Page 16 of Goalie’s Obsession (Iron Ridge Icehawks #3)

Chapter Sixteen

Lucy

I paid fifty grand for this night.

Fifty grand for a date with my brother’s best friend, the man I’ve wanted for longer than I care to admit. The man who’s spent the last week looking at me like I’m already his, touching me like he’s memorizing the feel of my skin, teasing me like he knows exactly how I’ll fall apart.

Now I’m sprawled across a bed scattered with rose petals, candlelight dancing across the walls, the faint hum of jazz from earlier still lingering in the air like a spell. My dress is pushed up to my hips, heels already tossed aside, and Connor Walsh is kneeling between my legs with fire in his eyes.

This isn’t just a hookup.

This is the moment we stop pretending.

He drags his hands up my calves, slow and reverent and so fucking sexy. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, Lucy?”

I want to tell him everything.

That I’ve dreamed of this since Vegas. That every smile, every look, every time he called me Lucy Lou and I pretended to hate it… it all made me fall a little harder. That the second he kissed me back at the gala, I knew there’d be no turning back.

That tonight, he didn’t just take me to dinner—he gave me something I didn’t even know I was craving: to be seen, spoiled, and wanted.

Instead, I whisper, “I just… want you.”

His hands still. Just for a second. Then he smirks, bends low, and presses a kiss to the inside of my knee. He breathes in the scent of my skin, his eyes darkening with a look that makes my heart race even faster.

“You’ve got me, Lucy Lou,” he says, voice wrecked. “Every fucking inch.”

He trails kisses higher, and my breath hitches when his thumbs hook into my panties.

Bright pink lace. Barely there. I bought them months ago and kept them tucked away, too pretty for regular use, too bold for most days. But tonight, when I slipped them on... maybe a small part of me had hoped. Dared.

I never thought I’d wear them for him .

Not after Vegas. Not after all the ways I thought this would never happen. Not after I told myself I was fine watching him from a distance.

“Off,” he orders, and I lift my hips instinctively.

He peels them down slowly, eyes locked on mine the entire time. When they’re off, he kisses my thigh, then smirks and shoves the panties into his back pocket.

“These are mine now.”

A breathless laugh slips from me, tinged with nerves and electricity, but it catches in my throat when he pulls back to look at me.

Connor doesn't move. Just stares.

His warm palms are firm on my thighs, spreading them wider, angling me open as if he’s admiring something sacred. Then he sits silently still at the end of the bed, his breath brushing warm against my inner thigh.

The hunger in his eyes is molten. Possessive. Like he’s seeing every inch of me for the first time and already committing it to memory.

His hungry gaze slides over my slick, swollen folds like he's already touching me. Heat pulses low in my belly as his jaw tics, as if just the sight of me like this—wet and waiting—is undoing him.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmurs, voice hoarse. "You’re already shaking and I haven’t even touched you yet."

I try to respond, but my brain has turned to static. I can’t look away. Can’t breathe. Can’t move under the weight of his stare.

Then, slowly, Connor leans in.

The first swipe of his tongue is slow. A careful, lingering drag from the bottom of my pussy all the way up, parting me like something to be savored.

My hips jolt. A soft sound tears from my throat.

“Oh— fuck .”

My hips jerk, hands fisting the sheets.

It’s not just pleasure. It’s the shock of finally being touched after imagining it for so long. After wanting this, needing this, through every bite of flirtation and every stolen look across a crowded room.

He groans low, mouth sealing over me in the next breath like he’s starved and I’m the only thing that could possibly satisfy him.

And I know—every single part of me knows—that no rooftop, no candles, no rose petals could ever compare to this.

To him .

He groans again, the vibration hitting my clit so good.

“ Fuck . Damn sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he mutters, his voice muffled as he licks me again, then again, dragging his tongue through my folds with devastating precision.

I can’t breathe.

His hands are rough where they grip my thighs, calloused thumbs pressing into my skin as he pins me down like I might try to escape.

Not a chance.

When he sucks my clit into his mouth, I arch off the bed with a strangled cry. He doesn’t let up—just groans like he’s feasting , like he’s starved and I’m the only thing that can satisfy him.

“Connor—” My voice breaks. “Oh my God —”

“That’s it,” he growls. “Come on, baby. Let me hear it. Let me feel it.”

I shatter with his mouth on me, a full-body quake that leaves me breathless and blinking at the ceiling like I’ve just been turned inside out.

When he rises, he drags his tongue up my stomach, licking the taste of me from his lips. His eyes are wild, pupils blown, jaw tight with restraint as he towers over me, a sight of pure masculinity that has juices flowing down my thigh.

I can see the outline of his hard cock pressing against his boxers as I pop the button and yank the zipper down. I reach in, wrap my hand around him—thick, hot, perfect —and feel him twitch in my grip.

He sucks in a breath, muscles tensing. “Jesus, Lucy…”

Pulling him down, I guide him closer, dragging the head of his cock against my soaked entrance.

“I’ve wanted this,” I whisper against his ear, letting him groan against my body. “For so long, Connor.”

“Then take it, baby. Take everything you deserve.”

Connor kneels above me, one hand fisted in the sheets beside my head, the other cradling the base of his cock as he strokes the thick, heavy length through my slick folds.

And holy fuck , seeing it—seeing him like this—is something else entirely.

I felt him in the ocean. Hard and thick behind that waistband. I touched him. Stroked him and teased him with nothing but the water between us and the threat of being caught.

Now there’s nothing in the way of the beautiful sight before me. No shorts. No surf. Just him , naked and unapologetically hard for me as he pulls back on his cock, nudging it against me as his eyes lock on mine.

“Lucy…” His voice is a whisper. “You sure?”

I nod, but that’s not enough.

Every ridge, every vein, every swollen, aching inch glides against me—and I swear my pussy squeezes just from the sight of it.

He’s huge. Beautiful. Smooth skin stretched tight over thick muscle, the tip flushed and slick as he drags it up and down, coating himself in how wet I already am for him.

I feel empty , like I'm aching to be filled by what he’s holding in his hand.

His gaze drops between my legs, watching the way my body reacts, and I swear he smirks.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice like gravel and heat. “Already gripping me, and I haven’t even pushed in yet.”

“I need you,” I whisper. “I’ve needed this for so long, I don’t even remember what it feels like to want anyone else.”

His jaw clenches. “Fuck, Lucy. That's deep. You wanna unpack that now or—”

I lean up and grab him by the shoulders, forcing him to fall down on top of me.

"Don't even think about it. Get inside me. Now. "

With a laugh, because of course Connor Walsh makes this funny and romantic all at the same time, he pushes inside me.

I moan at the feeling and feel my body sink into the mattress. Just the head at first, the stretch making me gasp. He stills, his thumb brushing over my hipbone as he sinks a little deeper.

“You okay?”

I grip his biceps. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He chuckles low, but it’s frayed at the edges. Like he’s barely holding on, too.

He sinks deeper, slow, inch by inch—filling me completely, until I’m stretched around him and our hips are flush.

“Oh my God,” I breathe.

He’s thick . He’s hard . He’s perfect . And I can feel every pulse of him inside me.

Holy shit.

This is happening. My brother’s best friend. The man I swore I’d never touch.

And now he’s buried inside me—completely, deeply, and without a single inch of hesitation.

There’s no going back after this. No pretending it didn’t happen. No hiding behind teasing glances and fake dating anymore.

Connor groans, forehead dropping to mine. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

I wrap my legs around his waist, locking him to me.

There's no going back.

“Then don’t let go. Ever.”

He smiles, brushes the hair off my face and starts to move his hips, his eyes never leaving mine.

This isn’t just sex. It’s connection. It’s clarity. It’s Connor, stripped bare and inside me in every possible way.

I reach up, fingertips brushing over his chest, tracing the sharp line of his collarbone. “Take this off.”

He yanks his shirt over his head in one fluid motion and tosses it aside, revealing golden skin and sculpted muscle that flexes as he holds himself above me.

God, he’s beautiful .

But it’s not just the body. It’s the man . The vulnerability behind his eyes. The way he looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

“Connor…” My voice breaks.

He stills. “What is it?”

“I don’t think I can ever stop wanting you after this.”

His entire body shudders like he realizes the same thing I am right now. This isn’t a mistake. It isn’t lust. It isn’t revenge or timing or the thrill of breaking a rule.

It's real.

“Then don’t,” he whispers. “Because I don’t want you to. I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you.”

He thrusts again—deeper now, rougher—and I cry out, my back arching off the bed.

His hands slide down to grip my hips, angling me perfectly as he fucks me slow and deep. His body pins me to the mattress, his weight grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

“Lucy,” he groans. “You’re so fucking tight. It’s like your body knows me.”

I moan, nails scraping down his back.

“Faster,” I gasp. “Please.”

He gives me exactly what I want—his rhythm intensifying, hips slamming into mine with thick, wet slaps that echo through the room.

I reach down between us, fingers finding my clit, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.

His eyes darken , and he groans at the sight. “Fuck. That’s so hot. Touch yourself for me, baby. ”

I moan loudly as my orgasm builds sharp and fast, curling low and tight as he pounds into me, hitting every single spot that makes my toes curl.

“You close?” he grits out.

I nod, breath catching. “So close— don’t stop —”

His hand covers mine, guiding my fingers against my clit. “Come on, Lucy. Come for me.”

The orgasm slams into me like a tidal wave, my whole body shaking as I clamp down around him, crying out his name.

Connor lets go with a strangled curse, burying himself deep and pulsing inside me as he comes, heat flooding me in long, shuddering waves.

We collapse together, tangled and breathless, our sweat-slicked skin sliding as he rolls us gently to the side, still wrapped around me.

I bury my face in his neck, my fingers tracing the tattoo on his ribs.

“I’ve never had sex like that before,” I whisper.

“Good,” he mutters into my hair, voice still wrecked. “Because you’re never having it with anyone else.”

I laugh, breathless.

But it’s not just about the sex.

It’s about him.

It’s about us .

Connor’s chest rises and falls beneath me and for a few minutes, I lie there, still trembling, still trying to process what just happened. What we just did.

I press a kiss to his shoulder, his skin warm and damp beneath my lips.

“So,” I murmur. “Worth the fifty grand?”

He groans. “Lucy Lou, you’re worth ten times that.”

My cheeks flush, and I’m suddenly glad my face is buried in his neck.

Connor shifts, rolling gently onto his side and nudging me into the pillow. Then he slips out of bed, completely, gloriously naked—and pads across the suite to grab the champagne.

“Are you strutting right now?” I tease, admiring the way the moonlight carves soft shadows down his back, all the way to his perfectly shaped ass.

“I just blew your mind,” he says over his shoulder. “Let me have my moment.”

He pops the cork one-handed and brings the bottle back with two glasses. The whole room glow with the candles still flickering around us.

“Enjoy your moment, Connor,” I whisper. “I can't believe tonight. You really went all out.”

He settles back on the bed and I lean over to kiss him on the cheek, our eyes connecting as I smile gently at him.

"Thank you," I say.

His eyes soften. “You deserved more than a bet. More than a rooftop and a cleverly worded menu.”

I bite my lip, watching him. Then my phone buzzes on the nightstand, ruining the most perfect moment of my life.

I glance over lazily, and freeze as the name on the screen lights up.

Ethan .

My stomach knots so fast it feels like I might be sick.

Connor sees it instantly. His entire body goes still. The humor drains from his face, replaced with tension so tight it could snap steel.

“You gonna answer that?” he asks quietly.

I swallow hard. “Um... I guess so.”

I reach for the phone, heart pounding as I slide my finger across the screen.

“Ethan?” My voice cracks. “What’s wrong?”

There’s silence on the other end. A loud crack and then my brother's voice.

Raw, frayed… Completely off pitch and frightened.

“Luce, I—”

I sit up straighter, pulling the sheet tighter around me. “Ethan, what is it?”

"I think I've messed up."