Page 20

Sammy

One week after I get to make Finn come for the first time, we’re back in Vermont, and I’m on my way to her office. Downtown Burlington this time of year is my favorite—it hasn’t snowed yet, but all the storefronts are lined with garland and twinkling lights, advertising holiday drinks and decorations.

The air has a noticeable bite to it, but people are taking it in stride, breaking out their coats and boots with a gusto. The Santa and elf village is already set up in the square with a line of parents and kids bundled up stretching around the park.

With my hat on and hood pulled up, nobody notices me as I make my way down the street, and I take the walk as an opportunity to think about the past week. In the first game after Finn and I had sex, I didn't allow a single score. We beat the Dallas Stars by an embarrassing sum, and the sports channels went crazy.

After our trip to the amusement park, Finn sat with me in a hotel meeting room, forcing me to review the tape. She focused on the breakaway—the one I almost let in. It took everything in me not to stare at her lips the entire time. To think about what it would feel like to bring her back to my room again.

My second game after having Finn was in Vegas, against the Golden Knights, and I made a save so legendary I saw it playing on the jumbotron still the next day. After that, Finn pulled me away from the other guys and forbade me from going gambling. Instead, I soaked in Epsom salts, then did an ice bath, then met with a hypnotist who worked on me for two hours.

In the third game, our first time home after a long string of being away, Brett went nuts when I rocketed the puck so hard across the ice that it ricocheted off the net on the other side, nearly putting me on the board with him.

“I'm telling you, man,” Brett said, later that night, hanging off me. “We need you to get goalie goal this season. Epic cap to an epic run.”

“Don't you think winning the cup would be the epic cap?”

“Been there, done that," he joked, to which Coach Aldine cuffed him on the back of the head.

“Eye on the prize,” Coach said, but there was the sliver of a smile on his face.

“Hey, one sec Sammy.” As the rest of the guys continued to the locker room, Brett pulled me to the side, patting me on the shoulder pads. “Fallon and I bought a cabin up north. If you're interested, we're heading out there for the winter break. You should come. If you want.”

“Thanks, but no thanks, man,” I said, scratching the back of my head, thinking about my dad in the hospital. Already knowing that's where I'd spend Christmas. "But really—thank you.”

Now, I turn the corner toward Finn’s office. It’s in one of the historical buildings downtown, and when I step through the original stonework doorway, it takes me back to my first meeting here. When I tried to quit and Finn practically forced me to sit back down.

I decide to take the stairs, and when I step into the little lobby outside her office, Penny’s on the phone.

“Yes, that’s right. Round trip to Los Angeles. No—well, yes, an upgrade would be great. Thank you.”

I wait patiently until she hangs up the phone, my stomach twisting when I realize what she’s doing—likely booking Finn a ticket back to California for the holidays. I wonder how long she’ll be gone, but I don’t ask.

“Good morning,” Penny greets, standing and walking toward me.

“Good morning.”

She grabs a green scarf from the coat rack and starts to wrap it around her neck, lifting up her copper curls to tuck it in. “Finn is ready for you—she’ll be happy you’re on time.”

“Hey,” I say, laughing and shrugging off my coat. “I’m always on time. Where are you going?”

“I have some errands to run for Finn,” she explains, tucking her hands into her coat and moving for the elevator. “But I’ll be back with lunch just after one for you guys. Steak salad—right?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” I say, amused. Nobody’s ever remembered my order before.

With that, Penny turns and heads for the elevator, her shoes clicking as she goes. The doors close and ding behind her as I duck into Finn’s office.

After meeting her here for the first time, I searched Finn online. Her website was fast, snappy, and immaculate. There were several pictures of her standing in a massive, modern office that seemed like it was at the very top of the world, looking out over Los Angeles.

Finn is sitting behind her desk here, and looks different in this context. Instead of shining chrome accents, floor-to-ceiling windows, and concrete walls, this office is brick and oak accents. In here, it smells historical. Like wood oil and years of people living and working here.

Finn doesn’t lift her head right away when I walk inside. I take a moment to study her while she’s still looking down at her tablet. I watch her tap her finger against the desk, how streaking light from the windows shines on her dark hair, how her arms look with her elbows on the desk. Today she’s wearing a flattering pantsuit, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. From this angle, I can see her thigh disappearing under the desk, and all at once I’m thinking about what it would be like to have her in my arms again.

Shaking the thought away, I clear my throat and smile—hopefully in a way that doesn’t scream I was just imagining you naked —before closing the door behind me.

“Oh, perfect timing,” Finn says, gesturing for me to take a seat next to her. She turns around in her chair and holds up her tablet so I can see the graphs and charts there.

Our shoulders are a centimeter from touching, and I can feel her warmth through the separation.

“We have a lot to go through.” She taps through the screens. Even after two months of working together, I still can’t understand the whole Your test results just came in. Protein levels looking good, and your cortisol has dropped from 22 to 15—that’s likely a direct result from the meditation.

“I’ve been sleeping better,” I say.

“It shows—your testosterone-to-cortisol ratio is getting into the ideal range for performance…” Finn trails off, tapping on the screen of her tablet a few more times. When she does, her elbow brushes against mine.

She continues. “…iron stores are strong…B12 looking good at 750. Those IV protocols we started after back-to-backs are paying off—your electrolyte balance is perfect. Far better than when we tested you during the pre-season.”

My body feels different—stronger. More limber. All those sessions with the physical trainer—stretching and focusing on mobility—have changed the way I move. I notice it every time I lunge for a save, going farther and quicker than I have before.

“This explains your recent improvement in performance,” Finn murmurs, looking up at me through her eyelashes.

My throat gets tight, and it’s like the entire world narrows to just me and her. Since I had her in my bed, I’ve been able to think of nothing else. Even as we were both pretending it didn’t happen at the amusement park, then breezing through our meetings like I don’t still have the taste of her on my tongue.

She blinks, eyes searching mine, and the next words come out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them.

“It’s not the only thing.”

“What?” she says, brow wrinkling. “What else—?”

Before I can stop myself, I lean forward and press my lips to hers. For a heart-stopping moment, I think she might pull back from me, tell me this is a terrible idea.

Then she melts, falling forward into my arms.

We should talk about this—I know that. But talking is the last thing I want from Finn right now.

I’m moving, picking her up and setting her on the desk, and I can tell from the satisfied noise she makes that she likes it. She likes that I’m strong, that I can lift with ease. A thrill runs through me—an urge to throw her over my shoulder and carry her back to my apartment, hide away with her there. Show her everything I can do for her, how this new, optimized body can work for her too.

Her lips are soft against mine, and they part immediately, allowing me to slide my tongue against hers and groan at the friction. I step between her legs and growl deep in my throat when she tightens her thighs around my hips. Knowing she wants me, imagining her wet—it makes my cock hard immediately.

This kiss is better than the first because I know better now. I know to pay attention to everything, catalog it in case this never happens again.

I focus on the way she sighs against my mouth when my hands drift to her hips. How her body responds to my fingers skating under the hem of her shirt. The way she rocks into me, a gasp bursting out of her when she feels that first spark of friction—my cock straining against my pants, pressing into the silky material of her panties.

Thank God for skirts.

Our hands are frantic, quick. I bunch her skirt—looser this time—around her hips and she works my belt expertly, quickly unlatching it and tugging my pants down.

I can’t think about anything except how badly I want to be inside her. It’s all I’ve been able to think about. When I reach for her panties, intending to push them aside, Finn’s hand catches my wrist, and I pause, heart dropping when I think she might push me away.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she reaches forward, tugging my pants and boxers down so they fall away, leaving my cock there, throbbing and hard.

Finn considers it for a second, her eyes darkening. Maybe this is what gets me off about her—the constant appraisal. The thrill of getting good marks.

When she wraps her hand around the base of my cock, I black out for a second, the bliss of her palm against me almost too much. Stars dance in my eyes, and when I come back to the moment, she’s grinning up at me with a satisfied smirk. Slowly, she strokes me from base to tip, reaching up and pressing a kiss to my throat as she does.

When I thrust into her hand, the tip of my cock finding friction against the damp, silken fabric of her panties, a thrum of pleasure courses through my body so fully I think I might come immediately.

“Not yet,” Finn whispers, and I groan, dropping my forehead against her shoulder, fighting to restrain myself, to keep from releasing into her hand right now. “Work for it, Sammy.”

Her voice is low, sultry, and I growl, thrusting against her again, already going insane at the fact that I’m not inside her right now. Of course Finn would take control of the situation, keep me just on the fray of getting what I want.

“Show me that you can do a good job,” she purrs, “show me that you can fuck me right, Sammy.”

“ Fuck .”

Hips moving, I thrust into her hand, both engulfed in what’s happening right now and also imagining her on her back, legs spread, right at the edge of her desk. How I’d hold her thighs, find the perfect angle, slam into her so hard she’d forget her name.

Unable to stop myself, I grab her hip, planting my thumb on her clit and pressing until her body reacts against mine. Her hand tightens on my cock, and it sends me over the edge, my release coming hot and fast on her panties and her desk.

“Sammy,” she gasps, and then, “ Sam .”

That nickname rockets through me—returning me instantly to my childhood. My dad, calling my name through the house, hollering it cheerfully when I got a great block.

Sam .

When I first came to the Vipers, it was understood pretty quickly that I didn’t want anyone calling me Sam. It was Devon who christened me Sammy and saved me from that awkward conversation.

Sam .

“You okay?” Finn asks when I open my eyes again, her face coming into focus. I’m still breathing hard. Her hand is still loosely around my dick, and my hand is still planted on her hip. Despite the fact that I just came, I still want her. I want to steal her and hide her away, have my way with her until these urges finally stop.

“Yeah,” I say, roughly, Sam still echoing in the back of my head. When she smiles at me, her eyes still faraway and stuck in that lust-fueled haze, I say, “Finn, I want to fuck you again.”