This isn’t going to be simple at all.
The arena is packed with fans in their Denver Aces jerseys, and there’s the kind of electricity in the air that only comes from having this many people in a shared space, fired up and chanting for their home team.
April is off with Margo somewhere near the bench, getting the behind-the-scenes experience she’s been talking about nonstop for days.
Which leaves me alone in our usual seats watching Grant.
Watching the game, I mean.
Damn, I really have to do better at this subtlety thing. I tell myself I’m cheering for the whole team and following the puck like everyone else in the arena, but that’s a complete lie.
My eyes keep finding him, tracking every movement he makes with more intensity than even the coach has.
The other team’s forward breaks away with the puck and races toward Grant’s goal. I gasp and jump to my feet, along with everyone around me. The forward winds up for a shot, hard and fast, aimed at the top corner.
But Grant is already moving. His whole body extends, with one gloved hand shooting up to snatch the puck out of the air like it’s a particularly annoying fly.
The cheers are deafening, and I’m smiling and waving my hands in the air like a crazy woman.
His focus never leaves the ice, except to occasionally seek me out, like he can’t be completely comfortable unless he knows exactly where I am and what I’m doing.
Which, honestly, I can relate to.
He drops back into his ready stance, and even from here I can see the way his muscles coil and release with each movement.He’s so big, with so much raw power—anyone can see that much, obviously—but watching him on the ice and seeing how he uses every inch of his size and strength to dominate his opponent, it’s different now.
Because now I know exactly how big he is. I know what all those muscles feel like under my hands. I know the weight of him when he’s pressing me into the mattress and the way his body feels when it’s moving against mine.
Wet heat floods through me, and I shift in my seat, trying to focus on literally anything else.
It’s only been a few days since our weekend together, and we’ve barely touched each other. We haven’t kissed. Haven’t done much more than exchange a few loaded glances when April isn’t looking.
I’m worried about sneaking around in his house. Terrified, actually, that April will wander downstairs at the wrong time or walk into the wrong room. The risk is just too high, even when I know how good the reward can be.
But god, I feel like an addict who hasn’t gotten her fix.
On the ice, Grant makes another save, this time deflecting the puck into the corner where another one of the Aces scoops it up. The crowd roars, and I have to smile as Grant taps his stick against the goal post three times.
And now I’m remembering the way those big hands felt on my body. The way his fingers knew exactly where to touch me and how to make me come all the way apart.
My thighs squeeze together, and I have to take a slow, deep breath to steady myself.
This is crazy. I’m sitting in a crowded arena, surrounded by thousands of people watching a hockey game. I shouldn’t be getting turned on right now.
But I am.
Just watching the power in his movements, the intensity of his focus, and the way he commands the space around him makes my clit throb. Hard. That part of me that felt so detached and lifeless for so long has roared back to life, and it apparently has zero interest in being quiet or patient or reasonable anymore.
The final buzzer sounds, and the Aces have another win. The arena explodes with noise as the crowd surges to their feet, cheering and stomping. On the ice, the players swarm together, tapping helmets and celebrating.
Grant pulls off his helmet, and even from this distance, I can see him scanning the crowd. His eyes find mine almost immediately, and for just a second, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of us, and I swear I can almost feel the heat radiating from him.
Then one of his teammates practically tackles him in a bear hug, and the moment breaks. But I’m still watching him like a lovesick fool and still thinking so many dirty thoughts that I should absolutely be blushing.
I’m not blushing, though. Not even when I see the sheen of sweat on his skin and have a flashback of that salty taste on my tongue. Not even when I remember the sounds he makes when he comes, or the way it feels to have him sinking into me, demanding everything I have to give.
I shake my head and blink those excruciatingly hot mental images away, because I need to go meet my sister and daughter in the friends and family lounge.
My sister, my daughter, and Grant. My… roommate.
