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CHAPTER 49

ALEXEI

Our last away game of the year is a quick overnighter in New York City.

The team plane touches down mid-afternoon the day before the game.

When we get to the hotel, we have a few hours of rest, followed by a team dinner—but Russ and I get excused from that because we’re going to have dinner with Emery.

Or rather, we’ll have dinner prepared for us by Emery, and her fellow trainees, at a pop-up tasting menu seating at the culinary institute she’s training at.

She was so disappointed when she told me that she would be working on my night in the city. But I was delighted, and Rusty was more than happy to come with me, so I made a reservation for two through school’s online system.

When we arrive, the person who I give my name to immediately recognizes me. And not because she’s a hockey fan. “Chef Granger has picked your table out. She’ll be out to greet you shortly. Can I start by bringing you still or sparkling water?”

We both ask for still water, and she leaves a bottle on the table for us.

Emery appears shortly after. She’s wearing chef whites, and her hair is twisted back in four mini-French braids, two on either side.

She looks amazing. And the way her eyes flare when our gazes meet is all I need to be patient and wait to pull her into my arms, later.

“Welcome to our pop-up,” she says professionally, setting a plate of bread between us, and a separate plate with two egg-shaped rounds of butter. “Each course today has been worked on by yours truly and my colleagues. Do either of you have any food allergies we should know about?”

“We do not,” Russ says.

“You look great,” I murmur. I missed you. Sit on my lap. Feed me bread and butter and never leave my side again.

Except that’s not how life works, and Russ doesn’t need to see the rest.

She winks at me.

She knows.

We’ve talked every day, and she’ll come back to my hotel tonight.

“The butters today are ancho chili, nice and smoky, with a hit of flaky sea salt, and honey thyme, which is sweet and fresh. I need to work on a later course, so one of the other chefs will serve you the starter course. Do you have any questions?”

Is it too soon to ask you to marry me? I shake my head. “Not yet.”

She points to the open kitchen, where people are working. “I’ll just be in there.”

We watch her set up at a station. Another chef comes over, who looks like the instructor, and they discuss something that is lost under the productive hum of diners and service.

Russ glances around. “How often do they do this?”

“Twice a week.” I tell him what I read on the school’s website.

He grins. “Does she talk your ear off about this stuff?”

I shake my head. “No. I read about it myself.”

He gives me a surprised nod of approval. “Nice.”

I don’t want to talk out of turn about Emery’s secrets, when Rusty is a family friend, but at the same time, I see an opening here to learn more about her early years. “She seems like the only foodie in her family.”

“Yeah, I don’t know where that came from. Maybe college. Until we reconnected at Camden’s wedding last summer, I hadn’t seen her in years. She’s really grown into her own.”

“Did you ever see her play hockey?”

He whistles. “Oh yeah. She was like lightning.”

“I know.”

Concern darkens his expression. “You can’t push her?—”

I hold up my hand. “No, don’t worry. I don’t want to push at all. I just want her to be happy.” I look back at where she’s working in the kitchen. “This is a different kind of spectacular display.”

He laughs. “You really are in love if you think that when all we’ve seen is bread and butter.”

Except I’m not wrong, and it doesn’t take long to prove that.

The first course is nice, some mushroom dish that wakes up our palette, apparently. But it’s not Emery telling me about it, so I’m impatient.

She brings out the second course, though, and she’s a complete pro.

“This is pan-seared black cod,” she says, her voice steady and practiced. She pulls a note card from her pocket as she tells us about the presentation. “We marinate it first in blood orange and fennel, then sear it off to give it a really nice, crisp skin. It’s served with charred scallions and a finger lime vinaigrette that brings a nice bright blast of acid on the finish.” She sets the plate in front of me, then Russ. “Enjoy.”

“Fucking will,” Russ mutters under his breath, already reaching for his fork.

I elbow him, but he’s not wrong.

As soon as our plates are clean, she returns. Her gaze flicks between us, gauging our reaction, but there’s no need to worry—we’re both blown away. “Are you ready for the main course?”

“Bring it on,” I nearly growl.

She grins. Wide and familiar. “Shhh. Pretend to be normal customers.”

I wave around us. “I’m pretty sure anyone would have the same reaction after that fish course. What’s next?”

“Lamb shoulder,” she says, twirling away.

And for all that I can see her influence on Inessa, that move is one my daughter taught her, I would swear it.

When she returns with the next plates, she doesn’t even glance at her notes.

“I worked on this one,” she says. “The lamb is slow roasted all day. The marinade is cinnamon, sumac, and date syrup. It’s served with labneh and black garlic, and finished with orange wedges, pickled red onion, and fresh mint. It’s complicated and sweet, like the best kind of memories.”

That might be a line they’re given by their instructors, but it hits me squarely in the chest because complicated memories are what sustained me in the two years between when she captured my heart and when I could finally give it back to her—but I didn’t appreciate how sweet those memories were.

“It sounds perfect,” I say.

“Enjoy.” She squeezes my shoulder, and I catch her hand before she slips away.

Russ digs in. I wait until she’s all the way back at her work station, but once I have my first taste, I don’t stop eating until I’ve finished and my plate is completely clean.

There’s dessert as well, but someone other than Emery tells us about it, so I’m only listening with half an ear as I watch her prepare more plates of lamb for other guests.

When her instructor asks her about something, she gives them her full attention. Crisp-sounding yes chef and understood chef responses filter through the noise and slide under my skin.

When we’re ready to leave, she senses the shift in energy, and lifts her head. As if to say, wait a minute?

I nod.

She serves two more plates, then comes over. “Thanks for coming.”

“Our pleasure,” Armstrong says. “Seriously, Buzz. Very good stuff. Are you going to open a restaurant in Hamilton one day?”

She presses her lips together, pleased. “One thing at a time.”

“It’s a great idea,” I say, just for her ears. “Let’s talk about it tonight.” And I slide one of my hotel room keys into the pocket on her chef’s coat.

* * *

There’s a quiet knock before she taps the card key against the sensor and the lock whirs open.

I’m on my feet as she comes through the door, but I nearly fall to my knees when I see that she’s changed out of her chef’s clothes.

Her hair is damp from a shower and curling naturally, golden waves rioting in all directions, and she’s wearing a white sundress with little purple threading on her tits—fucking innocent—and black leather boots that cling to her legs—not fucking innocent at all.

“I have to get up at seven,” she says as I catch her in my arms and press her against the inside of the door.

Then neither of us say anything, because we’re kissing.

And God , but she tastes good.

I fill my hands with her, squeezing her curves, the fabric of her dress crumpling in my fists.

“Missed you, missed you…” she pants against my mouth.

“It was so hot watching you work tonight. Love your white chef’s jacket. Love this little white dress even more.”

She laughs, and I bend my knees to kiss her neck, to feel that warm sound against my lips.

Then she pushes her hands against my shoulders. Making space between us and really looking at me. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“Of course,” I say.

Because…of course.

Except I know that’s not how it’s been for her.

“Always,” I add. “And I mean that.”

“I know,” she says.

And from the soft look in her eye, I know she means that, too.

She takes a deep breath and sinks to her knees. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you.”

I plant my hands on the door above her and stare down. “You don’t need to do this.”

But my aching cock wants her to.

“I know.” A bright smile. “I want to.” She bats her eyes at me. “Can I have a taste, Alexei? Can I taste your big, hard cock?”

Her words are filthy magic. “Who taught you to be so dirty?”

“You did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Mm-hmm. You made me so curious about what it would be like to take your cock in my mouth, and then I didn’t get to do that.” Calgary. She’s talking about Calgary. “So I thought about it in so…much…detail…”

Emery, on her knees, unbuckling my belt, is so sexy.

But once my fly is unzipped, she doesn’t take me in hand. Not yet.

She strokes the front of my thighs, sliding her gaze from my straining bulge up to my face and back down again. “Do you know that I dreamed of this for two years? The feel of your cock in my mouth. The scent of your turned-on skin…” She leans and brushes her nose along the edge of my boxers. “The taste of your seed on my tongue.”

“That’s naughty.”

“I’m naughty. But only for you. I’m your dirty, dirty girl.” She hooks her fingers into my waistband, her knuckles grazing my bare skin, and I just about come from that touch alone.

There will be seed on her tongue all right. Real fucking soon.

But she’s in no rush.

For all her erotic fire, this feels like worship. Reverence.

I have never had a lover look at me like this.

Fuck.

She smiles as she slides her fingers deeper and finally takes me in hand, pulling my cock into the open. "You smell good," she whispers. And then she licks around my flared tip with a soft, broad swipe of her tongue.

I squeeze my hands against the door and shudder.

She kisses the very tip, then looks up at me, her eyes bright. "You can hold my head." Another whisper. A smile next. "If you want. I'd like that, too."

I reach for her hair with one hand. Weave my fingers through it, finding her scalp. Curl my hands around her head and test bringing her mouth more directly onto my cock.

Fuck.

Fuck.

That. Feels. Incredible.

And then she swallows, her little tongue convulsing against the underneath as she takes a third of me into her mouth, and that’s too fucking much. Just that. I spill into her mouth, pushing my cock over the mess I’m making, fucking into her even though it’s too late, I’m already throbbing my release on her tongue.

Into her willing, gulping mouth.

"Mmmm." There has never been a more pleased sound.

I’m about to pick her up and kiss her mouth, wanting to taste myself on her tongue, when there’s a knock at the door.

“Room service,” a porter says on the other side.

Emery slides around me and bounces to her feet, patting me on the ass.

I’ll let you get that,” she whispers.

I put my dick away and zip up, then answer the door and accept the tray I ordered in case she was hungry, either now or later.

When I turn around, the door to the balcony is open.

I set the tray on the desk, then turn off the lights, giving us as much privacy as possible out on the balcony.

Doesn’t stop her white dress from standing out against the dark like a forbidden beacon. The skirt flutters in the wind as she leans against the railing, looking out at the city.

I wrap my arms around her from behind and press a kiss to her temple. “Your turn.”

She smiles at the millions of people around us who have no idea she’s about to get railed in this pretty little sundress. “Out here?”

“If you want.” My hands slide down her waist, gathering the light fabric of her dress in my hands, until my fingertips reach bare thighs—and quickly discover she’s not wearing anything underneath the innocent white cotton.

I groan.

“I want,” she whispers.

“Tell me you didn’t walk here without any panties on.”

“I took an Uber.”

I growl and cup her bare cunt possessively. She’s so hot between her legs, and I’m the only one who gets to hold her like this. “I should have met you at your apartment.”

“And blow your curfew?”

“I’m a grown-up.”

“You need to be the starting goalie tomorrow night. Imagine getting scratched because you were out getting laid.” She laughs, but it dies into a sigh when my fingers push between her pussy lips and find her very, very slick.

“Did swallowing my cock make you wet, sunshine?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Say it.” I press my face into the side of her head. “Give me more of that filthy dirty talk you practiced in this beautiful mind of yours when we weren’t together.”

She lifts her arms and anchors them behind my neck as I settle my fingers against her clit and start circling that sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Sucking you got me so turned on. I want you to touch me out here,” she says. “Where anyone could see. Where I need to be…quiet.”

“Mmm. You better be quiet. Or someone might notice how pretty you get for me when you come.”

Her breath hitches. Her fingers dig into my neck.

“Can you be a good girl for me?” I ask against her hair.

“Yes.”

“That’s not quiet enough, Emery.” I push my fingers deeper, seeking her entrance.

She squirms and presses her lips together.

“There you go… Don’t cry out when I finger fuck you, okay? You have to swallow your horny sounds.”

She nods furiously.

I thrust two fingers into her tight channel. My thumb slides to her clit, and the rock of her body pushes her ass against my cock, which is thickening for her again.

“Are you taking your pills?”

She shudders and nods again.

“Because I’m going to fuck you out here. As soon as you come on my hand, I’m bending you over this railing and pushing my cock into you.” I grind against her. “Showing up without panties. Wet pussy. Leading me out onto the balcony…”

She whimpers.

“You are begging to get fucked.”

“Yes,” she bursts out. “I’ve missed you.”

“Then you’ll get me inside you.” I pull my fingers out and slap her pussy, loud in the night air, even over the traffic and noise below. “Even if people can hear us.” I shift her hips back, and she has to let go of my neck to fold forward, holding on to the railing. “Because I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

I flip her sundress up as she spreads her legs.

There’s never been a hotter sight than Little Miss Sunshine tipping her bare ass back at me, her slim, strong legs clad in black leather, the rest of her barely covered by virginal white cotton.

I growl, low in my throat, and curve over her back, tugging her bodice down. Baring her tits, too.

“These are mine,” I rumble in her ear as I fill my hands with her perfect handfuls. And I squeeze, because I can, because she’s mine and in my arms, and I never want to let her go.

“Yours,” she agrees, her nipples pebbling against my palms.

“Does the air feel good?” I thumb at one of the peaks as I curve my other hand back to her pussy.

“Mm-hmm.”

Her clit is standing strong now, straining for my fingertips. I flick it and make her jerk in the tight confines of my arms. “This is mine, too.”

“Everything is yours.”

“Everything?”

I unzip and free my cock.

Bend my knees and bring us together, notching my tip against her slippery cunt.

She pushes back, bringing her tightness around my dick, and we both moan at the same time.

“Why does that feel so good?” she whispers.

I push as far as I can, then ease back, slicking my length with her arousal, before I sink all the way into her on the next thrust. “Because this is yours.”

“I am yours and you are mine,” she whispers.

“Touch yourself,” I urge. “Rub your clit while I fuck you, because I’m not done claiming every inch of you.”

She twists her head to the side, resting her blonde waves on the forearm stretching to the railing. Her other arm disappears into the shadows beneath her, but I feel it when she starts rubbing her clit. Her pussy clamps down on me, and blissful pleasure ripples across her face.

I swear under my breath and widen my stance. Squeeze her hips and lift her onto her toes, adjusting the angle so I can get deeper, be more inside her.

“This is mine,” I say thickly as I palm her ass again.

She moans. Yes .

I roll my thumb in, rubbing a light circle on her tight asshole. “Is this mine, too, Emery?”

Her mouth falls open and her eyes flutter shut.

Yes. Absolutely yes.

I press, giving her steady pressure there as well as deep inside her. She rolls her hips, fucking against my cock and my hand. Her rim squeezes against my thumb, kissing the pad before making a bit of space for me to push in.

Just a little.

Just the tip.

Just enough to make her knees buckle.

I catch her around the waist and hold her up as she comes on my cock and her fingers and my thumb.

And before she finishes, I pull out and turn her around, pressing her back against the glass door to the balcony, fitting my hips between her legs, holding her in my arms as I thrust into her again.

“Again,” I tell her. “Come for me again.”

She makes the sweetest whimpers.

I cover her mouth, tasting her trembling need.

Nothing has ever felt as right as moving inside Emery’s body.

Her tongue is soft against mine, but as I snap my hips, the rest of her tightens up.

I find her asshole again, giving her that same double penetration that got her off when she was bent over, and she clings to me. Riding me.

“I’m on the edge, Alexei,” she whispers. “I’m so close.”

“We’re going all night tonight, moya polovinka. I want more.”

“You’re so deep.”

And that just makes me bigger. That just pushes me deeper. My cock feels like it’s wedged against her cervix, and even though I’ve come once already, I want to again, now. Right like this. I want to fill her up with my seed, the way I will when she’s ready to give Inessa a little brother.

“What about your belly?” I demand, my lips at her ear. “Say that’s mine.”

“Alexei?”

“I want to give you a baby.”

“Fuck.” She twists her head and screams into my neck.

And around my cock, her body takes flight.

“That’s it, sunshine. Yes, oh fuck, here it comes. Here’s our baby.”

She clings to me as I thunder inside her, shaking the glass door.

In the aftermath of our orgasms, all I can hear is traffic down at street level, and quiet, shaky breathing in my ear.

I hold her so tight she can’t run away.

I drag in a deep breath, then hitch my arm under her ass and turn to carry her back through the open door.

As I lay her down on the bed, she tightens her grip on me.

“I’m yours,” I remind her, easing onto my side beside her.

She looks down our bodies, then back up to my face. “The last time I was half naked on a hotel bed with you, I didn’t get your pants open. This is progress.”

I blink in surprise. “Pardon?”

She laughs. “Nothing. Um… So… babies?”

My pulse is so heavy in my neck. “Just came out.”

She licks her lips, her gaze warm but searching. “Out of nowhere?”

“Not nowhere. I like the idea of making a baby with you.” I slide a strand of hair off her damp cheek. “There have been times when I’ve watched you with Inessa that I wished she was yours.”

She catches my hand and weaves her fingers through mine. “I love her.”

“I know you’re smart about stuff like that. But when you’re ready?—”

She closes the gap and kisses me. Firmly.

Later, much later, after she’s licked herself off of my cock—and I’ve sucked her clit again, and she swears she can’t come anymore, and I bring one more climax out of her, just to be sure—we’re back in the same position.

Fully naked, our legs tangled together, both of us half asleep.

And I realize I haven’t asked her an important question. “Are you coming to the game tomorrow night?”

She smiles slowly. “Absolutely.”

“Are you wearing my jersey?”

“Of course I’m wearing your jersey,” she murmurs. “And I’ll arrange my schedule to make the first home game in the playoffs, too. Shannon’s getting me a WAG jacket made. I hear that players like those just as much as jerseys…”

So even though we’re tired, we make love again. One more time, because it has to last us another week at least, maybe more.