She stayed.
I’m supposed to be thinking about hockey. The puck, the net, where I need to be on the ice to cover my man—that is all I should be thinking about, especially with a game this evening, but I can’t get the image of Emilia on her knees in the shower this morning out of my head because she stayed.
She’s been over at my house every night this week and has stayed over all but one of them, including this morning when I woke up with my cock against her ass and her pressing back, seeking my touch.
I obliged, of course, and then we took a shower, where she sucked me off and made me late for the morning skate.
We’ve kept to our agreement of living inside a bubble. When we’re at my apartment, we’re just us. She’s not the girl waiting for the promotion, and I’m not the guy who plays hockey for her uncle. We’re just Emilia and Owen and we’re just having fun; that’s it. It’s uncomplicated and easy, and for the first time in a long time, I’m feeling good.
“You’re chipper.” Miller flops down onto the bench beside me. “Get your dick wet?”
“Miller!” Lowell chides as he walks by, shaking his head at the kid for his crudeness.
“Pretty sure I heard him whistling when he walked in this morning,” Rhodes comments, dropping down across from us.
I glare at him. “I was not.” I turn to Miller. “And I’m not chipper.”
“Well, you’re not my kind of chipper,” he says, “but you’re chipper by your standards.”
“I am not.”
His face scrunches up. “Not right now you’re definitely not with all of your arguing and glowering.” He shakes his head. “I take it back. You’re clearly not getting laid, but you should. You need it.”
“You offering?” I tease.
“Like you could handle me,” he mutters before storming off, and I feel good knowing I somehow managed to annoy the most obnoxious guy on the team. I’m glad that maybe—just maybe—I’ve thrown him off.
“He’s right, you know,” our goalie says, fidgeting with his equipment. “You’re different lately.”
I don’t spend a lot of time with Greer outside the rink. A few shindigs here and there, but I wouldn’t say we’re close by any stretch of the imagination. I highly doubt he’s a good judge of how much I have or haven’t changed.
“How would you know?”
He shrugs. “I’m observant.”
That’s one word for what he is. “Uh-huh.”
He peeks up at me, then back at his pads. “It started around whenever that ginger in media began coming around more often. Whatever”—another glance, this one a lot more suggestive than the other—“thing it is you’re working on with her, it’s definitely changed something in you.”
I barely fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Right. And this change would be…”
“He was right,” Rhodes speaks up, pointing toward the door Miller disappeared through. “You’re chipper.”
I grit my teeth together. “I’m really not.”
Rhodes tips his head to the side, watching me. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That didn’t sound like nothing.”
“Well, it was.” He shrugs. “I’m hitting the ice.”
I glare after him.
“Smith!”
I snap my head up to find Coach Martin standing in the doorway, hands on his hips, a serious look on his face.
Oh fuck. He knows.
I’m dead. Or worse, off the team. They’re benching me for breaking the rules.
“Uh, what’s up, Coach?” I try for nonchalant and hope to fuck I don’t sound like I’m about to have a very real panic attack.
“I think you know what’s up—you’re avoiding me, and I know why.”
My heart pounds so hard in my chest that there’s no way Coach Martin doesn’t hear it. The very real fear of having a heart attack—which would just do wonders for my old man status—hits me.
“Board drills!” He laughs. “I know they’re your favorite.” He claps his hands together. “Come on. Chop, chop. Meet me on the ice in five.”
He walks away, and I sink back into my cubby, blowing out a relieved breath.
He doesn’t know. Thank fuck he doesn’t know.
Greer laughs. I almost forgot he was there.
He shakes his head.
“What?” I bark out, annoyed with him.
“Nothing. Just…a theory.”
“A theory?”
“Yeah,” he says, rising to his skates. “About you and that hot little redhead.”
I push off the bench, and yeah, Greer is a big dude, but I’m bigger. I tower over him, looking down my nose at him and that stupid fucking smirk on his face.
“What about her?” Even I hear the jealousy in those three words.
I don’t like him noticing her. I don’t like him talking about her. I don’t even like him being in the same room as her.
My reaction makes him laugh harder, and my brows slam together even tighter.
“It’s just interesting that your mood changed when you started working with her…almost as if she has something to do with it.”
He lifts a brow, waiting for me to tell him he’s wrong.
I don’t.
“Hmm. Interesting.” He steps away and around me, checking his shoulder against mine. When he’s at the door, he pauses and looks back. “You know, Miller was wrong. You don’t need to get laid—you already are.” He walks away, leaving me standing there fuming.
I want to run after him and deny everything, tell him he’s wrong and there’s nothing going on between Emilia and me.
But it’d be a fucking lie and we both know it.
“Please tell me he’s joking.” I whirl around to see Lowell standing at the door. He’s resting on his stick, his watchful gaze burning into me. “Are you screwing around with Emilia?”
“It’s not what Greer thinks.” The lie tumbles out easily, and I pray Lowell believes it.
“Are you sure about that? Because you look pretty damn guilty to me right now.” He shakes his head. “You know what? I don’t care whether it’s true or not. I don’t want to hear about it. Just whatever it is…fix it.”
He stalks away, still shaking his head at me.
He’s right. What Emilia and I are doing…it’s a stupid game, a dangerous one. I know better than to play it.
I’m not on any leader boards for penalty minutes, but I always did have a knack for finding myself in the sin bin, and if this all blows up in our faces, that’s exactly where I’m headed.
I just hope it’s worth it.
I’ve done a lot of hard things in my lifetime, battled at the boards for long torturous hours, played games where I walked out with broken bones, and have just generally put myself through hell, all in the name of a sport.
But this? It has to be one of the most difficult things I’ve done.
“This is pure torture,” Greer says from beside me, and for once, I agree with the guy. “I fucking hate kids. Can’t stand the little crotch goblins.”
Well, that part I don’t agree with. I don’t have any feelings toward children one way or the other. They’re cute sometimes, but other times, they’re annoying little shits. As far as having any, I think I could take it or leave it.
But having to attend a baby shower where there are women oohing and aahing over all things baby—it’s kind of a bit much.
For the most part, Hollis and Lowell have kept this whole thing low-key, but there is still a horde of women who won’t stop squealing over all the tiny wittle baby cwothes. It’s grating on my last damn nerve.
“Is it too soon to leave?” he says.
“Unfortunately. I need a drink,” I mutter, heading for the little bar they graciously provided for us folk who can drink. I pour myself a glass of whiskey, then turn to find Lowell and Miller standing near the doorway to the room. Lowell looks like he’s about two seconds away from driving his fist into Miller’s face. Whatever Miller did or said, I’m sure it would be deserved.
“Go. Away,” Lowell says to the kid as I approach.
“Roger that.”
Miller takes off faster than he’s ever moved before.
I follow Lowell’s gaze to Hollis, who is surrounded by Ryan, Emilia, and Harper, and several other players’ wives. He looks like he’s about to stalk across the room, throw his pregnant woman over his shoulder, and carry her away from all the prying eyes.
I get it. I’ve been wanting to do the same with Emilia since we got here.
Even though she woke up in my bed this morning, we arrived separately so we wouldn’t draw any suspicion. We’ve also spent the afternoon ignoring one another, which has been harder than I thought it would be. A few times I almost reached out and brushed some hair off her shoulder, but then I realized at the last moment that I couldn’t do that, especially not with all the watchful eyes around.
Pretending at the rink is one thing because we’re at work, but here? Surrounded by our friends who are so open with one another? It’s hard to remember she’s not mine and, no matter how badly I want her there, she doesn’t belong at my side.
“Those are some rather territorial vibes you’re giving off about somebody you’re not even dating,” I say, taking Miller’s place. “Because you’re allegedly still not dating, right?”
He ignores me, and I laugh.
“Come on, man. You can’t really tell me you’re not dating—not when you’re looking at her like that.”
He’s staring out at Hollis like she’s an angel walking the earth. It’s funny to see how much he’s changed over the last five months since finding out about the baby, from anti-commitment and never letting anyone come over to his place to looking awfully cozy with the woman carrying his child and hosting a damn baby shower at his house.
He glares over at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing going on.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. Right. Nothing at all.”
“What’s going on with you and Emilia? Is that nothing too?” he shoots right back at me.
I snap my mouth closed, feeling a lot less like teasing him.
“That’s what I thought,” he mutters.
“Nothing is going on with me and…” I hesitate, afraid to say her name, because if I do, I know it’s going to come out sounding entirely too sweet. Lowell’s not stupid. He’ll pick up on it. “Her,” I finish.
He scoffs. “You can’t even say her name.”
“I can too.”
“Prove it.”
I tip my chin up. “No. I don’t need to prove shit to you.”
“Weird. I don’t need to prove shit to you either.”
He shoves past me, disappearing into the kitchen.
I want to be annoyed with him, but I guess fair is fair. I’m not exactly being forthcoming about what’s going on with Emilia, so I can’t expect him to open up to me with what’s happening with him and Hollis.
I can say though that he’s holding back for no reason at all. It’s clear he’s falling for her and she’s falling for him, and not just because she’s having his child. There’s a love there that’s lurking deeper beneath the surface. I saw it at Harper and Collin’s wedding last summer when they met.
I wish he would realize what’s right in front of him and take advantage of it, embrace it. I sure as hell wish I could.
Emilia throws her head back, laughing at something Miller says. The sunlight pouring into the room catches her red hair just right, almost making it look gold. The strands are swept up in her usual bun and my fingers itch to pull it down and wrap it around my fist. She’s gorgeous, and I wish so fucking badly I could march across this room and kiss her.
Claim her.
Let everyone know she’s mine.
I take a step and—
“Heya, kid,” our head coach, Heller, says, stopping me in my tracks.
I relax, lifting my chin at the older man. “Coach.”
He’s on the smaller side, but it doesn’t mean shit. Back in his days of playing in the NHL, he was known for being an enforcer, tough as nails and ready to throw down with the best of them. Sometimes I think his smaller stature came in handy during the fights. He was little enough to move quickly and be able to duck, but also sturdy enough to keep his skates upright.
“Sometimes I miss this part of it,” he says, looking out at the group gathered. “Being part of a team, you know? These found families. It’s tough when it’s all gone.”
Family.
That is what we have here. Even though Greer pisses me off and Miller’s obnoxious on a good day, we’re still a family, and we have each other’s back. We’re there for each other through all the trials and tribulations.
Once my contract expires, does this expire too? I hate the idea of losing this as much as I hate the idea of losing.
Coach clears his throat. “Ah, ignore the ramblings of an old man. I’m taking off, getting out of your hair because I know it’s no fun with Coach hanging around.” He tips his head toward the rest of the crowd. “Keep an eye on these kids, will ya?”
“Shouldn’t you be telling your captain that?”
“Would, but I can’t seem to find him or his gal.” He does his best to fight a knowing grin. Lowell might think he’s fooling everyone saying he doesn’t have feelings for Hollis, but if even Coach is picking up on it, it’s a losing battle. “Figured I’d task that job to you with you being the oldest. Besides, you’re a lot less trouble than any of these young people. You’re the one I never have to worry about.”
Bile works its way up the back of my throat and I swallow it down, trying not to vomit all over Coach’s nice dress shirt. If he only knew…
“I’ll keep an eye on them,” I say quietly.
He claps me on the shoulder. “Knew I could count on you. Tell Lowell and Hollis thank you for the invite.”
“Will do.”
He gives me another smile before disappearing through the house.
I watch as he goes, trying to swallow back the guilt that’s eating at me. Coach has done so much for me, and how am I repaying him? By lying to him? Breaking rules put in place for a good reason? I should be ashamed of myself.
But I’m not.
I’m not, because Emilia? She feels right.
“Hey.” That combination of lavender and vanilla I can’t seem to get enough of hits me. “Everything okay?”
Her eyes flick to where Coach Heller is going, and I know what she’s really asking: Does he know?
With a quick glance around the room to make sure nobody is watching—and no one is—I grab Emilia’s hand and haul her down the hallway into an empty bathroom. She lets out a little squeak as I pull her in and press her against the door, framing her body with my own, a knee pressed between her legs.
“Owen, I—”
I don’t let her finish that sentence. Instead, I cover her mouth with my own, kissing away every last worry she could possibly be having right now. I shouldn’t be doing this. Not here, not now.
But I can’t help it. I have to touch her. It’s torture sitting on the other side of the room watching her laugh and smile with everyone else.
I want her laughs. I want her smiles.
I want her.
Need her.
Crave her.
I should be concerned that I’m losing control and doing this here, but I don’t care, not when I have her under me. I don’t stop kissing her, not even when she’s mewling against me and rubbing her pussy along my thigh.
I’d bet at least a year’s salary if I were to step away from her right now, there’d be a dark spot on my jeans from her soaking-wet cunt. I slide my hand up her thigh, pushing the dress she’s wearing up around her waist, and run a single knuckle over her.
I wrench my mouth from hers, kissing my way down her chin, over her neck, then back to her lips again, all while running my finger over her pussy.
“Fuck, Emilia,” I mutter. “You’re so damn wet for me.”
I shove her panties to the side and, without warning, slide two fingers inside of her.
“Oh god,” she moans, and it’s loud, so loud I clamp my hand against her mouth.
She stares up at me with wide, lustful eyes, then bears down on my fingers, and I curse myself for what I started as she begins to fuck herself on my hand.
She doesn’t take her eyes off me, riding me, moaning again as I hook them inside of her, hitting that spot I know she loves. She picks up her pace, riding me harder and faster, and I wish it were my cock buried in her instead of my fingers.
“You’re so beautiful, Emilia,” I tell her, my eyes on hers. “So gorgeous. You’re doing such a good job fucking my fingers, you know that?”
She nods.
“Fuck, you need to see this. You need to see how good you look.”
Another nod.
I spin us until we’re facing the mirror, and I hold her in front of me, letting her see what I’m seeing.
“Hold your dress up,” I murmur in her ear. “Look.”
She listens, lifting her dress until it’s around her waist, her eyes dropping to where she rides my hand. Her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, sweat beading at her temples, her hair a wild mess.
She’s stunning, and she’s getting close. I can feel it in the way she’s squeezing me, desperate for release.
“Can you take more, sweetheart?”
She doesn’t speak; she can’t. She simply nods, and I slide a third finger into her pussy. She squeezes around me, a low, soft moan escaping her. When she tries to close her eyes and drop her head, I don’t let her. I wrap my hand around her throat with my free hand, lifting her head back up until she’s looking in the mirror.
“Watch the way you fuck yourself, Emilia. Look how beautiful you are.”
Her eyes are on her pussy, and when I press my thumb to her clit, she’s shaking in my arms, falling apart on my fingers. I pull her lips to mine, swallowing her moans with my kiss again, hoping nobody can hear us.
She rides me through her orgasm, slowing and steadying her movements until the final shocks are gone. I slowly slide my fingers from her pussy, and she whimpers as I lazily pet her, allowing her a moment to catch her breath.
“I wish I could taste you right now,” I say in her ear. “When we get home, I’m going to bury my face between your thighs and lick your pussy until it’s squeezing my tongue.”
She shivers at the idea, looking every bit like she’s ready to go again. I’m about to say fuck it and drop to my knees when the door handle rattles.
Emilia lets out a loud squeak, turning into my arms.
“Oh! Shit! Sorry!” Rhodes calls from the other side of the door. “Didn’t realize anyone was in here. My bad.”
“It’s cool, man,” I call out.
“Oh…Smith? Thought that high-pitched scream was a chick for a moment.”
“Fuck off.”
Rhodes laughs. “Have you seen Emilia? I think Ryan was looking for her.”
Emilia’s eyes widen, and with her hair all over the place, she looks wild.
“No,” I lie, motioning for her to fix it. “Last I saw her she was taking a phone call outside.”
“Huh. Okay, I’ll tell Ryan. You, uh, going to be much longer? I really have to take a leak.”
“Can you not keep talking to me when I have my dick in my hand?”
“Like I haven’t seen it before,” Rhodes mutters. “I’ll just use the other bathroom.”
He retreats, and I wait several moments before turning to Emilia, who is still trying to tame her mane.
“That was entirely too close,” she whispers, shoving stray hairs into place.
“I didn’t hear you complaining.”
Her cheeks pinken at my words. She turns, facing me. “Well, no, of course not—but that’s beside the point. We have bigger fish to fry.”
“Yeah, like the fact that Rhodes now thinks I scream like a girl.”
She narrows her eyes. “What’s wrong with a girl scream?”
“My scream is very, very deep, thank you very much.”
She rolls her lips together, patting my chest. “I’m sure it is. We should head back before someone realizes I’m not in fact outside on the phone.” She gives me a look for that lie.
“What was I supposed to do? Tell him you’re in here about to get your pussy eaten?”
She makes a noise that’s halfway between a groan and a moan. “Smith!”
I grin. “Look, I’ll go out first, then you wait a few minutes and follow. Sound good?”
She nods, shoving me toward the door.
I grab the handle, but before I open the door, I look back at her. “Oh, and, Emilia?”
“Hmm?”
“I intend to make good on that promise.”
Her face flames red as I close the door, and I swear I hear her mutter, “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”
I’ve been asking myself the same thing.
