I've been half-hard since I read it.
The locker room door creaks open, and my head snaps up. Sloane slips inside, wearing a long green coat and boots that click against the concrete floor. Her hair is in braids since that’s easierto care for with the babies, and she's got that look on her face—the one that says she's nervous and excited and trying to play it cool.
"Hey," she says, stopping a few feet away. Her cheeks are flushed. From the cold near the ice or from what she's thinking, I can't tell.
"Hey, yourself." I push off the wall, acutely aware that I'm wearing nothing but a towel. "You know players' significant others aren't technically allowed in here, right?"
"You gonna report me?" She grins. "Or you want to see what I brought you?"
I close the distance between us in two strides. "Just seeing you is amazing."
"Mmm. Impressive." Her eyes drag down my chest, lingering on the droplets of water still clinging to my skin.
My hands find her waist, and I pull her against me, not caring that I'm getting her coat wet. "Where are Shula and Aurora?"
"With your mom and dad." She loops her arms around my neck. "Wearing their tiny noise-canceling headphones and being absolutely spoiled."
I laugh, picturing it. "And they're good? You're good leaving them?"
"Tucker." She cups my face. "I fed them before I left. They're asleep. I got cleared forallphysical activity at my appointment today. We have maybe ninety minutes before I turn into a pumpkin and my breasts start leaking."
"Jesus Christ, Sloane." I groan, well beyond half hard now. "You can't just say shit like that."
"Why not?" Her smile turns wicked. "You're the one who kept telling me how much you loved my body while I was pregnant. How you couldn't wait to?—"
I kiss her. Hard. Because if she keeps talking, I'm going to lose what little control I have left.
She melts into me, making this small sound in the back of her throat that I've been dreaming about for months. Her hands slide into my wet hair, and she kisses me back like she's starving, like she's been waiting just as long as I have.
"Shower," I manage against her mouth. "Now."
"Bossy."
"Sloane." I frame her face with both hands, forcing myself to slow down. "Are you for real ready for this? Because once we start?—"
"I'm sure." Her green eyes are bright with desire and trust. "Dr. Patel said everything healed perfectly. I'm ready, Tucker. I've been ready."
That's all I need.
I strip her coat off, then her sweater, my hands shaking slightly as I work the clasp of her bra. She's different now—fuller, softer in places—and absolutely fucking perfect. I trace the faint stretch marks on her hips with my thumbs.
"I earned these," she whispers.
"I know." I kiss one. Then another. "You're incredible."
She tugs at my towel, and it drops. We're both naked in the middle of the Fury locker room, and I've never felt more exposed or more certain of anything in my life.
I flick the shower back on, and steam billows out from behind the partition. I guide her under the spray, bracing one hand against the tile wall while the hot water cascades over both of us.
"This is insane," she laughs, tilting her head back. "We're going to get caught."
"Building's empty." I run my hands down her sides, relearning every curve. "And even if someone walks in, I don't give a fuck."
"Spoken like a man who's been celibate for months."
"One hundred seventy-nine days." I catch her earlobe between my teeth. "I haven't touched you like this in so long."
She shivers. "I remember. You were so careful with me."
