Page 24

The diamond necklace felt heavy against my skin—beautiful, expensive, and utterly confusing. I stood in the bakery kitchen staring at wedding cake designs without really seeing them, my fingers absently tracing the pendant.

"If you touch that thing one more time, I'm going to scream," Chloe announced, dropping a tray of cookies beside me. "You've been fingering it like a worry stone all morning."

"I have not," I protested, immediately dropping my hand.

"What's with the bling, anyway? Not exactly practical bakery wear." She leaned closer to examine it. "That's not cubic zirconia, is it? Please tell me your hockey husband didn't buy you a real diamond that size."

"It's a thank-you gift," I explained, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. "For helping with the endorsement contract."

Chloe's eyebrows shot up. "That's some thank-you. Most people go with a gift card or a fruit basket."

"It's excessive," I agreed. "And confusing."

"What's confusing about a man buying his wife jewelry?" she asked, then realization dawned on her face. "Oh. Because he's not really your husband."

"Exactly." I turned back to the cake designs, not really seeing them. "This isn't part of our arrangement. Neither is inviting me to Vancouver for an away game, or arranging private cooking lessons, or making me breakfast in bed..."

"Wow, you two are really committing to this fake marriage thing." Chloe's tone was suspiciously neutral. "Going above and beyond the contractual obligations."

I glanced at her sharply. "What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing." She held up flour-covered hands in surrender. "Just seems like a lot of effort for a business arrangement, that's all."

Before I could formulate a response, the bakery door chimed, and Leo's voice called out a greeting. Chloe immediately busied herself with the cookie tray, a flush rising on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the hot ovens.

"Ladies," Leo said, entering the kitchen with his usual swagger, though I noticed his eyes went immediately to Chloe. "Looking busy as always."

"Some of us have actual work to do," Chloe replied, not looking up from her task. "Unlike certain sports agents who seem to spend their days delivering messages that could be emails."

"And miss the pleasant atmosphere?" Leo placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt. "You wound me, Ms. Bennett."

Their antagonistic exchange continued, but I noticed subtle changes in their dynamic. Leo stood closer to Chloe than strictly necessary. She looked up at him more often than her task required. When she made a particularly cutting remark, his smile seemed more appreciative than offended.

Leo finally turned to me, extending an envelope. "Playoff tickets for tomorrow's game. Jax asked me to deliver them personally."

"Thank you," I said, accepting the envelope. "Though you could have just sent them electronically."

"And deprive myself of the bakery's charms?" His eyes drifted back to Chloe as he said it.

After Leo departed, I cornered Chloe by the walk-in refrigerator. "Spill. Now."

"There's nothing to spill," she insisted, suddenly very interested in inventory rotation.

"Oh please. The tension between you two has shifted from 'I might murder you' to 'I might tear your clothes off.' What happened?"

Chloe sighed, abandoning the pretense of work. "We ran into each other at a bar last week. He was alone, I was alone, it would have been weird not to acknowledge each other."

"And?"

"And we talked. Like actual human beings." She looked almost bewildered by the development. "He apologized for college—really apologized, not some half-assed excuse. Said it was the biggest regret of his life, the way he handled things."

"Wow." I leaned against the refrigerator door. "So you forgave him?"

"God, no," she scoffed, but her expression softened. "But... we've been texting. Just hockey stuff, bakery business. Professional things."

"Of course," I nodded seriously. "Very professional."

"Shut up," she muttered, but couldn't hide her smile.

The day passed in a flurry of activity as I prepared to leave for Vancouver the next day. By the time I arrived home to pack, I was surprised to find Jax had already arranged everything—a professional dog-sitter for Sprinkles, a detailed itinerary printed and highlighted, even a small travel bag with my favorite toiletries.

"You didn't have to do all this," I told him as he showed me the hotel reservation he'd made for our night in Vancouver.

"I wanted to," he replied simply. "I want you to enjoy the trip."

The next day passed in a blur of excitement. The private flight was like nothing I'd ever experienced—luxurious seats, gourmet food, attentive service. In Vancouver, a sleek black car delivered us to a waterfront hotel where Jax had reserved a suite with breathtaking views of the harbor.

"This is..." I struggled for words as I took in the spacious living area, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the fresh flowers on the dining table.

"Too much?" Jax asked, looking uncharacteristically uncertain.

"It's perfect," I assured him. "But extravagant for one night."

"We have adjoining rooms," he explained, pointing to a door. "For privacy. But the connecting door is there if... well, for appearances."

The reminder of our arrangement settled like a weight. Of course we had separate rooms. This was still performance, however elaborate the stage setting had become.

Before I could dwell on my disappointment, Jax suggested we head to the arena early so he could show me around before his pre-game routine began. Walking the concourse, I was struck by how many people recognized him, calling out encouragements or asking for autographs. He handled each interaction with more patience than I'd have expected a few months ago, often introducing me with a hint of pride in his voice.

"This is my wife, Sienna."

Each time he said it— my wife —a shiver ran through me. The possessive pronoun, the casual claim, the warmth in his voice when he said my name. If I closed my eyes, I could almost believe it was real.

The game itself was a revelation. I'd watched hockey on television, but experiencing it live was entirely different—the speed, the physicality, the roar of the crowd creating an electric atmosphere that television simply couldn't capture.

My reaction to Jax's play surprised even me. I found myself on my feet for his shifts, holding my breath when he blocked shots, cheering wildly when he made defensive plays that even a month ago, I wouldn't have recognized as significant. When he took a hard hit along the boards, I gasped aloud, my hand flying to my mouth in genuine concern.

And when he assisted on the game-winning goal in overtime, I screamed his name along with thousands of Kraken fans who'd made the trip north, no longer pretending my enthusiasm for his success.

Afterward, I joined the team celebration at a nearby restaurant, welcomed warmly by players' wives and girlfriends I'd come to know over the past weeks. Willow, in particular, had become a genuine friend.

"I've never seen Jax like this," she confided as we watched the players toasting their victory across the room. "Finn says he's different on the ice too—still focused, still intense, but also... freer somehow."

"How do you mean?"

"Like he's playing for joy, not just perfection." She smiled knowingly. "That's your influence, you know."

I shook my head, uncomfortable with the credit. "Jax is a great player all on his own."

"Of course he is. But there's a difference between great and happy." She squeezed my arm affectionately. "Before you, I don't think Finn had ever heard Jax laugh. Not really laugh. Now he does it regularly."

Her observation stayed with me as we walked back to the hotel afterward, the cool Canadian night air clearing my head after the wine and celebration. When Jax's hand found mine, fingers intertwining naturally, I glanced around for cameras or fans who might be watching.

There were none. Just us, walking hand in hand through quiet streets, his thumb occasionally brushing across my knuckles in a gesture too tender to be performed for absent audiences.

Back in our suite, a charged quiet fell between us. I took a quick shower and returned in a robe.

Jax moved to the connecting door of his separate room but hesitated with his hand on the knob.

"Sienna," he said, his voice low and rough. "Tonight was..."

"I know," I replied, understanding exactly what he meant. Tonight had been real in a way that transcended our arrangement, our pretense, our carefully maintained boundaries.

He turned to face me fully, his expression open and vulnerable in a way I rarely saw. He crossed the room slowly, deliberately, until he stood directly before me. His hands came to rest lightly on my shoulders, the heat of them seeping through the fabric of my robe. Then, with a gentleness that made my heart ache, he turned me to face him fully.

We stood silent for a moment, bodies almost touching, the anticipation building between us like a physical force. His gaze moved over my face, studying every feature with intensity. I noticed his pupils dilate, his breath quicken—physical tells I'd learned to recognize during our weeks together.

When he finally lowered his head and captured my lips with his, the kiss was different from our others—deeper, more confident, edged with a possessiveness that made heat pool low in my belly. One hand moved to cradle the back of my head while the other settled at my waist, pulling me firmly against him.

I responded instantly, arms wrapping around his neck, body melting into his. This wasn't the courthouse kiss performed for witnesses, or the impulsive bakery kiss we'd never discussed. This was deliberate, intentional—a statement neither of us was brave enough to make with words.

His tongue traced the seam of my lips, seeking entrance I willingly granted. As the kiss deepened, a small sound escaped me—part sigh, part moan—that seemed to ignite something in him. His grip tightened, body pressing mine back against the window as the kiss turned hungry, almost desperate.

My hands explored the broad expanse of his shoulders, the firm muscles of his back, the nape of his neck where soft hair curled against my fingers. Every point of contact burned, every breath shared between us amplifying the connection that had been building for weeks.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, his forehead rested against mine, eyes closed as if gathering himself.

The plush hotel robe was suddenly my only barrier, thin silk against my rapidly warming skin. His hands rested lightly on my shoulders for a moment, his gaze intense, searching mine, and then, with a slow, almost languorous slide, they moved downwards, tracing the curve of my arms, my ribs, until they reached the edges of the robe.

The silk parted under his touch, whispering open like a secret revealed. The coolness of the air kissed my suddenly exposed chest, a fleeting shock quickly replaced by the heat radiating off Jax’s body, so close now. His thumbs brushed against the sides of my breasts, the featherlight touch sending a jolt straight to my core.

Our lips met again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no restraint. His mouth crashed down on mine, hungry and demanding, the kiss immediately deeper, wetter, more urgent than any we’d shared before. His tongue plunged past my lips, tangling with mine.

I gasped softly into his mouth, a breath stolen by the sheer force of the kiss, a moan that vibrated in my chest and against his lips. My fingers, which had been nervously hovering at my sides, now reached up, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, bunching the material in my fists, anchoring myself to him as if I were afraid of being swept away by the tide of sensation rising within me.

His hands, which had been teasing the edges of my robe, now slipped inside, beneath the silk, directly onto my bare skin. His palms were warm, calloused in just the right way, and they molded perfectly to the curves of my breasts, cupping their weight, his fingers gently kneading and squeezing.

A jolt of pure electricity shot through me, radiating outwards from my chest, making my nipples tighten and prickle beneath his touch. I moaned again, louder this time, a sound that was part pleasure, part need, part surrender.

He deepened the kiss, pulling me closer until there was no space left between our bodies. I could feel the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against me. My legs were suddenly weak, unsteady beneath me, but I didn't need to stand anymore.

With a low groan that rumbled in his chest, he shifted, his hands sliding down my back, then scooping beneath my thighs, lifting me off my feet in a fluid motion. The sudden change in elevation made my head spin. My arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, my fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape, anchoring myself to him.

My robe slipped further open as he lifted me, pooling around my waist, practically forgotten. My legs, without conscious thought, wrapped around his waist, my ankles crossing at the small of his back, clinging to him like vines. Our bodies molded together, intimately, as if we were two halves of a whole.

He carried me across the room, his stride sure and steady, and I nestled closer against him, burying my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent.

The bed was a sea of pristine white linen and plump pillows. He lowered me slowly, gently, onto the soft mattress, my back landing against the cool, smooth sheets. But he didn’t release me. He followed me down, his body hovering over mine, his weight supported by his hands on either side of my head.

“God, Sienna,” he breathed again, his voice raw with desire. “You are…” He trailed off, searching for the right word, and then simply shook his head, unable to articulate what he was feeling, what I was making him feel.

I reached up, my hands cupping his face, my thumbs tracing the hard line of his jaw, the stubble rough against my skin. “Show me what you’re feeling.”

His mouth found mine again, even more fiercely this time. He pushed back slightly, just enough to shrug out of his suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud, unnoticed in the rising tide of our passion. Then his fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, working them with urgent haste, popping them open one by one.

He shrugged out of his shirt, tossing it aside to join his jacket, revealing the tanned expanse of his chest, the same chest I’d only glimpsed fleetingly before. This time, there was no hesitancy, no barrier. My eyes feasted on the sight, tracing the lines of muscle and shadow, the dusting of dark hair that arrowed down towards his belt.

He shifted again, straddling me now, his legs bracketing mine, his body a warm, solid weight pressing into me. The robe was pushed further down, now bunched around my hips, leaving my breasts exposed to his gaze. I felt a flicker of shyness, quickly overridden by a surge of pure exhibitionistic thrill.

His eyes dropped to my boobs, lingering there for a long, breathless moment, and I could practically feel the heat of his gaze burning into my skin. Then, slowly, he lowered his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive peak of my right breast, then circling outwards, his tongue tracing a wet, searing path around my nipple.

I gasped, my back arching off the bed again, my hands gripping his shoulders. His mouth closed over my nipple, suckling gently at first, then with increasing pressure, drawing the sensitive flesh between his teeth. A moan ripped from my throat, uncontrolled, unrestrained. Pleasure shot through me like lightning, radiating outwards from my breast, making my entire body tingle and ache with desire.

He moved to my other breast, showering it with the same exquisite attention, his mouth hot and wet, his tongue teasing and tormenting. His hands left my shoulders, sliding downwards again, roaming over my ribs, my waist, the curve of my hips, igniting fires everywhere they touched.

He shifted again, reaching for the belt at his waist, his eyes never leaving mine as he unbuckled it. He unzipped his trousers, the zipper hissing open, and then, he was tugging them down, along with his boxers, freeing himself from the last of his clothing.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him, fully naked, hard and ready between my legs. He was magnificent, sculpted and powerful, every inch of him radiating raw, masculine energy.

He moved back over me, settling between my legs, his hard dick nudging insistently against my thigh, teasing, tormenting. He leaned down, kissing me again, a deep, hungry kiss. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he shifted, positioning himself between my thighs.

I opened my legs wider for him, offering my wet pussy, wanting him inside me with a desperation that was almost painful.

And then, he entered me. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed into me, inch by agonizing inch, stretching me open, filling me. I gasped again, a sound that was half pleasure, half a sharp intake of breath at the sensation of his fullness inside me. He paused for a moment, letting me adjust, letting us both savor the connection, the intimate joining of our bodies.

Then, he started to move.

Slow, deep strokes at first, exploring the tight confines of my body, establishing a rhythm. His hands gripped my hips, anchoring me, guiding me, controlling the pace and depth of his thrusts. Each movement sent waves of pleasure rippling through me, building with each push, each retreat, each return.

I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, wanting to absorb him, to lose myself in the sensation. My hands moved to his back, splaying across the smooth skin, digging my fingers into the muscles as he thrust into me with increasing urgency. Moans started to escape my lips, soft at first, then louder, more demanding, as the pleasure intensified.

He changed the angle, lifting my legs higher onto his shoulders, deepening the penetration, hitting a spot deep inside me that sent sparks flying through my entire body. I cried out, my head thrashing from side to side on the pillow, my hips bucking against his in a frantic, instinctive rhythm.

He moved faster now, harder, his breathing growing ragged, mirroring my own. The room spun around us, the world narrowed down to just the two of us, locked together in this primal dance of pleasure, lost in the rising crescendo of sensation.

He leaned down, kissing me again, fiercely, passionately, his tongue mirroring the rhythm of his hips, thrusting in and out of my mouth, mimicking the act of sex itself. His pace intensified, his movements becoming more frantic, more urgent, driving me closer and closer to the edge.

“Sienna,” he groaned against my lips, his voice raw with exertion, “God, I’m going to cum.”

“Me too,” I gasped back, the words barely coherent, ripped from my throat as my own orgasm began to build, a tidal wave of sensation washing over me. My pussy clenched around his cock, tightening, squeezing, milking him with every spasm.

And then, we climaxed together, a simultaneous explosion of sensation that ripped through both of us. I cried out again, a long, shuddering moan that turned into a scream as wave after wave of orgasm crashed over me, convulsing my body, stealing my breath. I felt Jax shudder against me, his own release powerful and explosive, his hot cum spurting deep inside me, filling me.

We collapsed against each other, breathless, slick with sweat, our naked bodies trembling with the aftershocks of our shared climax. He was still inside me, buried deep, our bodies still intimately joined. I didn't want him to move, didn't want this connection to end.

Slowly, our breathing returned to normal, the frantic rhythm of our bodies calming, easing into a peaceful stillness. He shifted, pulling out of me slowly, and then rolled onto his side, pulling me with him, spooning me against his body, his arm wrapping possessively around my waist.

We lay there for a long time, tangled together in the soft sheets, our bodies still flushed and tingling. Neither of us spoke, content in the shared silence, the intimate closeness. His hand moved idly, stroking my pussy, tracing circles on my clit, a silent, tender caress that spoke volumes. My fingers traced the line of his arm, the hard muscle beneath my touch, feeling the rise and fall of his chest.

He pressed a soft kiss to the nape of my neck, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Wow,” he murmured finally.

“Yeah,” I breathed, contentedly nuzzling closer against him. “Wow is right.”