Page 26

TWENTY-SIX

Fuck. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Her dirty-blonde hair is a wild, tangled mess from where my hands have run through it. Her lips are puffy and swollen. Her pajama shorts and tank top sit askew, leaving little to the imagination. The outline of her pebbled nipples and her wet pussy are visible through the thin white cotton fabric. But it’s the lust-drunk look in her eyes and the flushed glow of her skin that truly undoes me.

She’s perfection, a sight I could lose myself in. Forever .

“Fuck, I like this side of you.” I take another moment to drink her in. “Thank you for letting me see it.”

She pecks my lips as her post-orgasm haze clears. But our soft affection quickly turns back to desperate need. My attempts to calm myself are failing, leaving me teetering on the edge of control I’ve been holding onto since our kiss earlier. My balls are painfully full, but seeing Hannah come makes it all worth it.

When she grinds against me again, I know I’m not alone in my desire. Making her come again feels necessary. “Can I taste you?” I speak softly against her lips.

Her body tenses before she sighs, her breath warm against my skin. She buries her face into the crook of my neck, melting into mine.

I worry when she stays silent, her face still hidden from me. Gently, I rub her back in soothing circles, not sure what I said wrong but feeling bad about it, nonetheless. “We don’t have to. I didn’t mean?—”

“It’s not that,” she interrupts. “I’ve just never really liked it. It’s never gotten me off, so it feels like a waste,” she admits, barely above a whisper.

Who the hell gave her that idea? Don’t even think his name. “We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with and like. I’m just wondering, was it that you didn’t like how it felt or did he make you feel like it was a chore?”

She pauses, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before finally responding. “I’m not sure. They kind of went hand in hand, so I never enjoyed it. I don’t know if it was because it didn’t feel good or it was a mental block thing. Or a bit of both.”

“Okay, well, just so you know, I want to. Really fucking want to.” My dick twitches in agreement. “It’s not a waste or a chore. It’s a privilege .” I kiss the top of her head and mentally curse Knolls for planting all these seeds of doubt in her head.

She finally raises her gaze and looks at me quizzically. She must find what she’s looking for. “Okay. Can we try it? I just don’t want you to be disappointed if it doesn’t… work.”

“Baby, there’s nothing to work or not work. You just lie back and relax, okay? There’s no pressure. If you don’t like it, we’ll stop. Always.”

I can see a mix of worry and excitement flicker across her face. Wanting to shut down her thoughts, I grab her waist and toss her gently so she’s no longer straddling me but lying on the bed. Rolling on top of her, I rest in the cradle of her hips. I kiss her but don’t linger, running my nose from her neck to her collarbone, my lips and tongue exploring her skin as I pass. Her nipples still strain against her thin top. I tease the peak with my tongue over the fabric before bringing it fully into my mouth and sucking. Her tits are perfect, filling my large hands.

She moves under me, the wet fabric of her shorts rubbing against my exposed abs. When her nails claw into my forearms, I move down her body. Lifting her shirt so I can kiss along her stomach. I chuckle when she gets impatient, bending her knees and pushing her hips toward me.

Lust clouds her features as she looks down. Looping my fingers in the waistband of her shorts, I raise a brow in question, and she responds with a rapid nod.

I tug them down, inch by inch, deliberately slow. My gaze never leaves her as the cotton glides over her hips, down her thighs, and off her legs, leaving her completely bare, all soft curves and smooth skin.

No fantasy could compare to the reality before me. I lean in, dragging my nose over her pussy, and inhale her intoxicating scent. A low, guttural groan escapes me, vibrating against her. She squirms beneath my attention, and when I lift my eyes to hers, I catch the flicker of shyness in her gaze. Her cheeks flush as she turns her face away, trying to hide, but I don’t let her.

“You’re perfect, baby. Beyond anything I could have imagined. Do you know how many times I’ve come with my hand wrapped around my cock and your name on my lips?”

I place feather-light kisses from her knee to her inner thigh, one leg and then the other. I can tell she’s getting impatient when she wiggles down the bed, seeking my mouth.

She moans as my tongue glides over her, tracing a path from her entrance to her clit. When I circle her clit with deliberate, teasing strokes, her body tenses, trembling. I repeat the action over and over until her hips begin to shift restlessly.

“Ryan.” Her voice carries a tinge of both arousal and irritation.

Mission accomplished. Her soft gasps spur me on as I take her clit into my mouth, giving it a hard suck that makes her entire body jolt.

Only her erratic breaths and those sweet, soft sounds echo in my ears. It’s intoxicating, the most addictive thing I’ve ever heard.

I circle two fingers around her entrance before pushing inside. Fuck . The way she clenches around me has precum leaking from my tip. My mind wanders, imagining how her tight cunt will feel wrapped around my cock, and the thought alone nearly undoes me.

“Oh my God,” she says on an exhale.

Her fingers grasp at my hair as I continue scissoring my fingers inside her, my tongue relentless against her clit. I can see the struggle in her quivering thighs as she fights the urge to clamp them around my head. I savor every shaky breath and broken moan, committing the way she falls apart for me to memory.

When her walls tighten around my fingers like a vise, and a soft gasp escapes her lips, I know she’s close. “Ryan. I think I’m going to come.”

My hips grind against the mattress involuntarily, seeking friction. I’m dangerously close to coming myself.

When she reaches for her tits and pinches her nipples, I groan into her. Even if it’s the only time we do this, this snapshot will live rent-free in my mind for the rest of my life.

I double down, curling my fingers to hit that spot that I know will drive her wild, while my lips and tongue work in tandem on her clit.

Her back arches, her breath ragged and uneven, as she comes. The feel of her pulsing around my fingers, imagining it’s my cock instead, overwhelms me. It’s too much. Too intense. Too much of everything I’ve dreamed of, everything I never thought would actually happen.

Before I can get control of my body’s reaction, I come right along with her, spilling onto the bed in a surge of overwhelming pleasure. I should be embarrassed, but all I feel is pure bliss.

Resting my chin on her hip, I watch as her body sinks into the bed. Her breathing gradually returns to normal, steady and deep. When she shifts her gaze from the ceiling, her eyes finally meet mine, and one word leaves her lips, “Wow.”

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. I laugh against her warm skin, feeling slightly smug. “So, I take it you liked it?”

She caresses my forearm, draped over her stomach. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“Me? Never,” I mock. I’m my worst critic in most areas of my life, but in this one thing, I do feel pretty proud.

“Oh… do you need… you didn’t come,” she stammers.

“I did.” I shift to my side, showing her the mess I made of her comforter and my boxer briefs. “We’re going to have to clean your comforter.”

“Oh, you weren’t lying. You really do like it?”

“I’ll never lie to you, Sunshine. And yeah, with you, I love it.” I kiss her stomach before framing her body with mine, capturing her lips in a lingering kiss.

Last night was… fuck .

I look down at Hannah’s face, still relaxed in sleep. She’s cuddled up at my side. I’m not sure our bodies have separated since we got into bed last night—an arm draped over me or a foot tucked between my calves kept us connected throughout the night.

I watch the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes deeply. Watching her sleep brings a small smile to my face. For a few minutes, I do nothing but admire her peaceful form before the panic sets in. What did last night mean? How can I make it happen again? Did she feel the same way I did?

The anxiety bubbling up now brings me back to the last time I had this feeling: when I first signed with the Saints. I’d spent years chasing my dream of playing professionally, facing rejection after rejection, and wondering if it would ever happen. When it finally did, I couldn’t fully trust it, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It’s all too familiar. The girl I fell for almost instantly six years ago, and have only fallen for more deeply as time has passed, is right here, closer than ever. She could finally be mine, and I’m willing to do anything not to lose her. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling of bracing for something to go wrong, as if I might not get what I want after all.

I could’ve eventually come to terms with not making it in hockey, but I really don’t think I can do the same with Hannah. Not again. Not when I’m this close.

But am I really close, or is this all still practice to her? I refuse to let my self-doubt fuck this up.

I drag myself out of Hannah’s bed and head for the kitchen. It’s too early for alcohol, so caffeine will have to do.

An hour later, after walking Fred and downing two cups of coffee, I’m still so lost in my thoughts that I don’t hear Hannah enter the kitchen. When she comes up behind me and kisses my cheek, I nearly jump out of my seat.

“Hey, it’s just me. Why’re you so jumpy?”

I quickly recover, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her onto my lap, pressing a kiss to her exposed shoulder. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

She laughs. “When are you not?”

I tickle her sides in retaliation, eliciting a burst of giggles as she wriggles.

As her laughter fades, so does pretending my world wasn’t completely upended last night.

She shifts off my lap and takes the stool next to me, her concern about last night slipping through her forced smile. “Should we talk about… the thing?”

“The thing?” I ask with humor to mask the storm of thoughts circling in my head. Is this when she tells me it shouldn’t have happened? Is she going to backpedal like she did the first time? My chest tightens, bracing for the inevitable, preparing for her to pull away again.

Her eyes narrow slightly, and the look she’s giving me says, cut the shit.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I’m too scared to voice the question that’s really on my mind: Do you regret it?

“We probably should, right?”

I nod, silently hoping she’ll take the lead, sparing me from facing truths I’m not ready to confront. Does she regret it? The question surfaces again, unhelpfully.

“Should we chalk it up to practice?” Her voice is steady but her eyes betraying a hint of uncertainty. I can’t quite read what she wants the answer to be.

Should we? It implies we can keep doing this, but it also makes it clear that it doesn’t have to mean anything. And it does mean something to me. But is she ready to hear that? I’m not sure, so I err on the side of caution.

“Sure, practice I wouldn’t mind repeating,” I joke, but the truth of the statement comes through in my tone.

She crosses her legs, her knees brushing against the side of my thigh.

“We were caught up in the moment,” she states.

Another nod.

“It did help us get more comfortable showing… affection.” That’s one word for it. “I don’t regret it…” Oh, thank fuck. “Do?—”

“Absolutely not,” I cut her off. “No regrets here.”

“Good.” She spins the ring on her thumb. “It was good, right?” She looks far more unsure than I ever want her to be. I can’t stand it.

I frame her jaw with both hands, gently tilting her face so her eyes meet mine. “It was beyond good. It was everything. I loved every minute of it.”

A shy smile spreads across her face, lighting up her features. “Me, too,” she mumbles. The urge to kiss her is overwhelming, and I nearly give in, but then she asks, “What are you up to today?”

“Not sure. No practice… hockey practice, I mean… today,” I piece the words together awkwardly. So much for a swift change of topic. “What about you?”

She laughs, letting me off the hook. “Going to meet up with Ada. She offered to help me set up a Kickstarter for the rescue and reach out to southern shelters with high euthanasia rates to discuss partnerships. I already have a few foster volunteers I’m vetting. It’s all coming together.”

Her soft heart never fails to amaze me. She might guard it fiercely, but beneath that tough exterior, she’s tender and caring. I just hope she learns she can trust me with it, that I’ll protect it as carefully as she does.

“Send me the link when you get it set up; I’ll be your first donor.”

She shakes her head. “You’re already doing enough for me, Ry.”

“This isn’t even the tip of what I want to do for you, Sunshine.”

She bites her pouty bottom lip before rising and making her way to the kettle, filling it with filtered water from the fridge.

“Should I take Freddie with me, or will you be around?” Fred, who’s curled up asleep in his dog bed, rouses at his name.

A chime alerts her that the water is up to temperature, and she pours it over a tea bag in her favorite mug.

“I’ll watch him. You go focus on your stuff. I’ll be around, probably heading over to check out Fox’s place. He’s been bugging me to visit.”

She finishes prepping her tea with a splash of milk and a bit of sugar. I could kick myself for not thinking to make it for her earlier, when I was too caught up in my own thoughts.

“Cool. I’ll see you later.” She reaches the doorway but quickly turns back, pressing her lips to my cheek before making her way back upstairs.

“About time. You get a girl, and you forget all about me?” Fox says as he opens the door to let me in. Unlike him, I actually knock.

“You’ll understand when you find a girl you actually take seriously.”

“Doubtful. What’s up? I figure you’d be with Hannah.”

“I would, but she’s working on her rescue fundraising with Ada.”

Fox rolls his eyes. “Glad to hear I’m your second choice.”

I shrug.

“Jackass,” he mutters under his breath. “So, did you start Project Romance? Seemed to be in full effect last night.”

“Yeah. Thanks to you.” I follow him through the kitchen into the living room. His place has a similar footprint to mine, but it’s all clean lines and stark colors. Even the couch looks too modern to be comfortable. I sit down to test it, and I’m right—it’s like sitting on rigid plastic.

“You’re welcome. Have you asked her out on a legit date yet?” Fox asks, squeezing himself into an accent chair that is way too small for his large frame.

“What’s up with your furniture?” I can’t help but ask.

“Way to dodge the question.” Fox narrows his eyes. “And yeah, I know. I thought I could deal with the stuff the previous owners left, but it’s crap. I need a designer… or a girlfriend.”

“Because those are the same thing,” I quip. “What’s the difference between asking her on a date and asking her to do things?”

I mean, I ask her to hang out with me every free minute I have. How is a date any different? Do I just have to preface the invite with “on a date”?

Not that it matters after our talk this morning—there will be no asking her out until I’m sure her answer will be yes. Even though I’ve given up on my list of do’s and don’ts, I still don’t want to push for too much too quickly.

Fox rubs his chin in thought. “Hmm, well, I think a date requires you to explicitly ask her on one. Actually plan something special. And it has to be romantic. Like candlelit dinners and shit. Wine. I don’t drink, but even I know wine is the drink of romance. Oh, and cook for her. Chicks love when you cook for them.”

Cooking is out of the question. There’s no way I’ll impress her with my skills in the kitchen. And wine equals romance? I shake my head.

“Any ideas that don’t include cooking?” The moment the words leave my mouth, I immediately regret asking for Fox’s input. I can’t recall him ever taking a girl on a date, unless you count the kind that ends with them in his bed.

“Well, on our show?—”

“ Our show? Who’s ‘our’?”

“You, me, and Hannah. You’re The One . Anyway, think about the dates they go on: dancing lessons, obstacle courses, exploring different countries… Oh, group dates. They do tons of those. Really adds to the drama.”

“Your suggestion is that I bring Hannah on a group date with other women?” I raise my brows, questioning yet again why I thought asking for his input was a good idea.

He scratches the back of his neck. “No, that’s probably not a great plan, I’ll admit.”

At least he’s not totally hopeless. “All right, well, you’ve given me a lot to think about.” Mostly that I shouldn’t ask Fox for dating advice unless I’m really desperate.

“Glad I could help,” he says sincerely. I can’t bring myself to burst his bubble with the truth of how terrible he is at this. “So, any news from your agent? What’s happening with your contract extension?”

Fuck . I’ve been avoiding even thinking about this. I was hoping to know by the trade deadline, but technically, I’m not a free agent until the season ends. It could be June before I know where I’ll be playing next season.

If the Saints don’t extend an offer, I’ll have to go wherever the opportunity arises. The thought makes a nervous pit form in my stomach.

“Still nothing. They’re taking their sweet-ass time.”

“I wouldn’t sweat it. You know how much background work goes into these deals, and there’s still time. I’m guessing you want to stay here, right?”

“Where else would I want to go?”

The thought of having to leave Chicago and, by extension, Hannah makes the pit feel like a lead ball. She just got settled here. Asking her to upend her life again? It’s the exact situation she’s trying to avoid.

Yet another reason I’m desperate for this deal to come through: If she knows I’m staying, maybe she’ll feel more secure in us, in what we’re building here.

“I know. That’s the nature of the beast. Playing in the league means we don’t have much say in where we end up. But what would happen with you and Hannah if you had to take a contract somewhere else? You guys are still so new.”

New? Technically, we aren’t even a thing yet. To her, it’s still just “practice.” But I can’t help hoping I’m not wrong in sensing that maybe, just maybe, it’s starting to mean more to her. When she asked the question this morning, I could feel her hesitance, her uncertainty. We just need more time—time we might not have if I’m traded.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out,” I tell him, giving him the closest thing to the truth I can muster.

His face is filled with pity, though he at least tries to hide it. “Fuck. I’m glad we have a day off tomorrow. My body needs it.” He attempts to stretch out but is too confined by the tiny chair. “I’m guessing I can’t convince you to hang out?”

“I can’t. I have plans with Hannah,” I say, but Fox parrots me, already knowing my answer.