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Chapter Thirteen
Viggy
Hockey Rule #36: Respect the game Media Rule #36: Respect the algorithm
Lily’s dark hair spilled across my pillow, one strand caught at the corner of her parted lips. My chest squeezed at how right she looked sprawled out in my bed. Made me want to brush that strand away, to trace the curve of her cheek. She looked like she belonged here. In my bed, in my life.
Like she’d always belonged here.
Damn dangerous thoughts to be having at this early in the morning.
Damn terrifying thoughts for a man who’d shared her bed less than a week.
The orange and cinnamon of her scent had worked into my sheets, screwing with my head. Two nights in, and the room felt wrong without her here. I’d memorized her morning habits already—fumbling blind for coffee, curling into my chest to check her phone, that soft hum when I kissed below her ear.
The mattress dipped as Bright landed on the bed, his squashed face radiating feline judgment. The damn cat had made himself at home in my space as thoroughly as his owner, claiming the top of my dresser as his domain. He perched like a gargoyle, watching me watch Lily sleep.
“Don’t start,” I muttered. He blinked, unimpressed.
Lily stirred, her nose scrunching as she fought waking. When her eyes fluttered open, that sleepy softness in them sucked me deeper under her spell.
“Time’s it?” Her sleep-rough voice stroked down my spine.
“Early.” I tugged that wild strand from her lips before I could stop myself. “Go back to sleep.”
She stretched, all soft curves and warm skin. My body responded instantly, remembering exactly how she felt pressed against me.
“Can’t. You guys go back to work today. Means I do, too.” Her fingers found my chest, tracing idle patterns that shot straight to my groin. “Gotta get home, change clothes...”
“Stay.” The word came out rougher than intended. I rolled her beneath me, caging her with my arms. “Just five more minutes.”
She let out a sound—half-laugh, half-protest. A soft, intimate sound I was quickly becoming addicted to. It wrapped around me like a caress. Her hands slid into my hair, teasing and playful. “Why do I have a feeling five more minutes isn’t going to cut it?”
“A rough estimate.” I nipped at her jaw, earning another of those laughs that made my chest tight. “Open to modification.”
Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer as I traced kisses down her throat. Every curve, every soft gasp, every arch of her body against mine felt familiar now. Like muscle memory I never knew I needed.
“Jack...” My name on her lips landed like a punch to the gut—intimate, real. Made me want things I’d already decided to wait for. Made me forget about timing, about playoffs, about every reason I should be patient. Because right now, with her pressed against me, fitting like she was made for it, waiting felt damn near impossible.
Bright chirped his disapproval. I lifted my head, meeting that judgmental stare. He’d retreated to the top of the dresser. “Your boy’s a mood killer.”
“He’s just hungry.” Lily’s fingers traced my jaw, drawing my attention back where it belonged. “Poor baby’s used to having me to himself in the mornings.”
“Five more minutes and I’ll feed him,” I growled, already losing myself in her warmth. In the way she arched into my touch, like she needed this—needed me —as badly as I needed her.
The thought didn’t scare me. Not when she made everything—retirement, the future, life beyond hockey—feel full of possibilities instead of endings.
I claimed Lily’s mouth again, swallowing her soft gasp. Her fingers threaded through my hair and sent sparks down my spine. The world could wait. The only thing that mattered was her skin under my hands and the way she breathed my name between kisses.
Five minutes wouldn’t satisfy the hunger burning through my veins. But we had time now. All the time in the world to build something real. Something lasting.
Something worth choosing every day.
The familiar scent of antiseptic and athletic tape filled Jabari’s office as he worked over my knee. His practiced fingers found every tender spot, poking and prodding as I struggled to keep a blank expression. But Jabari knew my tells too well after a decade of working me over. The tension in his shoulders, the slight tightening at the corners of his mouth. The trainer saw right through my bullshit.
“How’s the pain today?” Jabari asked, his tone neutral.
“Barely noticeable.” The lie rolled off my tongue.
He grunted, unconvinced, but used to players’ antics. I wasn’t the first guy to underplay an injury and I wouldn’t be the last. Beyond the training room door, guys arrived for practice—chirping at each other, music thumping from the weight room, chaos settling into my body like muscle memory.
The game played on.
My phone buzzed. Dad’s name lit up the screen.
Fuck.
“Need a minute?” Jabari nodded toward the phone.
I pushed to my feet, testing my weight. The familiar fire shot up my leg, but I kept my face neutral. Captain’s mask firmly in place. “Nah, I’ll just find a spot to take this call.”
The call connected as I stepped into the hallway. I slipped into French. “Hey Dad.”
“Jack! Was hoping to catch you before practice.” His voice boomed through the connection, the same voice that had woken me at 5 a.m. for extra skating since peewee. “Big week, eh? First round against Chicago—your boys ready?”
“Working on it.” I leaned against the wall, letting it take some weight off my knee. “Team’s focused.”
“’Course they are, with you leading them.” Pride colored his words, squeezing my chest with memories of frozen, pre-dawn rinks and empty stands. Of pushing through pain because Vigniers never showed weakness. “This year, my son. The Cup’s waiting.”
“So you’ve said.” Dad’s own hockey career had fizzled in the minors—too many games warming the bench until marriage and a baby forced practical choices. An office job. A mortgage. His NHL dreams packed away, dusted off only to polish my own as I moved up the ranks. “Dad—”
“Your mama’s planning quite the menu.” His voice softened around the edges. “Everyone’s coming to watch. The whole street wants to see their boy bring home Lord Stanley.”
My jaw clenched. Seventeen years chasing his dream. Our dream. The family legacy I’d been born to fulfill. A family legacy that had once filled me with pride, but now felt like a weight threatening to pull me under.
“How’s the body holding up?” Casual words, but I knew better. Years of playing through injuries had taught me to hear the message beneath them. Don’t show weakness. Don’t slow down. Not now. Not this close.
“Fine.” Another automatic response. Another lie that tasted like copper on my tongue. “Just the usual wear and tear this time of year.”
Movement caught my eye—Riley hovering at the end of the hall, that puppy dog concern clear on his face. I straightened, squared my shoulders. Let him see his captain in control.
“Good, good.” Dad’s approval scraped against my nerves. “Can’t let anything derail you now. Not with everything riding on this run.”
Everything . The word echoed in my head. My last shot at the Cup. The family pride.
“Gotta go, Dad. Practice.”
“Show ‘em what Vigniers are made of, my son.”
The call ended but the weight stayed. Settled into my bones alongside the grinding pain in my knee.
“Cap?” Riley’s voice carried that mix of worry and hero worship, tightening a band around my chest. “You good?”
“Always good, Puppy.” The lie slid out too easily. I’d had too much practice hiding the truth this season. Teaching him the bad as well as the good of hockey culture. I clapped his shoulder as I passed, ignoring the way his gaze tracked me. Searching for cracks. Weakness. Something his captain couldn’t afford to show. “Let’s go run some drills.”
A captain leads by example. A Vignier never shows weakness.
The mantras drilled into me since childhood roared louder than the pain. Louder than the voice whispering that I was running on fumes. My stride stayed steady, controlled, each step toward the ice a war against the fire in my knee.
The bite of rubber under my skates. The weight of the C on my chest. The legacy carved into my skin, bone-deep.
Even if it broke me in the process.
I glanced back. “Coming, Puppy?”
Riley lit up, that wide-eyed enthusiasm kicking me hard in the gut. His energy usually pulled me up. Today, it just hammered in how much I had to lose.
How much rode on my ability to push through. To be the son my father expected. The captain my team needed.
Game film flickered across my TV screen, casting blue shadows through my living room. Chicago’s power play formations blurred together after three hours of breaking down the footage. Numbers and stats spun through my brain as I tracked potential weaknesses of the team we’d soon be facing.
Fire shot through my knee as I shifted on the couch. Each twinge counted down the minutes until I couldn’t hide the truth anymore. Maybe it was the pressure of the playoffs. Maybe it was just the wear and tear finally coming to a head. But hiding my pain felt harder tonight. As though I was one step from being outed, one step from someone noticing. Until the coaches or trainers—or someone —started asking questions.
Playing through had seemed like a doable plan only a month ago. Now? I couldn’t help but wonder if I was sinking. And would I take my team down with me?
A soft tap of keys drew my attention. Lily sat on my couch, her laptop balanced on her knees while she worked. She wore yoga pants and one of my team shirts. A thin, worn thing that I should have tossed a year ago. But now, the shape of her breasts pushed against the faded letters across the front. She didn’t wear a bra and as she rocked back and forth—a cute habit she had when she was deep into her work—her breasts moved beneath my shirt.
Blood shot straight to my dick, my body growing hot at just the sight of her.
And suddenly, I didn’t care about my knee or game film, or if I was being a fool. I loved her filling my space. I wanted her engrossed in her work at the end of my couch every day.
I pulled in a deep breath… seeking and finding that special citrus scent and the kick of spice chaser. Her hallmark. Her perfume spilled into every corner of the apartment. Her travel mug sat drying on my kitchen counter. Her clothes needed to be pulled from my dryer. Even her cat had made my place his own. He sat atop my entertainment center like a grumpy gargoyle.
Which reminded me. “I saw a cat maze today.”
She looked up. “Yeah? Are you planning to bribe my cat?”
I smiled. “Mack was looking at iguana habitats on some pet app. Coach says he can’t leave Fred alone after the season. He’s looking to get something installed at home. Somehow, he landed on cat mazes.”
“He’s keeping Fred, then? I thought he was freaked out about the ‘giant lizard’ in his office?”
“Guess he got over his fear.” I shifted, looking for a position where my knee didn’t throb without being obvious about it.
But nothing got past Lily these days.
Her fingers stilled on her keyboard. “You okay?”
“Fine.” The word came out automatically, practiced. But something in her expression made me add, “Just stiff from practice.”
She set her laptop aside, closing the distance between us. She crawled into my lap, her hands moving to my shoulders, working tension I’d long grown used to. “You’re pushing too hard.”
A sweet ache spread through my chest at her words, cracking open places I kept locked down tight. The back of my neck prickled as her steady gaze burned into me, words crowding up that I couldn’t let loose. Not yet.
Instead, I settled my hands at the curve of her hips, capturing her mouth in a kiss that started out gentle but quickly turned hungry. Better to lose myself in her warmth than face the questions—or worse, the pity—I’d see in her eyes if I confirmed her suspicions.
“Jack.” Her whisper brushed my lips. I shoved my hands under her shirt, groaned at the silk of her skin. Perfection. She felt fucking perfect. “We should talk—”
“Rather do this.” I nipped her throat. Her gasp went straight to my cock. Fuck, the noises she made when I used my tongue, my teeth. Each sweet little sound told me she needed this as bad as I did. She melted into me like she couldn’t get close enough.
She rocked against me, the friction sending sparks through my blood. But when her fingers found the hem of my shirt, I caught her wrists. “Jump up.”
She slid back, paused. Then her feet hit the floor and my breath caught. Those blue-green eyes locked on mine as she hooked her thumbs in her pants. Down they went. She kicked free and I caught a glimpse of purple lace before that disappeared too. But that damn shirt—my shirt—hung low enough to tease. To hide what had my dick throbbing. I lunged forward, ready to tear the fabric off her. Desperate to see all of her.
“No, no,” she said with a cute wiggle and side step. “This what you’re after?” She pulled the hem of her shirt tight, moving it from side to side without lifting it an inch.
I sank back into the couch, fingers twitching, lips pulled into a happy grin. “You going to put on a show?”
She moved, not quite a sway, almost a dance. “Would you like that?”
My eyes followed the movement of her shifting shirt like a puck on ice with two minutes on the clock. She inched the hem of the shirt up, teased me with the sweet roundness of her thighs. She stepped, parting her thighs even as she shimmied slowly to a silent beat. I stared, entranced, as the shirt pulled taut, slid higher, revealing skin an inch at a time.
I scraped my palm over my jaw. Rough. Should’ve cleaned up, but fuck it. Her silky skin begged for my mouth, my teeth. My cock tented my sweats while I watched her. Pure fucking caveman, but I needed to leave my mark. Needed the world to know she was mine.
“Show me.”
She made a little sound, her fingers tightened in the folds of the shirt, and then the hem slid up. Beneath, her naked sex glistened, plump and shining with the evidence of her desire. For me, a beat-up old hockey player. I swallowed hard, gripped the arm of the couch. “Take it off, Sutton.”
She tugged the shirt up and over her head, the corner of her mouth kicked up in a grin that said she knew exactly what she was doing to me and she was loving every second of torturing me. She was braless beneath my shirt, her beautiful breasts swaying gently as she moved. I didn’t even try to hold back the groan when she stood before me gloriously naked. “You’re a fucking goddess, woman.”
My heart pounding, I reached up and dragged her down. She tumbled into my lap, knees bracketing my hips, her tits to my chest. I captured her lips in a kiss I didn’t have a hope of resisting.
I devoured her mouth, my tongue delving deep. She moaned, her thighs clamping tight around me, her fingers clawing into my hair, tugging until my scalp stung.
And still I explored. Turning until my mouth melded over hers, clamping her close, close enough daylight wouldn’t find a way between us.
Lily undulated against me, rubbing her sweet, bare pussy against my dick, thin fabric between us. Blood pounded through my veins, hot and thick and heavy. I would explode any minute.
I planted my hands on her glorious ass, moving with her as she gyrated on me.
“Your turn, Jack.” She slid her hands between us. “You’re so hard.”
“Imagine that, Sutton. Got a goddess in my lap. What the fuck you expect?”
She giggled, leaned back, and slid her fingers past my waistband to wrap around my dick. “Oh my. He feels angry.”
“Angry is the last thing he is. And what the fuck is this ‘he’ business? That’s my dick you have your sweet little fingers wrapped around.”
“Oh, I know.” She tugged, even as she pressed her lips to mine again.
I rocked up into her hold and deepened the kiss, sweeping my tongue over hers until we were both breathless. “You going to ride me, Hollywood?”
She laughed, her forehead falling to rest against mine. “You’ve called me Sutton, Lily, and Hollywood in the last five minutes. What’re you going to call me next?”
With a strength I didn’t know I had, I dragged my hands from her soft skin to shove my pants out of the way and free my dick. With my fingers digging into the softness of her hips and ass, I guided her back into my lap. I held her blue-green gaze as she slid down onto me, her eyes darkening as she took me deep. Not even one stroke and my head wanted to explode. Her heat surrounded me, hot and slick. Fucking perfect.
When I was as deep inside her as I could be, I pulled her face close. With my lips against hers, I finally gave her an answer. “I’ll call you mine.”
She moaned, the sound soft and sweet, and I inhaled it on the next breath as I claimed her lips as I’d claimed her pussy.
Mine , I breathed as I bucked up into her.
Mine , I groaned as she slapped down onto me.
Mine, mine, mine, I swore as we found a rough, fast rhythm.
In moments, she’d taken the lead and I let my head fall back as I watched her work me like the goddess she was, my hands gentle at her hips as she rode my dick. “God, yes, baby. I like that. You’re doing so good.”
I groaned as she sank down, her pussy holding me from tip to base. Pure heaven. My breath soughed in and out, harsh in the quiet of the room. When she dragged her hands from my hair, over my shoulders, across my chest, I groaned even louder. Then she was cupping her tits as they bounced with her movements, and I couldn’t have looked away in that moment if my life depended on it.
“I’m gonna come, Jack. I love your eyes on me. Love you inside me. It’s too much.”
The pain in my knee became a distant memory. The stress of the day, the weight of my father’s words, the team, the fans… it all faded until only this woman, the way she made me feel, how good we were together… These were the only things that mattered.
Who knew Lily Sutton could work a fucking miracle?
I leaned closer to my woman, replacing her hands with mine on her breasts, thumbing her taut little nipples, nibbling the corner of her lips before nuzzling into the hair that swayed and flowed around her neck. “You going to come on my dick, Sutton? Get me all wet with that sweet pussy?”
She moaned, her movements turning jerky as she slammed herself down over and over. Sutton liked a little dirty talk, huh? Good, I would give my woman what she needed. “Touch your clit, baby. Come all over this dick.”
She moaned again, halfway between a groan and a growl, but followed my words. I felt her fingers moving and I’d give a fortune to be able to lean back and watch my girl play with her clit, but that’s not what she needed from me at that moment. I slid one hand to her ass, molding my hand to her sweet curves, and growled into her neck. “Come for me, Sutton. All tight and wet, aren’t you?” I groaned as the wet slap of our bodies echoed into the room. “Hear that? Love the sound of you fucking me.”
With one hand molding her breast, and one rocking her hips down on me, the sound of her wet slide on my cock had me at the edge. I’d explode any minute. No, I’d hold out. Give my woman what she needed before—
She rocked onto me, slamming down and holding there. Her pussy tightened, gripping my dick like a glove as she moaned into my throat. In the next heartbeat, I exploded into her with a loud groan. I clamped my arms around her as I pulsed inside the warm cocoon of her body.
Magic. A goddess. A fucking miracle.
The sound of my name on her lips ricocheted inside me, shattering something broken, but lacing it back together in the next beat.
Stronger. More powerful.
A little knee pain? What-the-fuck-ever.
My goddess made me feel like a god.
After, she curled against my chest, breath evening out while I traced patterns on her back. Muted game tape still played on my big screen, forgotten in the background. Bright watched us from his perch atop the entertainment center, radiating his usual condemnation of our antics.
“Let’s go to bed.”
She pressed closer, her lips finding my neck. “We can’t sleep here?”
Something in my chest squeezed. Twisted. Made me want to tell her everything that weighed on me. About the legacy I had to uphold. About how she made me want things beyond hockey. About how fucking terrified I was of letting my guard down.
But the words stuck in my throat. Because showing weakness? That wasn’t in my DNA.
So, I just held her closer, breathing in her citrus and spice like it was oxygen.
Three in the morning, and sleep stayed out of reach. My knee throbbed in time with my pulse, a deep, grinding ache no ice or anti-inflammatories could touch. But that wasn’t what kept me awake.
No, that honor belonged to the woman curled against my side, her breath warm against my neck, one leg thrown over mine. In sleep, she’d claimed me.
Dangerous thoughts.
Flashes of game footage reeled through my mind, a constant loop of plays, strategies, mistakes. Some people counted sheep. I analyzed hockey.
I moved carefully, unwilling to disturb the beautiful woman using me as her personal body pillow. When I reached for my phone, the lock screen made me pause. Not mine. I’d grabbed hers. A grin tugged at my mouth as I held the button until the screen went black. She’d give me hell for it in the morning, but my alarm would do the job just fine.
With my own phone in hand, I fired off a text.
The Boston Bruins claimed their 63rd win of the 2022 season on April 9 in Philadelphia to surpass the 1995-96 Red Wings and 2018-19 Lightning (both with 62) for the.
No point. No context. Just another random hockey fact she’d roll her eyes at when she woke up.
I set the phone aside and slid deeper under the covers. Lily mumbled my name and rolled away, but even asleep, she fussed at me.
The tightness in my chest shouldn’t have been there. Shouldn’t have made me want to wake her up just to see those blue-green eyes. To tell her how she’d crashed through every defense I’d built this year. How she made me want more than hockey. How she made it possible to imagine a future where the game wasn’t the axis my world spun around.
How fucking terrifying that was.
She shifted again, and I rolled with her, tucking up against her bare back. Three nights in my bed, and already I couldn’t picture it without her. Already tracked her movements like analyzing game tape—the way she fumbled for coffee before her eyes fully opened, the way she leaned into my touch without thinking, the soft smile she saved just for me.
My fingers found her hair, working out a tangle. Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with sex. In a way that scared the shit out of me but also sent a thrill through my chest.
It spoke of trust. Her trust, the way she let her guard down, made me want to do the same. And for once, the idea didn’t send me running. Not even with playoffs looming, the team and fans counting on every move, or my father’s expectations pressing down on me.
Lily whispered my name again, her fingers curling over the back of my hand, tugging my arm close to her chest. Pulling me closer, even in sleep. The gesture settled something in me. Something restless since the first time I faced the reality that hockey wouldn’t last forever.
Lily Sutton made me want more than the game. Made me believe I could have more, too.
Three little words sat heavy on my tongue, but I swallowed them down. Too much, too soon. Last thing I needed was to scare her off when we were still figuring this out. When every day felt like discovering something new about her, about us.
But soon. When the time was right. When I could show her that this wasn’t temporary—this was about all our tomorrows. About the way she made me see a future beyond the final buzzer.
For now, I held her close and breathed in citrus and spice. Let myself get lost in how right she felt in my arms, in my bed, in my life.
Let myself believe in something bigger than hockey.
Let myself believe in us.