Page 30

LENA

The rideshare pulls away from Gunnar and Emerson's building, leaving no evidence of our hasty departure.

We didn't say goodbye to anyone—not to Alder's brothers, not to Coach, not even to the bride and groom.

One moment, we were standing by the river, Alder's hand trailing down my side as he suggested we stop fighting our attraction, and the next, we were slipping through the crowd and out to the street, his phone already summoning a car since we’d been drinking.

The air between us in the backseat crackles, electric.

Alder sits close enough that his thigh presses against mine, the heat of him burning through the thin fabric of my dress.

Neither of us speaks. What is there to say when we've finally acknowledged what's been building for weeks? I can’t bring myself to worry about work right now.

Alder's phone buzzes, and he checks it. The blue glow of the screen illuminates his profile.

"LeMarcus," he explains, his voice low and rough. "Gordie's settled in my room. He had some chicken and took his meds."

"That's good," I manage, though at this moment, Gordie is the furthest thing from my mind. My entire body thrums with anticipation, need, and the knowledge that soon—finally—Alder's hands will be on me.

Alder types a quick response, then tucks his phone away. "I told him we're on our way and to feel free to head home."

"Good," I say again, unable to summon more eloquent words.

I hope LeMarcus takes the hint and doesn't linger. As much as I appreciate his care for Gordie, I need Alder with a ferocity that surprises me. It’s really all I can do right now to keep my hands out of my underwear in the back seat of this car.

A small, rational part of my brain tries to remind me of all the complicated reasons—the team's fraternization policy, my desperate fiscal need for this job, and the fact that we're both on the rebound.

But that voice is drowned out by the insistent pulse between my legs, the memory of Alder's eyes darkening as he looked at me in my underwear, the way his hands felt on my waist as we danced.

We're not promising each other forever. We're not even promising each other tomorrow. This is about tonight, about finally giving in to the attraction that's been building since that kiss in Brad's apartment—if I'm being honest since the first day I moved into Alder's townhouse.

The car stops in front of our building, and Alder helps me out, his hand lingering at the small of my back as we walk to the door. The simple touch feels different now—possessive, intentional. My skin tingles beneath his palm.

LeMarcus is in the living room when we enter, his backpack already slung over one shoulder. "Hey, there's the party people," he says with a grin that suggests he knows exactly what's going on. "Gordo’s all tucked in and comfy."

"Thanks, man," Alder says, his voice admirably steady. "You're a lifesaver."

"No worries.” LeMarcus's eyes flick between us, taking in our tense postures as we're both slightly flushed. "Well, I'll head out. My ma's expecting me. "

"Let me get you some cash," Alder says, already pulling out his wallet.

I shift impatiently as they handle the transaction, eager for LeMarcus to leave so we can be alone. Finally, finally, he heads for the door.

"Take care of that dog," LeMarcus says, then adds with a smirk, "and yourselves."

The door closes behind him, and suddenly, we're standing in the entryway, the air thick with anticipation.

"We should check on Gordie," Alder says, though his eyes never leave mine.

"Of course," I agree.

We move down the hallway to Alder's bedroom, where Gordie is indeed settled on the bed, cone around his neck, eyes half-closed with medication. He wags his tail weakly when he sees us.

"Hey, buddy," Alder murmurs, gently petting his head. "You feeling better?"

The tenderness in his voice and the care he shows his pet stir something deep inside me. Alder might present himself as a tough hockey player, but there's a gentleness to him that continues to surprise me.

Gordon seems comfortable, already drifting back to sleep, and Alder straightens up. When he turns to face me, the gentleness is gone, replaced by something darker, more primal. His posture shifts, shoulders squaring, jaw tightening.

He's no longer the worried dog dad or the dutiful brother attending a wedding. This Alder is all predator, and I'm his chosen prey.

He steps toward me, deliberate and slow, backing me into the hallway. I retreat instinctively, pulse racing, as he leaves the bedroom door open for Gordie if needed.

"Lena," he says, my name like a declaration on his lips.

And then he moves, closing the distance between us in two long strides. Before I can react, his arms wrap around me, lifting me effortlessly. I gasp, my arms instinctively circling his neck as he carries me down the hall toward my bedroom.

I've never been carried like this before—like I weigh nothing like I'm precious cargo. His strength is both intimidating and thrilling, the solid muscle of his chest pressed against me as he moves purposefully through the doorway to my room.

He lays me on the bed with surprising gentleness, then follows me down, his body covering mine. We stare at each other for a heartbeat, the final moment of hesitation before crossing a threshold we can't uncross.

Then his mouth is on mine, and any remaining doubts evaporate. His kiss is nothing like the brief press of lips we shared in Brad's apartment. This is hungry, demanding, his tongue seeking entrance, which I readily grant.

His hands roam my body with the same urgency, mapping the curves he'd only glimpsed earlier. This is usually the part where I worry about how my body feels to my partner, but Alder has made it clear that he is deeply turned on. And that alone almost sends me over the edge.

My hands explore the broad planes of his back and the solid strength of his shoulders. His mouth travels from my lips to my jaw, then down the column of my throat, drawing a moan from deep in my chest.

"God, Lena," he murmurs against my skin. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

"I think I have some idea," I manage, arching into him as his hand cups my breast through my dress.

He pulls back slightly, and I whimper at the loss of contact. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire.

"I need to tell you," he says, his voice strained. "I sent in the test kit. After Adam. Everything's healthy.”

The abrupt shift to practical matters catches me off guard, but I appreciate his honesty. "Me too," I say. "All clear. "

Relief crosses his features. "Good," he says. "Still, we should use protection."

"Yes," I agree, touched by his responsibility even in this heated moment.

He rolls off me, and I make a small sound of protest. "I have condoms in the basket," he explains. "Above the fridge."

"The safe and satisfied basket?" I ask with a small smile.

He responds with a serious expression. His voice is nearly a growl when he orders, “Be naked when I get back."

The command in his voice sends a thrill through me. I've never been with someone who speaks to me this way—not demanding, exactly, but confident, expectant. It's intoxicating.

"Yes, sir," I reply, the teasing honorific feeling right on my tongue.

He groans, leaning down for one more searing kiss before striding out of the room. The moment he's gone, I sit up, reaching for the zipper of my dress with trembling fingers that suddenly quiver.

This is happening. I'm about to have sex with Alder Stag. And something tells me it’s going to ruin me for sex with anyone else.

I slip the dress off my shoulders, letting it pool around my waist before stepping out of it completely. My bra and panties follow until I'm standing naked in the soft light filtering through the curtains.

For the briefest moment, old insecurities threaten to surface— in my head, Brad's voice criticizing my body, reminding me of all the ways I don't measure up to conventional beauty standards.

But I push those thoughts away, remembering the raw desire in Alder's eyes when he saw me in my underwear earlier, the way he called me sexy without hesitation or qualification.

I position myself on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, feeling strangely powerful in my nakedness.

I've seen glimpses of Alder's body over the weeks we've lived together—shirtless in the kitchen making coffee, coming in from a run in shorts that cling to his muscular thighs.

But I've never seen all of him, and anticipation coils low in my belly at the thought.

I hear his footsteps in the hallway, approaching the bedroom, and my heart rate quickens another notch. He pauses in the doorway, his eyes widening as he takes me in, sprawled across the bed.

"Fuck, Lena," he breathes, and the reverence in his voice makes me feel beautiful, desirable, perfect exactly as I am.

He moves into the room, tossing a condom onto the nightstand. His hands move to his tie, loosening it before pulling it over his head and dropping it to the floor. His fingers work on the buttons of his shirt, revealing more skin with each one that he opens.

I watch, mesmerized, as he shrugs off the shirt, exposing the broad expanse of his chest, the definition of muscle earned through years of training. My hand drops to my nipple, the skin taut and sensitive as I trail a finger while observing Alder undress.

His hands move to his belt next, and I hold my breath as he unbuckles it, the soft clink of metal loud in the quiet room.

He unzips his jeans and lets them fall to the floor, revealing black boxer briefs that do little to hide his arousal.

My breath leaves me in a low moan as Alder hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear, eyes never leaving mine as he pushes them down, finally standing before me completely naked.