“That’s not fair. Shit, I’m sorry,” I say, but he cuts me off.
“I came,” he whispers, a flush rising up his neck that has nothing to do with the room temperature. “I didn’t even touch myself. That was so fucking hot.”
My brain short-circuits. He came just from giving to me? Hands-free?
Ideally, I’d pull him on top of me. I’d roll us over. I’d do a hell of a lot of things. But my body is a wreckage site, so I do the only thing I can.
I hook my hand behind his neck and pull him down. “Come here.”
He collapses forward carefully, avoiding my injured side, resting his forehead against my good shoulder. His breathing is still ragged against my skin.
I press a kiss to his damp, sweat-spiked hair. My mind is officially blown. I’m thirty-four years old, and I just got the best blowjob of my life from a guy, who came hands-free just from tasting me.
“Thank you,” I whisper into his hair. “That was… incredible.”
He lets out a long, shaky breath. “Yeah,” he murmurs against my skin. “It was.”
Chapter 10
Tanner
Iwake up with my head resting on Lou’s good shoulder. I don’t move. I don’t even open my eyes. I lie there, wrapped in the woodsy scent I now recognize as Louis Tremblay.
Strangely, my panic is gone. In the light of day, I can see that my terrible performance didn’t put an end to my career. And even though I crossed a giant red line by hooking up with a teammate, I feel calm. Steady.
I open my eyes.
The room is gray with morning light. Louis is asleep, propped up in his pillow nest. I’m not usually a cuddler, but neither of us moved an inch last night.
Louis looks younger like this. The ice pack has slipped, revealing the angry purple bruising spreading like spilled inkacross his chest. A brutal reminder of the difficult road he’s facing.
He shifts, a small groan vibrating against my cheek. His breath hitches, and his eyes flutter open, dark and unfocused.
“Hey,” I whisper.
He blinks, trying to orient himself. His eyes meet mine, and I brace myself for him to pull back. For the “morning after” panic to set in.
But he doesn’t move. One corner of his mouth twitches up in a half smile before he lets out a long, shaky exhale, his head falling back against the pillows.
“Truck,” he mumbles, voice thick. “Feel like I got hit by a truck.”
“A truckload of hockey players fell on you. It’s kinda the same thing.”
He huffs a weak laugh that turns into a wince. “Too soon, Rook.”
“You want your meds?”
“Yeah. Please.”
I extract my numb arm and roll out of bed to fetch the pills and water. When I turn back, he’s struggling to sit up, his face gray as he tries to leverage himself without his left side.
“Stop.” I cross the room in two strides. “Let me.”
I put a hand on his back to get him upright. His skin is clammy. He swallows the pills dry, chases them with water, and hands the glass back.
“Thanks.”
There’s no awkwardness. This routine feels weirdly familiar already.
