Page 13

Ken

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and something in my chest breaks. I kiss her—soft at first, barely a whisper against her lips. But when she makes that little sound in the back of her throat, my control snaps.

I back her against the hallway wall, one hand tangling in her hair while the other grips her hip. She tastes like champagne and forgiveness, and I can't get enough. Her hands clutch my jacket, and I can feel her trembling.

"Ken," she gasps when I move to her neck. "We should—"

"Our room, yes," I finish.

The walk to our suite is torture.

"I missed you," she whispers. "Even when it was just hours, I—"

I practically drag her to our suite, fumbling with the keycard while she works my bow tie loose. The moment the door clicks shut, I have her against it.

"Wait," she pants as I start unzipping her dress. "I need to tell you—"

I si lence her with another kiss, pouring everything I can't say into it. How she terrifies me. How she completes me. How I never want to go another hour without her.

"Tell me later." I drop to my knees, sliding the silk up her thighs. "Right now, I need to taste you."

Her head falls back against the door. "Ken..."

I press open-mouthed kisses up her inner thigh, breathing in the scent of her arousal. Her lace panties are already soaked, and when I trace her through them with my tongue, her whole body shudders.

"Please," she whimpers.

I hook my fingers in the lace, dragging it down her legs. Then I lift one of her thighs over my shoulder and lick into her, slow and deep.

She cries out, hands fisting in my hair. I take my time, exploring every fold, every sensitive spot I'd memorized that first night. When I suck her clit between my lips, her legs start shaking.

"I can't—" She tugs my hair. "Need you inside me. Please."

I stand, and she attacks my shirt buttons while I kick off my shoes. We leave a trail of formal wear to the bed, and when I finally lay her down, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"You're staring," she says, reaching for me.

"Can't help it." I settle between her thighs, brushing hair from her face. "You're everything."

"Everything?" She traces my jaw. "Even after I—"

I capture her hand, kissing her palm. "Even then. Even now. Always."

When I push into her, we both gasp. She's tight and wet and perfect, and the way she arches beneath me makes my heart stutter.

"Look at me," I command softly.

Her eyes meet mine, dark with desire but also something deeper. Something that makes my chest ache.

"I love you," she whispers, and I almost lose it right there.

Inste ad, I start moving—slow, deep strokes that make her moan. Her nails dig into my back, urging me closer, deeper. I want to devour her, to mark her, to make her understand that she's mine in ways money could never touch.

"Ken, please..." She wraps her legs around my waist. "Harder."

I pick up the pace, driving into her with controlled power. Her breasts bounce with each thrust, and I capture one nipple in my mouth, sucking hard enough to make her cry out.

"Touch yourself," I growl against her breast. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

Her hand slides between us, fingers circling her clit. The sight nearly undoes me—her pleasure-flushed face, her lips parted, her body taking me deeper with each thrust.

"That's it, Princess. Show me how good I make you feel."

"So good," she pants. "I'm close... don't stop..."

I feel her start to tighten around me, her movements getting desperate. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it."

She shatters with my name on her lips, her pussy clenching around me in waves. I follow right after, burying myself deep as I come harder than I ever have in my life.

We lie tangled together after, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing patterns on her back. For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

"We should go back," I say finally. "People will notice we're gone."

She burrows closer. "Don't care. This matters more."

"Hey." I tilt her chin up. "Trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then get dressed. We've got one more thing to handle."

She studies my face. "What?"

I kiss her forehead. "Let's just say the night's not over yet."

The ballroom gl itters with victory champagne when we return. Bree’s hand is warm in mine, fingers intertwined with the kind of certainty that makes my heart race. Golden light spills from the chandeliers, catching the ice sculptures—hockey players mid-shot—until they shimmer like diamonds.

My teammates are scattered around the room, some dancing, others huddled around cocktail tables.

Tuxedos and jewel-toned gowns create an elegant blur that would’ve felt over-the-top on any other night.

But tonight, with champagne flowing and the glow of our win still pulsing through the room, it all feels right.

Or maybe that’s just the aftershock of having Bree in my arms less than an hour ago.

She adjusts the strap of her emerald dress—the same one that had pooled at her feet upstairs. My fingers twitch at the memory. Even now, I can still feel her shaking under me, taste her skin on my tongue.

"You're staring," she whispers, lips curving.

"Can you blame me?"

A blush colors her cheeks, but her eyes sparkle. "Keep looking at me like that and we might need to disappear again."

"Don't tempt me." I tear my gaze away, scanning the crowd. "We need to find Ashton."

Ashton. My teammate. My brother in arms. The man who trusted me to help his sister—not fall in love with her.

“There.” Bree points toward the bar.

Ashton stands in a cluster of teammates, champagne in hand, mid-story, probably embellishing a play. His bow tie is crooked, his grin wide and easy.

“Ken?” Bree squeezes my hand. “Maybe we should wait. Let him enjoy the moment.”

“No.” I lift her hand to my lips. “No more waiting. No more pretending.”

We weave throug h the crowd. A few people turn to watch us—our clasped hands, the closeness between us. Let them look. After tonight, there’ll be no need for whispers.

Wilson notices first, his brows shooting up before he elbows Peterson, who nearly chokes on his drink. The ripple spreads until Ashton finally spots us.

"There's my dream team!" His voice is upbeat, but there's an edge to it now. "Mission accomplished, huh? Now we can all go back to normal."

The surrounding guys start to drift. Wilson backs away entirely.

"Actually," I say, voice steady, "we need to talk."

"Talk?" Ashton’s smile flattens. He sets his glass down with deliberate care. "What's left to talk about? Dad bought the whole act. Problem solved. Unless..." His gaze drops to our joined hands. "Unless there's something you’re not telling me."

The band plays on behind us, but everything feels still. Like we’re suspended in a pocket of air, just the three of us.

"I'm in love with your sister."

The words land like a slap. Simple. Final.

Ashton laughs, sharp and humorless. "Very funny."

"I'm serious." I tighten my grip on Bree’s hand. "This started as a favor, but—"

"But nothing." He steps forward, jaw clenched. "This was supposed to be simple. Help Bree out, keep Dad off her back. That was the deal."

"Plans change."

"Not when they involve my sister." His tone drops. "You gave me your word."

"I did. And I meant it when I gave it."

"So what changed?"

"I did." Bree’s voice is calm, strong. "We both did."

Ashton scowls. "Stay out of this, Bree."

"Like hell I will." She moves beside me. "This is about me too. More than you know."

His eyes flash. "What does that mean?"

"It means..." She glances at me. I nod. No more secrets. "Ken and I met before. Years ago."

"What? That’s not possible."

"At a club," she says. "We had a connection. Spent one night together, but the timing wasn’t right."

"You what?" The color drains from his face. "Both of you knew? And neither of you told me?"

"We didn’t recognize each other until right before dinner at Dad’s," Bree explains. "And by then it was too—"

"Too fucking late," I finish.

"So you both let me play matchmaker like a clown?" His voice cracks. “While you were hiding a past?”

“We tried to ignore it,” Bree says. “Tried to just do what you asked. But what we have… it’s bigger than us.”

I face him directly. “If you don’t want to be my friend anymore, I’ll get it. But I’m not letting her go. Ever.”

"So you're choosing her over me?"

"Yes. If that’s the choice you're giving me, then yes. And it’s final.”

Bree steps into his arms, hugging him tight. “Please be happy for me, Ash. You didn’t ruin anything. You actually gave me exactly what I needed. You gave me him.”

He stands rigid. The tension crackles around us.

Then, finally, his shoulders sag. "It's about you, not me." He hugs her back, then meets my eyes over her shoulder. “But if you hurt her…”

“I won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

The answer is easy. “Because I’ve already tried living without her. Never again.”

His stare linge rs. Then something in him shifts—recognition, maybe. Of what this is. Of what she means.

He pulls me into a rough hug. “You better mean that, asshole.”

“Every word.”

Bree laughs and tries to join the hug, but Ashton groans and pulls away.

“Okay, enough with the group hug. I need a drink. And zero details about how this happened.”

“What, you don’t want to hear about—” Bree starts.

“Nope.” He snags two champagne flutes from a passing tray. “Not listening.”

He hands us each a glass and raises his own. “To my sister and my best friend. May you both be very happy and never, ever tell me anything about your sex life.”

“Deal,” I say, grinning at Bree.

She winks over her glass. “No promises.”

He groans. “I’m going to need therapy.”

“Put it on my tab.”

“Oh, you bet your ass I will.” But he’s smiling now, genuine and warm. “Just… be good to each other.”

“Always,” Bree and I say in unison.

He shakes his head and mutters something about rom-coms, heading back to the team. A few guys clap him on the back as he rejoins them.

“Well.” Bree turns to me, eyes bright. “That went better than expected.”

I pull her in close, not caring who’s watching. “Worth coming back to the party?”

“Mmm.” She fingers my bow tie. “But now that we have my brother’s blessing…”

“Back upstairs?”

Her smile goes wicked. “Last one naked buys breakfast.”