a satisfied male look. I raise a brow, but he just smirks and turns the TV on to watch the pregame show.

That fucking smirk. Such a jackass move.

“So, how was the brace?” I ask, making sure to keep a safe distance from him.

He relaxes when I sit down, sinking farther into the couch, as though he couldn’t rest until I was there. I shouldn’t let myself assume these things, but it’s sort of hard to ignore them when they’re in the shape of an intense, hulking goalie who pays such close attention.

I don’t miss the way his eyes heat when he turns to me.

“It’s good.”

“Seriously? Months of work just for you and that’s all you have to say. Typical.” I slump back into the couch with a sigh.

“Leah.” He says my name like a prayer. “Look at me,” he growls.

How can I refuse? My body is calling the shots right now and she’s always at attention for him. When I turn, I see the hunger in his eyes, in the lines of his face where his jaw clenches under his thick beard.

“Stop bossing me around,” I say.

“Why would I? When you enjoy it so much.”

My nostrils flare with anger and desire. It’s always those two feelings around him. Especially when it feels like he’s flirting with me. This is flirting, right? Fuck, it’s been too long.

“The brace is good—it doesn’t pinch. I can’t move as freely so it’ll take some getting used to, but my hip feels more supported and stable, so there’s less pain.”

Relief floods me. “Was that so hard?” I tease.

He turns back to the TV. “Yes.”

Ah, the one-word answer. Classic.

“Is there anything you think would make it better? Any changes I can make so you still have the range of motion you’d like?”

“I don’t need range of motion yet,” he says, eyeing the TV as the Whales skate onto the ice, effectively shutting down our conversation.

It’s game time.

Paige and Adam left last night for Florida. Julien holds his breath when McKay, the second line goalie and Julien’s replacement, gets in net.

My fingers twitch, wanting to comfort him. I know how hard it’s been, not that he’s told me in words. But it’s in the tension of his neck and shoulders, the downturned corners of his mouth.

Even though he’s a serious guy, he never frowns, his mouth usually in a straight line or that infuriating smirk I want to bite. But these past few months, he frowns through every game until I hold his hand, and the tension eases a bit.

He’s not like other hockey players or fans I know. There’s no screaming or yelling at the TV. No getting flustered with bad calls or plays. He’s a statue, eyes the only thing moving as he watches.

Florida scores the first goal of the game and Julien’s response is to hunch his shoulders. I don’t think, and my body is in control as I scooch closer and bring my hand over to massage the back of his neck.

He goes impossibly still at my touch, his chest frozen like he’s stopped breathing. I dig my fingers in, forcing him to relax.

“You’re going to have back problems if you stay this tense,” I whisper, continuing my one-handed massage. Though he doesn’t answer, his body slowly eases, relaxing. I’ve touched him so much today. If I don’t stop soon, I’m in danger of going overboard.

I begin to pull away when I’m content with his relaxed posture.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Dangerous. Dangerous territory.

“Do you want both hands?” Whoops. That sounded so dirty. I definitely meant massaging, not ... other things.

His head turns and it’s then I realize how close we’re sitting. Our bodies are a hair away from being completely flush, so when he turns his head, our faces are lined up.

All it would take to close the distance would be for one of us to lean in. My mouth feels dry and I have to lick my lips. Julien tracks the movement, his breathing coming in hot and heavy.

I have to move away, I can’t —

The TV erupts with cheers, breaking the moment. Julien closes his eyes and glances back. Florida scored a second goal.

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. I don’t know if it’s for the game or me.

I’m not moving my hand anymore. It rests there, soaking in his heat. My fingers move of their own accord, and I swear I’m not thinking about it as they trail up to his hair, playing with the soft curls.

When I rake my nails up his head, I’m rewarded with a deep rumble from Julien’s chest. His eyes drift closed as I continue to play with his hair.

This feels powerful and reckless, exhilarating. Levi isn’t here, and we’re on the couch, alone. With the dying sun, the room becomes darker and darker, the only light now coming from the game.

I don’t know how long we stay there, bodies close but not touching, my hand in his hair, soft moans escaping his lips when I play with the curls around his ear. He’s not the only one being teased because it’s not enough for him and it’s not enough for me.

But I can’t make myself do anything more than what I’m doing now.

The first period ends and commercials blare during intermission. This is usually when I pretend to be busy for twenty minutes, cleaning up or getting food and drinks for us. Well, food for me, drinks for him. Or when Levi needs to be put to bed. But Levi isn’t here.

It’s just me and Julien sitting on my couch, my hand in his hair.