Page 18

Chapter Eighteen

Connor

W hen I opened my eyes, she was already awake.

Propped up against the pillows, thumb tapping quietly against her screen, a crease between her brows that hadn’t been there last night. The sun was barely peeking through the curtains, but she was lit by the glow of her phone, chewing on the inside of her cheek like she was bracing for something.

I didn’t ask what she was doing.

Didn’t need to.

I caught a glimpse of the name on the screen before she locked it and tucked the phone face-down on the nightstand. Ethan. Probably checking in to see if his head still existed after last night’s self-inflicted spiral. Probably trying to play damage control in the only way he knows how—badly.

She didn’t say anything. Just curled into me and let me hold her a little longer.

Now she’s in the shower, and I’m trying to figure out how the hell to bring some of the magic back into a morning that started with tension and quiet sighs.

Room service felt like the obvious move.

I added the chocolate croissants—two of them, extra flaky—because even when Lucy’s pretending she doesn’t want food, she’ll demolish one if it’s covered in powdered sugar. I threw in a green juice too, just in case she wants to balance the pastry with a little moral superiority.

The suite still smells faintly like last night—rose petals, candle wax, her perfume lingering on the pillows. I eye the bed. Half the duvet’s hanging off the side, and the memory of her flushed and gasping beneath me flashes like a sucker punch I didn’t see coming.

The bathroom door creaks open, steam billowing out like some dramatic movie entrance.

Lucy steps out in a robe, her hair wrapped in a towel, skin still damp and flushed.

She doesn’t say anything, but I catch the way her beautiful eyes sweep over the breakfast tray, then flick up to meet mine with the hint of a smile visible on her lips.

Progress.

“Don’t get excited,” I say, nodding toward the food. “It’s all part of my evil plan to butter you up.”

Lucy snorts, padding over on bare feet, still wrapped in that oversized hotel robe that swallows her whole.

“I figured the only way to beat your brother’s emotional terrorism was with carbs and inappropriate flirting,” I say, sliding the last plate onto the table like I’m setting up for a brunch-themed photoshoot.

“Wow,” she says, scanning the spread. “This looks like some kind of last meal slash death row situation. Are we being executed?”

"With what Coach Brody has planned for me today, you never know. Now sit."

Her towel’s turbaned on top of her head like she’s about to audition for a 1950s shampoo commercial, and I swear I’ve never wanted to rip something off with my teeth more in my life.

I pull a chair out for her, smirking when she rolls her eyes and sits anyway.

“Also, that green juice was a guilt-order. I didn’t want you thinking I was trying to emotionally manipulate you with only sugar.”

She lifts the glass, sniffs it, and grimaces.

I grin like the shit-stirrer I am. “Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

She bites back a smile, but it’s there. Real. Soft. That slow melt in her expression that says she’s still rattled from last night, but maybe not completely wrecked.

I grab my coffee and lean a hip against the table, watching her butter her croissant.

She catches me staring. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“That face.”

“Can’t help it.” I take a sip of my coffee and gesture to her with the mug. “You’ve got post-shower glow, a fluffy robe situation, and a croissant in hand. That’s basically my porn category.”

She chokes on a laugh. “God. Are you always such a menace in the mornings?”

“I’m your menace whenever you want, baby,” I say, grinning as I reach across the table and steal a corner of her pastry. “And I’ve got exactly one hour before I have to go pretend I care about puck drills, so…” I wink. “Better make it count.”

Lucy hums around a bite of croissant, eyes half-lidded like she’s not fully here yet—but she’s trying. Showing up in her own quiet way.

And fuck , if that isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

I sip my coffee and watch her, pretending not to catalog every slow movement, every stretch of her fingers as she peels a sliver of peach from the fruit bowl like it’s something intimate. Erotic. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me and is playing it dangerous.

She doesn’t, though.

She’s just existing.

And somehow, I’m already aching.

Last night should’ve ended with me waking up to her climbing back on top of me, my hands gripping her hips, the sun hitting her skin like something out of one of my teenage dreams.

Instead, Ethan blew through like a wrecking ball and left her splintered all over again.

So now I’m here. Operation: Distract Lucy . Featuring fruit, sugar, and a very inconvenient erection that’s been hard since the second she walked out of the bathroom wrapped in that robe.

She groans and stretches out with a sleepy moan, sinking deeper into the robe. The collar slips off one shoulder and her legs uncurl just enough to flash a hint of thigh.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“You full?” I ask, my voice already dipped a little too low.

“Absolutely,” she mumbles. “That was so good. Thank you.”

I drop a kiss to her temple. “Come on. Bed. Horizontal digestion is the only kind I support.”

She gives me a curious glance but lets me help her up and guide her toward the bed. When she flops forward face-first, the robe slips higher, baring the backs of her thighs.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I settle beside her, fingers brushing the soft curve of her back. Her hair’s still damp at the roots, her cheek warm against the covers.

“Mmm, your shoulders look tight,” I murmur, sliding my hand up her spine.

She giggles against the sheets. “Oh really? They look tight, do they?”

I drag my palm in a firm circle over one shoulder blade. “Yep. I’m professionally diagnosing you with tension.”

“Is this where you prescribe full-body contact?”

“Only if you’re good.”

She hums, teasing—but when I straddle her thighs and press my thumbs in, she melts beneath me like butter.

I start slow. Just her upper back. Soft, kneading circles. Her skin is flushed from the shower, dewy and smooth beneath my hands, and every time she exhales, I swear I feel it in my cock.

I keep it safe. Gentle. Focused on her shoulders, not the perfect swell of her ass. Not the way the robe has ridden so far up it’s basically just a suggestion now.

She sighs again and this time it’s breathier. Like something uncoiling inside her.

My hands slip lower. Thumbs brushing the edge of the robe. I kiss her spine—just once—but I know that’s all it’ll take to ruin us both.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” I whisper against her skin.

She deserves this. Deserves to be wanted. Touched like she’s worshipped , not weighted down by anyone else’s bullshit.

She shifts. Her hips rise just a fraction, offering herself without a word. Like instinct. Like muscle memory. Like she wants this as badly as I do.

“You okay?” I ask softly, fingers pausing just long enough to check in.

“Connor—” she says, and then deliberately shifts her hips… dragging her ass up into perfect alignment with my very enthusiastic interest.

"Oh. Right," I grin. "Message received, baby. Prescribing… full-body contact.”

I slide my hands down, fingertips skimming under the robe, palming the curves I can’t stop dreaming about.

She gasps softly when I pull the robe up, slow and careful, exposing inch by inch of her perfect body. I drag it off her shoulders and down her back, trailing kisses as I go, until the plush fabric pools at her hips.

And then she’s bare.

Completely, fucking bare .

My breath catches as I take in the view—her soft curves, the dip of her spine, the way her thighs part just slightly as she shifts further up the mattress.

And right between those sexy as hell legs?

Heaven. Pure fucking heaven.

I grip myself as her pussy glistens, wet and swollen, lips flushed pink and glistening with slick heat before my eyes. A soft trail of hair leads down to her center, the prettiest little arrow I’ve ever seen.

Goddamn.

I run one hand up her thigh, fingers sliding inward to part her gently, to stroke along the sensitive seam until she moans into the pillow. I watch, utterly spellbound, as her clit pulses, already engorged, begging for attention.

"You’re dripping for me already," I groan, voice rough as gravel. “You’ve got the sweetest pussy I’ve ever seen, baby. I could fucking stare at you like this for hours.”

Her hips twitch back toward me. “Connor… please.”

“Please what?” I murmur, trailing my fingers along her slick folds, rubbing her gently. “You want my fingers? My cock?”

I dip one finger inside slowly— so tight , so hot —then add a second, curling just right.

“Want me to ruin you, baby?”

“God—yes,” she gasps. “I need you, please."

I keep sliding my finger in her pussy, watching the way her body sinks down onto my hand. So fucking needy.

"That's it, baby. Talk to me. Tell me how good you feel right now."

She moans. "Fuck… Connor. You’re so good to me. I— fuck —I’m so lucky.”

My heart stutters. I didn't expect that.

Even wrecked and needy, she’s soft. Sweet. Absolutely perfect.

I press kisses along her back as I pump my fingers deeper, working her open while my thumb circles her clit in dirty patterns that have her squirming. She whimpers. Shakes. Her body rocks against the mattress, chasing everything I give her.

“Fuck, baby,” I pant. “You feel that? You’re gripping me so tight. You were made for this. Made for me .”

I slide my fingers free and move further onto the bed, quickly guiding my cock against her entrance.

It's so hard it aches, pulsing with the kind of need that borders on desperate. I line myself up and look down at her sweet, swollen pussy. It's velvety soft and glistening for me. My cock looks thick, heavy, flushed an angry purple against her folds.

Then, slowly, so fucking slowly... I push inside.

“ Jesus. ”

We both cry out in pleasure as her heat swallows me whole. Every muscle in my body goes tight trying not to come from the first thrust.

I grab her hips, pull her back against me, and rock into her—long, deep strokes that make her moan into the bed. Her hands fist the sheets. Her back arches and I lose myself in the rhythm of her, my hand coming down on the curve of her ass with a sharp slap.

"Fuck!" Lucy screams out, pushing her hips back so I slide in even deeper.

She’s so damn tight around me, so wet I can feel every drag, every pulse, every tremble in her thighs.

“Mine,” I growl, leaning over her. “You’re fucking mine, Lucy Lou.”

“Yes,” she cries out, voice wrecked and raw. “God, yes. I’m yours. Always.”

I reach forward, find her hand on the bed, and thread our fingers together. Anchor her to me. Anchor me to her .

Her body clenches around me so hard I nearly fall apart.

“Connor— oh god —I’m coming—” she cries, her voice all breath and broken pleasure as she reaches beneath her body and rubs her clit in hard, circular motions.

"Fuck, baby. Yes!"

I grip her hips and keep fucking her through it, even as her thighs start to shake and her slick, creamy release coats my cock. She pulses around me so tight and wet I nearly lose control—nearly.

Until she moans my name again, desperate and wrecked, and I’m gone.

“ Fuck, Lucy. ” I bury myself deep, hips jerking once, twice—then I explode inside her with a growl, filling her with everything I’ve been holding back. Her pussy milks me like it knows what I need, clenching and fluttering, dragging every last drop out of me.

I swear, I black out for a second.

When I finally come down, I collapse forward onto my elbows, chest heaving. Lucy’s sprawled beneath me, her body trembling with the aftershocks. My come slowly leaks from her pussy, slick between her thighs.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I kiss her shoulder, then her cheek, then roll onto my side and pull her back against my chest.

We lie there, tangled up in sweat and breath and a whole lot of what the fuck just happened . She’s warm and flushed and glowing in the soft hotel light.

“Think Ethan sensed that from Iron Ridge?” I mumble into her hair.

She snorts. “He probably woke up in a cold sweat.”

"Because of the hangover or—"

Lucy slaps me and I grin and roll onto my back, reaching blindly for the nightstand.

“Here,” I say, snagging the peach rings and holding one between my fingers like it’s sacred. “Emergency sugar.”

She turns her head and bites it from my hand without blinking, chewing with the slow satisfaction of someone who’s been properly fucked and fed.

I watch her, dazed and a little in love before checking the time on my phone and groaning.

“Shit. I’ve got twenty minutes to make it to practice."

Lucy snorts into the pillow, wishes me luck as I tug on a clean shirt, still half-watching her bask in the sheets like a very smug, post-sex goddess.

Then my phone buzzes. I glance down.

“Natalie says you’re ignoring her like a toxic ex. Also wants to know if you’re ready for dress fittings, or if she should caffeinate you first.”

Lucy groans and rolls to the other side, dragging the sheet with her. “Tell her I vote for in-room fittings. After last night, there's no way I’m dealing with paparazzi today.”

“Already done,” I say, walking over to her side of the bed. “Told her your suite is now a pop-up couture salon.”

I grab her coffee from the tray, bring it over, and leave it on the nightstand. Then I smooth the sheets up around her like she’s royalty and I’ve just personally invented the concept of luxury bedding.

“Get some sleep, Lucy Lou,” I say, brushing her hair back from her face. “I’ll come back with locker room gossip.”

Her lips curve without opening her eyes. “Gossip? Like what?”

I grin, leaning down to kiss her temple. “Like which rookie shaved a dick into his leg hair and blamed it on the fact that he vaped too much in high school."

Her eyes pop open, and she snorts. “Wait—what?”

“Don't worry. I’ll show you the photos later.” I grab my gear and sling the strap over my shoulder. “Try not to miss me too much.”

“Impossible,” she mumbles, already half-asleep.

I chuckle, grab my gear, and head for the door—but I stop before I open it. I turn back, watching her melt into the pillow like everything in her body just exhaled.

Yeah. That’s the look.

I walk back over, press a soft kiss to her temple, and whisper, “You deserve this. All of it.”

She hums something sleepy in response, already drifting.

I step into the hallway, door clicking softly behind me.

And I carry the image of her peace with me all the way to practice.