Page 31

Rilee

I drop onto the edge of the bed, heart still hammering, face burning, and try to remember how breathing works.

Ten minutes later, the door swings open and Hunter walks in first, carrying two pizza boxes like they’re some kind of offering. Caleb trails behind with a plastic bag full of drinks and napkins.

“We got two larges,” Caleb announces. “Pepperoni and mushroom and then veggie because I panicked.”

“Power move,” I say.

Grayson returns a few minutes later, damp hair curling slightly at the ends, clean T-shirt clinging to his still-wet chest. He moves quieter than the rest, but his eyes meet mine as he walks back into the room.

Then he hands me a cold bottle of water without a word and sits beside me on the bed.

I crack it open, take a long sip to cool down what the shower clearly didn’t.

The four of us sprawl across the two beds, pizza boxes open between us, as the TV plays a rerun of Jeopardy! .

Caleb feeds me a bite of pepperoni and mushroom from his slice.

“I can feed myself,” I protest.

“But why would you?” he says, popping a pepperoni into his own mouth.

Hunter mumbles an answer to one of the trivia questions before the contestant does, then smirks when he gets it right. “You’re all useless.”

“Who is Joan of Arc?” I guess, just to piss him off. It’s wrong.

Hunter growls low under his breath.

Grayson doesn’t say much. He’s quiet, as usual. But every time I glance his way, his eyes are already on me.

Watching. Calm and warm and impossible to read.

And something about it makes my skin feel too tight in the best way.

For a moment, in this weird little hotel room with bad lighting, lukewarm pizza, and a show from 2014 blaring in the background—it almost feels like a family road trip.

If families were hot, dangerous, and deeply inappropriate.

Getting ready for bed in a hotel room shared with three giant hockey players is… an experience.

There’s only one bathroom.

Which leads to chaos.

“Who the hell packs two skincare serums and zero toothpaste?” Caleb mutters, digging through his dopp kit like it personally betrayed him.

“Borrow mine,” I offer, already brushing. He tries to take it mid-rinse and I slap his hand away. “Not yet. Wait your turn.”

Grayson holds up a travel-sized floss like it’s a peace treaty. “Anyone need?”

“Me!” I say, mouth full of foam. “Toss it.”

He does. I fumble. It lands in the sink.

“Five-second rule?” Caleb offers, grinning.

“Absolutely not,” I say, rinsing it.

Hunter leans in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed. “You all good in here, or should I reserve another room so you can braid each other’s hair too?”

“Aw,” I coo. “Is grumpy captain mad he has to share a room with feelings?”

He walks off muttering something about rooming with toddlers.

Eventually, we rotate through—brushing, changing, shifting bags around to make space. Negotiating pillow usage. Apparently, Caleb sleeps with three?

I change in the bathroom, into soft sleep shorts and a cropped tank. When I emerge, Caleb’s already shirtless in bed, arms folded behind his head like he’s posing for a thirst trap calendar. Grayson’s in sweats and a faded tee, lounging against the headboard of the other bed with a book in hand.

Hunter’s taken the chair. Naturally.

“Okay,” I say, eyeing the two beds. “How are we doing this?”

Caleb pats the space beside him. “Room for two.”

Grayson glances up from his book. “You can take mine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No one’s sleeping on the floor,” I say. “You’ll wake up with spinal injuries.”

Hunter grunts from the chair. “I’m fine here.”

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, crawling into the bed beside Caleb. “We’re adults.”

Immediately, Caleb throws an arm around me and grins like a satisfied cat.

Grayson watches for a beat longer, then finally sets his book down and joins us on the opposite edge.

The bed is way too small.

We are way too many bodies.

And no one seems to mind.

“Alright,” I say, flopping back between them. “No spooning wars.”

“No promises,” Caleb mumbles into my hair.

“I didn’t sign a treaty,” Grayson adds, voice low.

Caleb tightens his arm around me possessively.

Grayson’s hand finds my knee beneath the covers.

I exhale, staring up at the ceiling.

Yeah. This is going to be a very long night.

“Hunter, get in the damn bed,” Caleb barks toward the chair.

There’s a long pause, followed by a dramatic, deeply irritated sigh. Then the creak of the chair, the rustle of blankets, and the sharp click of the lights going out.

Darkness settles over the room like a thick, charged blanket.

“What time’s the game tomorrow?” I ask softly into the dark.

“Bus leaves at nine,” Grayson murmurs from my right.

“Breakfast starts at seven,” Caleb adds from my left, voice close. Too close.

I feel his breath at the shell of my ear. Then his palm, warm and slow, gliding up from my hip to my waist under the covers. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just… curious .

His hand rests there for a moment, fingers brushing the hem of my sleep shorts.

“Okay?” he whispers.

I nod, my breath catching.

The bed shifts as he turns onto his side. His mouth grazes the corner of my jaw, then lower—his lips finding the pulse at my neck. Featherlight. Just enough to make me shiver.

“You smell good,” he murmurs. “Like mint and something else I want all over me.”

My heart stutters.

His hand inches higher, tracing just beneath the curve of my ribs, until his fingers settle under the edge of my tank. The pads of them glide gently across my stomach—like he’s mapping me in the dark.

He kisses my shoulder. My throat. My cheek.

And then finds my mouth.

Caleb kisses like he means it. Like he’s memorizing me with every pass of his lips. He doesn’t rush. He lingers. Like he’s got all night.

I feel Gray shift behind me, moving closer. He sweeps the hair from the back of my neck and places a warm, open-mouthed kiss against my nape. I feel the heat of it all the way down my spine.

Caleb’s hand moves to cup my breast, just the lightest pressure of his palm over the fabric. I arch, just a little, and his groan is barely a sound.

From the other bed, Hunter grumbles, “Keep it down, or I’m sleeping in the damn hallway.”

I bite back a laugh.

Caleb grins against my mouth, kissing me one more time before sliding his hand back down to rest low on my waist.

But it doesn’t stop there.

With his fingers shoved into the side of my shorts, he pushes. Grayson catches the movement and helps him. This is how I find myself—stripped of my sleep shorts in between them.

I turn my head and find Grayson’s mouth. The kiss is hungry—barely contained.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers, mouth skimming my jaw.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” I murmur back, breath catching.

He chuckles low, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Impossible. You’re right here.”

“For the love ,” Hunter groans from across the room. “You three are like horny raccoons. Can you not for like one fucking night?”

A pillow flies across the room and smacks the wall somewhere behind us.

I choke back a laugh.

Caleb buries his face in my hair, chuckling silently, then turns my chin, bringing my mouth back to his. Grayson, from behind me, moves even closer until my bare ass is right up against his erection, or possibly his hockey stick, though I didn’t see him bring it to bed.

And when Gray moves his hand across my stomach to reach between my legs, Caleb swallows down my moan. Grayson, ever focused and steady, massages my clit with the pads of two fingers. I rock my hips back against his ass, sensation rioting through me.

They’re actually better at sharing than I would have figured.

They take turns—kissing me while the other lightly strokes my skin.

Grayson’s fingers keep moving, and I swear the sound is unmistakable—movement sliding over wet flesh—but Hunter doesn’t yell at us again. Let’s hope he sleeps with headphones.

I’m so close, I can barely think.

The room’s dark and otherwise quiet, but every nerve ending in my body is wide awake—focused on the two men surrounding me.

On the warm pressure of Caleb’s palm against my waist and his tongue in my mouth, and the slow, reverent way Grayson’s stroking my pussy like he’s savoring every second of just getting to touch me.

Caleb shifts slightly, his thigh brushing between mine under the covers. His hand moves again—up, over my ribs, his thumb grazing the underside of my breast. Not demanding. Just… appreciating .

I turn toward him, and he pulls me closer. Our legs tangle. His lips find mine again, deeper now. Hungrier. But still Caleb —warm, grounding, like every kiss is a promise.

Grayson turns my face, kissing me again, slow and drugging, until I forget the room, the others, the reason we’re here.

It’s just them. And their mouths, hands, and warmth.

I come apart all at once—body jerking and a soft sound escaping my lips. I shudder and gasp like I’ve run a marathon, and through it all, Caleb kisses me, and Grayson cuddles me from behind. He slowly withdraws his hand but stays tucked up close behind me.

He holds me like he doesn’t want to let go.

Eventually, he exhales against the back of my neck, pressing one last kiss there.

Caleb kisses my forehead. “Sleep, pretty girl. Game tomorrow.”

I nod, curling closer, and let the sound of his heartbeat lull me down.

But sleep doesn’t come easily.

Because my thoughts are spinning. My body’s buzzing. And I’m pretty sure my heart is already way too invested.