Page 9

9

Piper

I’m still tingling from that damn kiss.

I hate that I keep thinking about it. About him. About how that damn kiss felt like he was peeling back every layer I swore no man would ever touch again.

It happened days ago—at the auction—but every time I let my mind wander, I feel Jake’s mouth on mine. My heart hiccups at the memory: the way his hand slid around my waist, the brush of his lips, the moment he went from cocky smirk to raw desire in half a heartbeat. It’s infuriating, especially since I keep reminding myself I don’t do love, don’t do relationships, don’t do any of this nonsense anymore.

I groan and roll over on my bed, burying my face in the pillow.

I lie there, the silence of the night pressing around me, but my mind is anything but quiet. The sheets are cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat still simmering beneath my surface. My body hums with a restless energy, a direct result of the night’s events.

That kiss —God, that kiss—have left me aching and desperate. I try to push the thoughts away, to focus on the softness of the pillow, but my traitorous mind drifts back to Jake Ice. His strong hands. That wicked mouth.

I shouldn’t be thinking about it. Shouldn’t be feeling like this. But the moment my eyes drift shut, my mind betrays me, replaying every slow, devastating second of his lips on mine. The memory is too vivid, too raw. I can still feel the weight of his body against mine, the way his hands gripped my waist like he was afraid to let go.

And now, here I am, alone in my bed, and this time, in the dark theater of my imagination, it doesn’t stop after the kiss.

My fingers drift beneath the waistband of my panties, seeking the slick heat between my legs. I gasp at the contact, my hips bucking slightly as my fingertips brush against my core. It’s like I’m addicted to the sensation, to the way it makes my breath hitch and my heart race. In my mind, Jake is here, his presence overwhelming, his touch electric.

I imagine him pressing me against the wall, his body hard and insistent. His lips crash against mine, kissing me deeper than he did before, his tongue demanding entry, exploring my mouth like he’s claiming it. I taste him—salt and whiskey and something uniquely Jake—and I moan into the kiss, my hands tangling in his hair. His teeth nip at my lips, gentle but firm, and I shiver, my fingers moving faster between my legs.

I can feel him, even in my fantasy. His cock, hard and thick, grinding against me through our clothes. It’s a tease, a promise of what could be, and it sends a jolt of need straight through me. I whimper, my thighs clenching around my hand as I imagine him growling in my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

“You like that, don’t you, Piper?” His voice is low, dominant, tender in a way that makes my knees weak. “You like it when I touch you.”

His hands are under my dress now, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of my thighs, inching higher. I’m trembling, my breath coming in short gasps as he teases me, his touch deliberate, slow. I want to beg him to hurry, to touch me where I need it most, but he’s in control, and I’m helpless to resist.

“Say it, Piper,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. “Tell me who makes you come.”

I bite my lip, my fingers pausing for a moment as I try to hold back. But it’s no use. The fantasy is too real, too intoxicating. I’m lost in it, my body responding to his imagined touch like it’s actually happening.

“You do,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “You make me come.”

His fingers find my clit, circling it slowly, teasingly, and I cry out, my back arching off the bed. My hips rock against my hand, desperate for more, but he’s relentless, taking his time, driving me mad with want.

“That’s it,” he growls, his mouth moving to my throat, his teeth grazing my skin. “Say my name. Tell me how much you need me.”

“Jake,” I moan, my body shaking as his fingers dip lower, slipping inside me, wet and slow. “I need you. Please—”

But he doesn’t give me what I want. Not yet. He pulls his fingers back, teasing the entrance of my pussy, denying me the relief I crave. I whimper, my fingers taking over, thrusting against my clit as I imagine him watching me, his eyes dark with desire.

“Not yet,” he says, his voice a command. “You’re not ready to come. Not until I say so.”

I try to resist, to push the fantasy away, but it’s too late. I’m drowning in it, my body trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I can feel the orgasm building, a wave of pleasure crashing over me, but he holds me back, his imagined touch keeping me on the edge, teetering between pleasure and desperation.

“Jake,” I plead, my voice breaking. “Please—I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, his mouth on my throat again, his teeth nipping at my skin. “You can do this for me. You can hold on.”

But I can’t. My body is betraying me, my fingers moving faster, my hips bucking against my hand as the orgasm spirals tighter, tighter, until I can’t hold back anymore.

“Jake!” I cry out, his name tearing from my lips as the pleasure explodes through me. My body shakes, my fingers still moving, drawing out the sensation, milking every last drop of it. I imagine him pressing against me, his cock hard and insistent, demanding entry, and I moan, my thighs clenching as the orgasm washes over me.

But as the waves subside, I’m left feeling shaken and unsatisfied. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my heart pounding in my chest, but there’s an emptiness, a void that the fantasy couldn’t fill. This is more than just a fantasy; it’s a glimpse into a world where I lose control, where Jake Ice owns me, body and soul.

A floorboard groans in the hallway.

Shit. My hand jerks back like I’ve been caught stealing. I yank the blanket up to my chin, breath still shaky, heart pounding.

“Hey, you alive?” Maddie’s voice floats through the crack in the door.

I don’t have time to hide the flush in my cheeks—or the fact that my hand was still between my thighs three seconds ago.

Why the hell didn’t I lock the damn door?

“Barely,” I mumble. “Come in.”

She steps inside, arms laden with shopping bags. “Why didn’t you go to the festival today? You missed a good sale at the stalls,” she says, dropping the bags on a chair. “Figured you’d be lying here, staring into space and drooling over him.”

I hurl a pillow at her. She dodges easily, laughing. “Shut up. It was just a kiss.”

“Right.” She perches on the edge of the bed, eyes dancing. “Just a kiss that has you melting every time you think about it.”

She’s not wrong. The worst part is, after the kiss, Jake and I hooked up in a whirlwind of heated touches and mutual bravado. Not actual sex—because no —but it was enough to leave me a trembling mess. So now I’m stuck replaying every heavy breath, every press of his body against mine.

If I close my eyes, I can almost feel the rough scrape of his stubble along my neck, his hands gripping my hips. It was so easy to imagine letting him go further, letting him…

I squeeze my thighs together, trying to quell the sudden ache. “Ugh, I hate him,” I say, breath unsteady.

Maddie tugs my hair playfully. “Yeah, sure. You hate him so much that you’re blushing.”

“He’s just such a prick ” I protest, sitting up. “Always strutting around like he owns the damn place. And—God help me—I can’t get that stupid, perfect mouth out of my head.”

“Stupid, perfect mouth, you say?”

I throw my hands up. “Don’t mock me. I’m serious.”

Maddie bites back a grin, then leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Okay, confession time: was it good enough to, you know, consider more ? I mean, not just s-e-x. But more- more.”

More. The question stings. A flash of memory: me in a past relationship, trusting the guy who said he’d always be there. Then him cheating, me feeling like a fool, and my father—who was never really around—telling me I “could’ve tried harder.” The same father who had more girlfriends than I can count, proving real love is a myth anyway. No, I’m not about to relive that heartbreak or buy into the greeting-card fantasy of happily ever after.

“No,” I say firmly, though my body trembles with the lie. “I’m not ready for a relationship. I don’t even believe in it. It’s all hype, like those movies you binge-watch when you’re sad. It’s just…not real.”

Maddie’s face softens. “Pipes, I know you’re jaded, and I get it. But you don’t have to marry the guy—maybe just let yourself have some fun without freaking out.”

Fun. Right. Except “fun” has a track record of blowing up in my face. I shake off the thought and reach for my phone. “Anyway, I have work to do.”

“Meaning?” Maddie arches a brow.

“I need to post about the auction on my Piper on the Ice blog—just a neutral post about winning a hockey player at a charity event. And then…” I hesitate, stomach knotting. “I also have to write something as Penelope Darling, giving everyone that scathing behind-the-scenes trash they lap up like hungry dogs.”

Maddie winces. “You’re not going to keep going after Jake, are you?”

“I have to. Negative sells.” I feel gross just admitting it. “If I don’t keep the momentum up, my advertisers threaten to pull out. Penelope’s brand is snark and scandal. It’s what pays the bills.”

“But you…like him,” she pushes gently.

“Hate him,” I correct, ignoring the twinge in my chest. “Totally different.”

Maddie doesn’t look convinced, but she backs off. “Fine. Write your posts. But you better hope he never finds out you’re Penelope.”

“He won’t,” I say, forcing confidence into my tone. “Trust me.”

I open my laptop and start typing, the words flowing with practiced ease despite the knot in my stomach.

***

brEAKING: Cedar Creek's Golden Boy SOLD to the Highest Bidder

That's right, darlings—our favorite hockey hothead Jake Ice was auctioned off like prime cattle at Cedar Creek's Bachelor Auction. The price? A jaw-dropping thousand dollars for a man whose temper tantrums on ice are legendary. Talk about OVERVALUED.

My sources report that a certain female photographer outbid several others in what can only be described as a momentary lapse of judgment (or perhaps a publicity stunt?). After all, what woman in her right mind would pay that much for a man who's been known to check opponents into boards for looking at him wrong?

Let's not forget this is the same Jake Ice who nearly got suspended last season for that "misunderstanding" with a referee. Charming. Now he's playing the devoted single dad card while cashing in on his looks at charity events. How convenient.

The real question: What poor woman thought HE was worth emptying her bank account? And what will Daddy Ice think of his son being bought and paid for?

Stay tuned, my loves. This is just the beginning.

XOXO,

Penelope Darling

***

I hit publish, swallowing the guilt that rises like bile. Then I shut my laptop and tell myself it's just business. Just another job. Just another lie.