Page 16

Chapter sixteen

~ DAMIEN~

I down the glass of water in my hand, trying to calm myself down. I just fucked Rowan’s little sister. I knew my dick would get me in trouble one day. I’m a dead man. But, by God, if Avery isn’t worth it.

I rake a hand through my hair as I walk back toward her. Avery’s dead asleep on my couch, looking way too comfortable for her own good. I should pick her up, carry her back home, do something. But I’d risk Rowan seeing it, and that’s a shitstorm I don’t feel like starting tonight.

So, I make a call.

Screw it. She’s staying.

I crouch down, her scent enveloping me, and just like that, I’m getting hard for her again.

Fuck, focus.

I slide an arm under her legs, the other around her back, and lift her carefully, just in case she wakes up. But all she does is shift a little, burrowing her face right into my chest like she belongs there. Hell, that’s something. Her breath’s soft against my neck, and I feel the wetness on her thighs, a reminder of exactly how far things went tonight and how damn reckless it all was.

Should I feel guilty? Probably, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit this makes me feel alive, like I’ve tasted something I can’t un-taste. An army couldn’t pry me away from her at this point.

When I reach my bed upstairs, she stirs again, barely awake, her arms slipping around my neck in some kind of sleepy reflex. For a second, I think she might say something, call my name maybe, but she just snuggles in, trusting me completely without even realizing it. She smells so sweet, and her skin is so soft against mine that it takes everything I have to stop myself from waking her up for a second round. My girl needs rest.

I lower her down and head for my bathroom to fetch some wet wipes. When I return, she’s exactly how I left her, her full lips slightly parted, her hair fanning the pillow. God, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I take a deep breath and pull out a wet wipe before sitting next to her. Careful not to wake her, I gently wipe her arousal and traces of blood off her inner thighs, my cock straining to life again. I’ve never done this before, never even thought of it. But I have this need to take care of her and protect her that’s just as strong as the need to have her. I want my girl comfortable, but waking her up to wash her is out of the question. She needs sleep, and I don’t want to risk her going home. I need her here with me.

I finish up, throw the wipes in the trashcan, and pull the covers over her.

I need a shower. I take one last look at her before heading to the bathroom.

Under the water, tonight's events keep playing on a loop, every touch, every sound she made, and how right it felt even when it shouldn’t. If anything, I should be second-guessing this, getting hit with a wave of guilt strong enough to drown out whatever this thrill is, but no. Instead, it’s like my pulse has been cranked up to a whole new level, and there’s no coming down from it. Not ever.

When I’m done, I slip back into the bedroom. She’s still there, stretched out in my bed like she owns the place. And damn if that doesn’t do something to me. I don’t let women stay the night. It’s a rule. It keeps things simple, keeps me in control, and keeps them in check. But here she is, asleep, tangled up in my sheets, and there’s this strange feeling creeping in, something I haven’t felt in… ever.

I stand there watching her for a beat longer than I should, and yeah, it’s a risk. Rowan finds out, and it’s game over for both of us. But right now? I couldn’t care less. This is the first time a woman’s stayed in my bed, and it’s her. It’ll only be her.

I slip in next to Avery, my arm draping over the pillow between us, close enough to feel her warmth, and it’s like everything I knew before just shifted. I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of her breathing pull me under. And for the first time in a long time, sleep comes easily.

Sunlight’s starting to creep through the blinds when I crack an eye open, feeling the weight of someone lying beside me. For a second, I think I’m still dreaming, but then I see her. Avery is still asleep, curled up on her side, her face half-buried in my pillow, her face in inch away from mine. She’s thrown one of her legs over me, and the knowledge that she’s naked under the sheets isn’t helping my morning wood at all. My phone chimes, and I snatch it from the bedside table—8:34 AM.

Shit, I overslept. Rowan and Ares should be here any minute now. I groan, running a hand down my face to rub the sleep away. I haven’t slept this good in a while, and I think I know why. My phone chimes again, and I look down at a text from Rowan confirming that they’ll be here in five. Fuck. I look over at Avery.

She looks soft and peaceful, and I stop my hand midway to caressing her cheek.

I take a second to let everything sink in, watching the way her hair’s all messed up, her long lashes fluttering as she dreams, hopefully, of me.

I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her as I slide from under her leg, and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I don’t have time for much more, so I quietly get dressed with the toothbrush in my mouth, cursing myself as my belt clanks against the bed. Avery just lets out a sleepy moan and turns to her other side. There’s a thrill, knowing she’s here in my bed, wrapped up in my sheets, that no one else has ever done to her what we did last night.

I head downstairs, straight to the coffee machine, and turn it on as well as the TV. The faint hum of the coffee machine kicks on, and I’m just about to pour myself a cup when there’s a knock at the door. I look down at my phone—8:39 AM. Rowan’s never late.

He’s already talking as I open the door, stepping inside with Ares right behind him.

“Good morning,” he greets me, walking past. Ares gives me a curt nod which is his way of greeting or speaking, most of the time.

“Morning,” I say as I close the door and stride back into the kitchen to make us all coffee.

“You look like you just woke up,” Rowan throws out, opening my fridge to get a bottle of water.

“Because I just did,” I admit.

“Seems like everyone overslept today,” he says after taking a sip. “I tried waking Avery up, but she didn’t even open her door. She probably stayed up all night reading as usual.”

I keep my expression steady, hiding the relief from showing on my face. He has no idea.

“She’s probably just catching up on sleep,” I say casually. The thrill of it twists tighter in my gut. The fact that she’s upstairs while he’s here, completely oblivious, is like gasoline to a flame.

Rowan shakes his head, sipping his coffee. “If she doesn’t wake up by the time we have to leave for practice, we’ll leave without her. And she probably won’t.” He shrugs.

I nod, keeping my expression easy, but I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I take a sip of my coffee and give the boys my most unaffected smile. But Ares’s stare slices right through it.

His gaze locks on me for a second too long, and there’s this flicker of realization in his eyes, almost like he can smell the whole situation out. Hell, he probably smells the lingering scent of sex in here. The bastard’s like a damn bloodhound when it comes to secrets. And then his icy-blue eyes slide to the stairs before landing back on mine. Shit. The corner of his mouth lifts, just barely, but enough for me to know he knows. The guy doesn’t miss a damn thing.

That look sends a warning straight to my gut. But hell, I can’t bring myself to care. It’s risky, maybe even reckless, but the danger just fuels me. Ares may not say a word, but his silence is louder than anything. Rowan’s little sister. Upstairs. And me, standing here, acting like nothing’s happening. And he knows.

I keep the conversation easy, leaning into the thrill of almost getting caught.

“Ready to hit the ice?” I ask, steering us back to neutral ground. But the thrill of it? That doesn’t go anywhere.

If anything, it digs deeper, settling in like it’s got a right to stay.

Practice is brutal, exactly how we like it. The team’s split into squads, but it’s not a game so much as an all-out brawl. Coach’s blowing his whistle every few seconds, barking orders while we circle the ice, each of us eyeing the others, ready to pounce. The big game’s coming up, and there’s no way we’re holding back.

Rowan’s running the drills today—power plays and quick breaks. His passes are clean, no hesitation, snapping across the ice to hit our sticks dead-on. There’s no other center I’d trust to see the gaps and exploit them, slipping the puck right through before the defenders even know what hit them.

Ares skates up on my right side, quick as hell, like he’s telegraphing he’ll cut left, and then he pivots, drawing two defenders toward him. I’ve already broken to the right, opening a lane just long enough for Rowan to see and send the puck flying. It’s a tight, risky play, the kind we don’t mess around with in a real game unless we’re desperate, but damn if it doesn’t feel good in practice.

“Keep it tight, boys!” Coach Brown’s voice booms. He wants us gritty and hungry, and we’re giving him exactly that. The ice is ours right now, and every pass, every shot, is another taste of the rush that’s waiting in the game.

Ares catches up with me as I spin, maneuvering out of the defender’s reach and whipping the puck back to him with a flick of my wrist. He’s got a killer wrist shot, deadly accurate, like everything he does, but he’s already got his eyes on me. He’s charging toward me, and I see it a split second too late, not expecting it. He slams into my shoulder, and I’m sent flying into the boards. My helmet cracks against the plexiglass, and I see Ares as he slides up beside me.

He leans in low enough that no one else can hear, his deep voice a low growl. “What would have happened if she walked downstairs?”

There’s nothing playful about his tone; it’s sharp, a warning I’d be stupid to ignore. But I look right back, matching his glare. “She’s not that stupid.” There’s no point in trying to hide it from him. There’s no point in trying to hide anything from Ares.

“That makes one of you.” His eyes narrow, a flicker of that dangerous heat flaring up. I look around to find Rowan looking at us, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Not in here, Ares,” I growl as I shove back against him, tapping my stick against his.

He gives a dark laugh, shaking his head, and we both skate back into the chaos of practice, adrenaline pumping, the thrill of it all twisting into something sharper. We’re not just teammates here; we’re rivals, brothers who are willing to hit as hard as it takes to be the best. But Ares is on my ass the entire time, breathing down my neck, making sure I feel the pressure of his gaze. He’s offended I ignored his first warning, and he’s fucking pissed at me for putting him in a situation where his loyalty has to be split between his two best friends. I get it. And I know him. He won’t let me off the hook until I come clean.