Page 16

The team bus rumbled toward Vancouver, carrying twenty-three hockey players, coaches, and staff for our away game against the Canucks. Normally, I used these trips to review game footage or nap, but today I found myself staring at my phone, refreshing the bakery's social media page.

Sienna had posted several photos of her preparations for the charity gala—test desserts in Kraken blue, sketches of display ideas, behind-the-scenes shots of Chloe dramatically taste-testing. In each caption, her excitement was palpable, her passion for her craft evident.

In one photo, she stood proudly beside a tiered display of sample desserts, flour on her cheek, exhaustion and triumph in her smile. Something twisted in my chest at the sight—pride, affection, and a surprising sense of missing her after just one day apart.

"Must be something good on that screen."

I looked up to find Anders watching me from across the aisle, his usual stoic expression softened by mild curiosity.

"Just checking social media," I replied, locking my phone too quickly to seem casual.

Anders raised an eyebrow but didn't press. After a moment of silence, he asked, "How's Sienna? Adjusting to hockey life?"

"She's good. Busy with the bakery."

Anders nodded thoughtfully. "Sarah found the first year hardest. The travel, the schedule, the constant public scrutiny. It's a lot for someone not raised in this world."

I shifted uncomfortably. Anders rarely initiated conversations, especially about personal matters. "Sienna's handling it well."

"She seems resilient," he agreed. "You two are good together. Different energies, but complementary."

The observation caught me off guard. "Thanks."

"Have you thought about after?" he asked suddenly.

"After what?"

"After hockey. After the season. After..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Whatever comes next."

A chill ran through me as I realized what he was really asking. Had I thought about what happened after our arrangement ended? After we went our separate ways as planned?

"Not really," I lied. "Focused on the present. Playoffs coming up."

Anders studied me with the same intensity he used to track pucks during games. "The future has a way of arriving whether we've planned for it or not."

With that cryptic comment, he put on his headphones, effectively ending the conversation. I stared out the window, unsettled by the question I'd been carefully avoiding myself.

What happened after the three months were up? Would we simply shake hands and part ways? The thought created an unexpected hollowness in my chest.

In Vancouver, the pre-game routine proceeded as usual—team meal, tactical meeting, warm-up skate. I forced myself to focus, pushing away thoughts of Sienna and our complicated situation. Hockey had always been my refuge, the one place where everything made sense.

During warm-ups, I skated routine laps, loosening my muscles and settling my mind into game mode. As I rounded the corner near the stands, a sign caught my eye:

"Jax's wife makes better snacks than your wife!"

The fan, seeing me notice the sign, cheered wildly. I nodded acknowledgment before skating away, but the reminder of how public our relationship had become lingered, disrupting my carefully cultivated game focus.

That distraction followed me into the match. I missed passes, was out of position twice, and failed to clear the puck on a crucial penalty kill, resulting in a Vancouver goal. By the second period, Coach Miller had reduced my ice time, a clear sign of his displeasure.

During the second intermission, he cornered me in the locker room.

"What's going on with you, Harrison?" he demanded, voice low but intense. "You're playing like a rookie, not my top defenseman."

"Sorry, Coach. Just off my game tonight."

"Is it the wife? The endorsement stuff? Because whatever it is, you need to compartmentalize. We're fighting for playoff positioning here."

"It won't happen again," I promised.

"See that it doesn't." He clapped my shoulder roughly. "I need the Ice Man out there, not whatever distracted version showed up tonight."

The Ice Man. The nickname had once been a point of pride—a testament to my cool-headed play under pressure. Now it felt like a caricature, a one-dimensional version of myself I was outgrowing without realizing it.

We lost 3-1, my poor performance a contributing factor. After the media scrum, where I tersely accepted responsibility for my mistakes, I retreated to the hotel, declining the usual team dinner in favor of room service and solitude.

Sleep, however, proved elusive. After tossing restlessly for hours, I found myself staring at my phone at 1:47 AM. Before I could overthink it, I dialed.

"Hello?" Sienna's voice was thick with sleep, and I immediately regretted waking her.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have called so late."

"Jax?" She sounded more alert now. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine. Just couldn't sleep." I hesitated. "I can let you get back to bed."

"No, I'm awake now." I heard rustling, as if she was sitting up. "How was the game?"

"We lost. I played terribly."

"I'm sorry." The genuine sympathy in her voice loosened something in my chest. "Was Coach upset?"

"Furious would be an understatement." I leaned back against the headboard. "I couldn't focus. Kept making rookie mistakes."

"Everyone has off days."

"Not me. Not usually." I ran a hand through my hair. "How were things at the bakery?"

She allowed the change of subject, launching into a story about a wedding cake disaster narrowly averted. Her voice was warm in my ear, creating an almost physical sensation of comfort despite the hundreds of miles between us.

"I miss having Sprinkles around," I admitted when she finished her story. "The house is too quiet."

"She misses you too. Kept looking for you before bed."

The thought of her dog—our dog, temporarily—waiting for me created a surprising ache. "How's the gala planning going?"

"Overwhelming but exciting. I've settled on the menu—mini pavlovas with Kraken-blue berries, chocolate mousse in edible chocolate cups, and a signature cake with the team logo done in sugar work."

"Sounds impressive."

"If I can pull it off." She yawned, the sound endearingly unguarded. "Good luck tomorrow. I'll be watching."

"You will?"

"Of course. I'm a hockey wife now, remember?" The teasing note in her voice made me smile in the darkness.

"Right. Very devoted."

"Absolutely. I've even learned what a blue line is."

"Impressive dedication."

When she shifted, I noticed that she was nestled amongst a mountain of pillows, but it was her position that had my eyes widening. The crisp white sheets were rumpled around her, pulled just high enough – or maybe not high enough at all – to hint at the bare skin beneath. My brain stuttered for a second, catching up, processing. Sienna was naked in my phone screen, thousands of miles away, yet impossibly close.

For a heartbeat, we just stared at each other. Then, a slight movement, almost shy. Sienna shifted, drawing the sheet higher, just barely grazing the soft curve of her collarbone. It was a reflexive gesture, I knew, an instinctive pull for modesty that only amplified the electric charge that had just jolted through me.

My gaze dropped instantly, drawn against my will, to the visible contour of her shoulder, where the sheet ended its ascent. It was smooth, pale in the soft light, and impossibly, maddeningly alluring. I could practically feel the velvet texture of her skin under my fingertips. My throat tightened, and a low groan rumbled in my chest, unheard, thankfully, through the digital void separating us.

She tilted her head slightly, her hair cascading over her shoulder, partly obscuring the view I was already desperate to memorize. Damn her playful torture.

I dragged my gaze away from her enticing form with an effort, forcing myself to look at the background, the sterile beige walls of my hotel room.

She glanced down, and I watched her fingers begin to move, tracing slow, aimless patterns on the sheet covering her thigh, just below the camera's frame. It was a restless, nervous gesture.

“It’s quiet here,” she admitted, her eyes still lowered, watching her own hand. “Too quiet. I miss the noise. Your snoring.” She glanced up, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips, though her eyes remained shadowed with something that mirrored my own loneliness. “And other things,” she added softly, her voice dropping to a husky whisper.

I swallowed hard, my pulse beginning to thrum a frantic rhythm against my ribs. My body was already tightening, responding to her mere presence, her voice, the almost-naked vision before me. And then, subtly, she moved.

Slowly, Sienna lowered the angle of her phone. The camera dipped downwards, the frame shifting from her face and shoulders to focus lower. My breath hitched again, louder this time, a sharp intake of air that felt like it burned my lungs.

The sheet was still there, the maddeningly tantalizing barrier, but now, it draped over the soft swell of her breasts, and hinted at the shadowed valley between her legs. The curve of her hip, the gentle indentation of her waist, became starkly defined against the pristine white linen. It was a calculated tease, a deliberate undressing with the lens, and my body reacted instantly, violently. My cock, which had been stirring beneath my loose trousers, now hardened completely, throbbing with insistent demand.

I didn't hesitate. Mirroring her movement, I angled my own phone down, framing my chest and lower. My hand, already shaking slightly, reached down, settling deliberately on the bulge in my pants. I made sure she saw, felt the unspoken invitation ripple back across the digital connection.

The video call, in the span of a breath, had transformed.

Sienna’s lips parted slightly, her breath quickening. Her eyes held mine captive, daring me, inviting me. “God, Jax,” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. “You look so good.”

“You’re killing me, Sienna,” I rasped, my voice raw with lust. My thumb moved against my hardening cock, a slow, deliberate stroke over the fabric of my jeans. I watched her eyes follow the motion, widening, darkening. “You know what you’re doing to me, right?”

“Maybe,” she whispered, a slow smile curving her lips, a smile that promised sin and pleasure in equal measure. Her hand shifted from her lap, disappearing beneath the sheet, hidden from the camera's view. But the slight tremble of the sheets, the almost imperceptible shift in her breathing, told me everything I needed to know.

“Tell me,” I urged, my voice low and demanding. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me what you want.” My fingers tightened around my dick, needing the pressure, craving the release that suddenly felt achingly close, yet out of reach.

She bit her lip, her eyes half-lidded, pupils dilated. “I’m thinking about your hands on me,” she murmured, her voice husky. “Remember in the kitchen, that time you were helping me? I wanted you to lift me onto the counter and have your way with me.”

A jolt of heat surged through me. “Yeah,” I groaned, closing my eyes for a second, the sensation almost too intense to bear. “God, Sienna, yeah. Tell me more.”

“And in the shower,” she continued, her voice gaining a seductive edge, “when the water is nice and warm, I fantasize you pushing me against the tiles…”

My fingers tightened even more around my cock, rubbing through the denim, the friction building, delicious torture. I could almost smell the scent of her shampoo, feel the slippery smoothness of her wet skin beneath my hands.

“And you suck my dick,” I finished for her, the words tumbling out, raw and desperate. My hand moved again, a firmer stroke now, my thumb pressing harder, tracing the length of my shaft. “Is that it, Sienna? Imagine how good it must feel.”

A gasp escaped her lips, and I saw her shoulders tremble slightly on the screen. “Oh God, Jax,” she whispered, her voice laced with a desperate need that mirrored my own. “Fuck, yes.”

“Tell me,” I repeated, my voice rougher still, almost a growl now. “Tell me what you’re doing. Show me.”

And she did. Slowly, deliberately, Sienna shifted the sheet again, just a fraction, enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of the curve of her inner thigh, pale and smooth, before her hand emerged from beneath the covers. Her fingers, delicate and long, moved slowly up her thigh, teasing, tracing a path towards the hidden heat between her legs.

My breath caught in my throat, watching her. My own hand moved faster now, responding to the visual feast before me, stroking firmly, rhythmically. I closed my eyes again, the image of her hand on her own body searing itself onto the back of my eyelids.

“I’m touching myself, Jax,” she breathed. “Just like you.” Her fingers dipped lower, disappearing for a moment, and I knew, I could feel it in my own body, exactly what she was doing. The delicate pressure, the slow, circular motions against her clit, the rising tide of pleasure building within her.

“Tell me what you feel,” I demanded. My stroking intensified, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

“It feels amazing,” she gasped, “Like you’re here. Your hands, your mouth…”

Her fingers moved faster now, her breathing growing shallower, quicker. A low moan escaped her lips. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, and it pushed me closer to the brink.

My own hand worked furiously now, pumping against my dick, the friction almost unbearable, exquisite torture. I could hear Sienna moaning louder now, her words dissolving into breathy gasps and whimpers.

“Fuck,” I groaned, my vision blurring at the edges. “Sienna, I’m going to cum.”

“Do it, Jax,” she urged. “Do it for me.” Her own moans escalated, punctuated by sharper intakes of breath, her body moving subtly beneath the sheets, her hips arching slightly.

And then, it hit me, the wave crashing over me in a blinding rush of sensation. I groaned aloud, and cum exploded from me, hot and thick, spurting against my fingers, my hand clenched tight around my aching cock. Pleasure shuddered through me in violent waves, convulsing my body.

It took me a few moments, the lingering aftershocks still rippling through me, before I could open my eyes again, my body trembling, slick with sweat and spent pleasure. I looked back at the screen.

Sienna was still there, her face flushed, her eyes glazed and unfocused. She was breathing heavily, small pants escaping her lips. But then, a soft moan escaped her again, followed by a small, involuntary arch of her back beneath the sheets. Her legs shifted slightly, and I knew, instinctively, that she was coming too, the delayed aftershocks of her own orgasm catching up to her.

Another shudder ran through her, stronger this time, and she let out a soft cry. Her hand remained beneath the sheet for a few moments longer, her body still trembling. Finally, slowly, she stilled, her breathing gradually returning to normal.

She opened her eyes then, meeting mine through the screen, her gaze heavy-lidded, sensual. A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face. “Wow,” she whispered, her voice still husky, a hint of laughter in it. “You were quick, Jax.”

I grinned back, feeling a surge of possessive pride at her words, even through my exhaustion. “Only for you,” I managed, my voice still rough around the edges. “Though, I gotta say, you were giving me some serious motivation there.”

She chuckled. “Is that your way of saying I’m good at this?”

“Good?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Sienna, you were incredible. Jesus. I might need a minute, or ten.” I leaned back against the headboard of the sterile hotel bed, still throbbing pleasantly between my legs, the lingering scent of my cum filling the bland room.

Sienna’s smile widened, becoming almost mischievous. “Round two, maybe?” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “If I keep lying here naked?”

My cock twitched, responding instantly to the suggestion. “Don’t tempt me,” I growled. The thought of her still naked on that bed, waiting… It was enough to reignite the embers of desire.

“Though,” I added, leaning closer to the screen. “Nothing beats the real thing, Sienna. You know that.”

She leaned in too, her smile becoming positively predatory. “Oh, I know,” she purred. “And you better believe, the second you get back here, you’re going to get a taste of the real thing. A long, hard taste.”

Before I could fully grasp the promise shimmering in her eyes, she blinked, her expression shifting, becoming softer again.

“Goodnight, Jax,” she said softly, her voice losing its teasing edge.

And then, with a flick of her finger, the screen went black.

Silence crashed around me again, amplified by the sudden void left by her absence. I tossed the phone onto the bedside table, running a hand through my hair. Sienna knew exactly how to drive me wild, even from thousands of miles away.

Sighing, I rolled onto my back, staring up at the blank ceiling. Sleep was going to be a long time coming. My body was exhausted, spent, but my mind was racing, filled with images of Sienna, naked in bed, her voice husky in my ears, the memory of her fingers inside her, the promise in her eyes.

A hard taste of the real thing, she’d said. God, I couldn’t wait to get home.

The next day, I played with renewed focus and determination. In the third period, with the score tied 2-2, I intercepted a cross-ice pass and sent the puck to Finn, who buried it for the game-winning goal.

In the post-game interviews, a reporter asked what had changed from yesterday's performance.

"Just refocused," I replied with my usual brevity.

"Your wife posted on social media that she was watching today. Did that provide extra motivation?"

I blinked, unaware Sienna had actually posted anything about the game. "She's supportive," I said carefully.

"Several players' wives have mentioned how Sienna has brought a new energy to the team community. Has your relationship changed your approach to hockey?"

The question shouldn't have caught me off guard—it was precisely the narrative we'd constructed for the endorsement deal. Yet something made me pause, considering my answer carefully.

"Sienna helps me see beyond hockey," I finally said, surprising myself with the sincerity in my voice. "She reminds me there's a whole world outside the rink. It gives me... perspective."

The reporter looked pleased with this unusually personal response. "Sounds like married life agrees with you."

"It does," I replied simply, realizing too late how genuine the words sounded.

On the bus back to Seattle, Leo called, practically buzzing with excitement.

"That interview was gold," he exclaimed without preamble. "Perfect Home Furnishings is over the moon. The 'whole world outside the rink' quote is already trending."

"Glad it's working," I said, staring out the window at the passing landscape.

"Working? It's exceeding expectations. They want to move up the contract signing." Leo paused. "There's more. Olivia wants to arrange another photoshoot, this time at the bakery. Show Sienna in her element, you supporting her business. It's brilliant cross-promotion."

My first thought wasn't about the endorsement benefits but about how another photoshoot would affect Sienna. "The bakery's busy right now with gala preparations. It might not be the best timing."

"Since when do you worry about timing?" Leo sounded bewildered by my hesitation. "This is exactly what we wanted—the endorsement locked in, public interest high. A bakery shoot just cements the narrative."

"I know. Just thinking practically." I changed the subject. "When do my parents arrive?"

"Wednesday, as planned. Olivia's arranged a photographer to 'happen' to catch you all at dinner. Very subtle, just enough for the narrative."

After hanging up, I stared at my phone, troubled by the increasingly tangled web we were weaving.

The team bus arrived in Seattle late, nearly midnight. Exhausted from the back-to-back games and travel, I let myself into the quiet house, expecting Sienna to be asleep.

Instead, I found her curled on the living room couch with Sprinkles, both apparently having tried to wait up for me. A covered plate sat on the coffee table with a note: "Reheats well in the microwave. – S"

Lifting the cover revealed homemade lasagna, still slightly warm. The thoughtfulness of the gesture—remembering my earlier mention of lasagna as a favorite food—created a warm sensation in my chest.

Sienna shifted in her sleep, her face peaceful in the soft light. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, and without thinking, I reached out to gently tuck it behind her ear. She looked smaller in sleep, vulnerable in a way her daytime energy concealed.

Rather than wake her, I carefully gathered her in my arms, surprised by how natural it felt to hold her against my chest. Sprinkles watched curiously as I carried Sienna to her bedroom, her head resting trustingly on my shoulder, breath warm against my neck.

As I laid her on her bed, she stirred slightly but didn't wake. I pulled the comforter over her, allowing myself one brief moment to watch her sleep before quietly closing the door.

In the kitchen, I ate the lasagna she'd made, the familiar flavors bringing back childhood memories—family dinners, my mother's kitchen, home in its truest sense. The fact that Sienna had prepared this specific meal, had remembered this detail about me, felt significant in a way I couldn't fully articulate.

Two weeks. We'd been married only two weeks, yet somehow Sienna had become more than a business partner in this arrangement. She'd become someone whose opinion I valued, whose laughter I sought, whose presence I missed when away.

In two and a half months, our agreement would conclude. The endorsement would be secured, her bakery debt paid, our legal ties dissolved. We would return to our separate lives as planned.

The thought, which had once represented successful completion of our arrangement, now felt strangely hollow. I set down my fork, appetite suddenly diminished, troubled by the realization that I was no longer looking forward to the end of our temporary marriage.

Quite the opposite, in fact. And that was a complication neither of us had planned for.