Page 33 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)

FUTURE LUCY CAN WAIT

Lucy

T he second the words leave my lips— Then have me —Bennett makes a sound deep in his throat, something raw and devastating , like I’ve just undone him completely.

And then—he moves .

One second, I’m pressed against the door, his body solid and warm against mine, and the next, I’m lifted clean off my feet.

I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders as he carries me effortlessly through his condo. His grip on my thighs is firm, fingers pressing into bare skin where my dress has ridden up, and I feel his smirk against my neck.

“Not even gonna pretend to play it cool, huh?” I manage, trying for teasing, but my voice betrays me. It’s breathless , barely there.

He chuckles, dark and knowing, his lips brushing just below my ear. “Not when it comes to you.”

My stomach flips, heat licking up my spine.

Wow is this really happening?

He strides through the apartment like he’s on a mission, the city skyline glowing through the massive windows, the air between us thick with tension.

And then— we’re in his bedroom .

Bennett lowers me slowly, my back landing against his mattress, the plush comforter cool against my overheated skin. He hovers over me, bracing his hands on either side of my head, his gaze hungry .

“You’re too beautiful,” he mutters, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud.

My breath catches.

This cocky, golden-retriever of a man—this normally teasing man has gone all serious on me and I’m not sure what comes next.

I swallow hard, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that my dress is practically half-off my body.

He watches me carefully, his eyes searching. He’s teasing, but there’s something else underneath it—something deeper.

And for the first time tonight, I realize that this —whatever this is—isn’t just some heated moment fueled by champagne and mutual attraction.

This is us finally giving in.

Fully.

Completely.

And I’m terrified .

But when he leans down, pressing the softest, most excruciatingly tender kiss against my lips, my fear melts away like ice in the heat.

I kiss him back, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him down, closer .

And just like that, I fall .

The ride here from the gala was so tense, I wasn’t sure what Bennett was thinking about—now it’s clear. He had exactly one thing on his mind, and trust me I’m not complaining.

My pleasure seems to be the only thing he cares about. The guy has the patience of a saint. Methodically stripping me and kissing each new inch of skin he exposes, he moves with the precision and skill of an elite athlete.

Things escalate from zero to naked very fast and I’m breathless.

I work at the buttons at his throat, and soon, he manages to stop touching me long enough to strip.

And Bennett Wilder without clothes?

He’s like Michelangelo’s David. Hard as stone and just as beautiful.

He joins me on the bed and we kiss for what feels like eight centuries.

This time, when I ask, he does have protection. He doesn’t tell me this with his words, he just grabs something from his nightstand drawer and readies himself.

It’s sexy, seeing this side of him. I’ve gotten to know so many sides of him these past few months—the playful side, his nurturing side…but this? This is something altogether and decidedly different. More intimate.

And when he lifts me, positioning me on top of him, it’s his eyes that really get to me. They see everything, and when he finally joins us—they slip closed—just for a second and he exhales roughly.

And I feel everything. All of him, and it’s too much.

His fingers trace my skin, settling at my hips. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked.

No.

Not even a little.

Because this man is ruining me .

And the worst part? I want him to.

I tip my head back, catching my breath, trying to gather even a fraction of my composure. It’s impossible.

Instead, I slide my fingers up his chest, making him groan. “Can you—can you try not to be so good at this?”

His lips quirk up.

A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face. “Not when you look at me like that.” His thumb strokes along my cheek, his eyes dark and dangerous . “I’ve waited too long to have you like this, Quinn. No way in hell I’m holding back now.”

And he doesn’t. Soon, I can’t take it anymore.

“Ben…”

That’s it folks. I only manage that first syllable before a wave of pleasure knocks the breath from my lungs.

Then my brain sorta fixates, rather inconveniently, on wondering if anyone ever calls him Ben.

Then a second even stronger wave of pleasure, and I make an unintelligible whimpering sound.

“Yeah?” he asks on a groan.

“Yeah,” I confirm.

· · ·

I should be asleep.

My body is completely spent, muscles like jelly, my skin still humming with the aftershocks of what just happened. My brain? Useless. An overheated, scrambled mess.

And yet—I’m wide awake.

Bennett’s arm is heavy across my waist, his body warm and solid behind me, one big hand tracing absentminded patterns over my bare hip. Neither of us has moved much since coming back down to earth , tangled up in his sheets, the glow of the city outside spilling soft light across the room.

I shift slightly, just enough to turn and face him, resting my chin against his shoulder.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.

I am .

I don’t even have the energy to deny it.

“I’m processing.”

His lips curve lazily, one dimple flickering in the dim light. “And? What’s the verdict?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Undetermined.”

He lets out a low chuckle, shifting onto his back, dragging me against him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like I belong here.

“Need a second round to make up your mind?”

I snort. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.”

I roll my eyes but let my head settle against his chest anyway, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat.

A comfortable silence stretches between us, his fingers brushing idly up and down my spine, and for the first time in a long time, I feel… completely happy.

Like stupid happy.

It should terrify me.

It does terrify me.

But right now, curled up in his bed, his skin still warm against mine, that worry feels like a problem for future Lucy.

Bennett lets out a long breath, voice quieter now. “So, how long are you gonna pretend like you don’t love this?”

I stiffen slightly.

He feels it. Knows it.

His hand pauses at my back before smoothing over my hair.

I could deflect. Could pretend like this is nothing more than what we’ve both claimed it to be.

But instead, I sigh dramatically. “Fine. You’re a decent cuddler.”

His chest rumbles with laughter. “Decent?”

“I’m not trying to inflate your ego before we’ve even left the bed.”

Bennett shifts, rolling us so that I’m pinned beneath him again, his weight deliciously heavy, his stupid smirk making an appearance.

“Quinn,” he murmurs, dragging his lips over my jaw, voice all gravel and heat. “You love it.”

I bite back a smile. “Go to sleep, Wilder.”

He grins against my skin.

“Okay.”

I need to get up, I need to pee and wash off my makeup, but I can’t bring myself to move just yet. This might be one of the best nights of my life.

Future Lucy clears her throat from some back corner of my brain, willing me not to get ahead of myself, but I tell her to pipe down and let me enjoy my night.

· · ·

The smell of coffee drifts through the air, pulling me from the warm cocoon of sleep. I stretch beneath the sheets, blinking at the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Bennett’s bedroom.

For a moment, I just lay there, absorbing everything. The soft hum of the city waking up below. The lingering ache in my muscles—a delicious reminder of exactly how last night ended. The faint sound of someone moving around in the kitchen.

I roll over, my hand skimming the empty space beside me. Warm, but vacant.

He ditched me.

Rude.

I shove the covers off and sit up, searching for something to wear other than my very wrinkled golden dress from last night, which is currently in a heap on the floor. My only option? The Stampede hoodie draped over the chair in the corner.

I tug it on—it smells like him—and wander barefoot into the kitchen.

Bennett stands at the counter, freshly showered, hair damp, wearing nothing but sweatpants that hang low on his hips. I almost want to tug him back to the bedroom.

He glances up, and the slow grin that spreads across his face nearly knocks me flat.

“Morning.”

I cross my arms, pretending not to notice the way my stomach flips at the sight of him. “You left me in bed alone.”

He smirks, pouring coffee into a mug. “Didn’t want to risk you waking up and realizing you made a terrible mistake.”

“Debatable.” I eye the cup he’s holding. “Is that for me?”

He walks toward me, handing it over. “Depends. Are you still pretending last night was no big deal?”

I glare, taking a sip. It’s rich and strong, the perfect balance of bitter and sweet, and I almost moan.

He watches me with a knowing look. “You’re so easy to please in the mornings.”

That’s when I see it—a brown paper bag from a nearby bakery, the top folded neatly, two muffins placed on a plate.

“What’s this?”

Bennett shrugs, leaning against the counter. “I like taking care of you.”

“Good. Because I require constant attention.”

His lips twitch. “I’ve noticed.”

I grab the muffin, tear off a piece and pop it into my mouth. We settle into an easy rhythm—me perched on a barstool, him leaning against the counter, both of us eating, sipping coffee.

“So, what’s on your schedule today?” I ask between bites. Max had a sleepover with Aunt Mia last night, so I don’t actually have to rush off.

He tilts his head, considering. “Well, I thought about locking you in my bedroom and never letting you leave, but I figure that’s frowned upon.”

I smirk. “Slightly.”

He sighs dramatically. “Then I guess I’ll settle for convincing you to spend the day with me voluntarily.”

I pretend to think about it. “Depends. Are more muffins involved?”

“Obviously.”

“And coffee?”

He gestures to the counter. “I have a whole pot, Quinn.”

“Well, damn.” I shake my head in mock defeat. “You really know how to tempt a girl.”

He grins, setting his coffee down and moving toward me. “You have no idea.”

His hands settle on my hips, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of his hoodie that I’m still wearing, skimming the bare skin of my waist. His eyes darken just a little, and my breath catches.

“Luce,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing.

I swallow. “Yes?”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything else—just watches me, thumb stroking lazy circles against my hip.

The air shifts, the playful banter replaced by something heavier.

I’m still not used to this. To us.

To the way he looks at me like he’s never wanted anything more.

I glance down at my half-eaten muffin, then back up at him.

“This is dangerous,” I mutter.

His brows lift. “The muffin?”

I roll my eyes. “You. This.”

He hums, considering. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out exactly how dangerous.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you trying to trap me with baked goods?”

“Is it working?”

I press my lips together, pretending to weigh my options, even though we both know my answer.