His breath catches. "Here?"
"Right here in your locker room," I palm him through his joggers, and he's already hard, thick, and straining against the fabric. "Unless you don't want me to?"
"Fuck, I want you to. I want…" He groans when I free him from his clothes, his cock jutting out. "Maya?—"
"Tell me what you want," I say, looking up at him. "Captain."
The word makes his eyes darken further. "I want your mouth on me. I want to watch you take my cock right here."
"Good." I lean forward, licking a stripe up his length, and he groans. "Because I've been thinking about this since I watched you on the ice."
I take him in my mouth slowly, savoring the weight of him on my tongue, the way his hands immediately come to my hair. He's trying to be gentle, but I can feel the tension in his grip, the restraint.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Your mouth feels incredible."
I hum around him, and his hips jerk forward. I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, using one hand to stroke what won't fit. Above me, he's panting, trying to stay quiet, and the power of it thrills me. This man, who commands an entire team and whom everyone listens to, is falling apart because ofme.
"Maya, I'm not going to last long," he warns, his voice strained. "You feel too good."
I pull off just long enough to say, "Then don't," before taking him back in, deeper this time.
His hands tighten in my hair as I work him, alternating between deep strokes and focusing on the head, swirling my tongue the way I've learned makes him crazy. I can feel him getting closer, his breathing harsh, his thighs tensing under my free hand.
"Where—" he starts.
I look up at him and don't pull away, making my answer clear.
"Fuck, Maya—" He comes with my name on his lips, hips stuttering as he spills down my throat. I swallow it all, working him through it until he's shaking.
When I pull off and stand, his eyes are glazed, his chest heaving.
"That was…" He can't seem to find the words.
"Good?"
"Fucking incredible." He pulls me in for a kiss, deep and thorough, despite having just come. "You're going to kill me."
"Worth it though."
"Always."
We clean up quickly, fixing our clothes and brushing off any evidence of what just happened. He checks his reflection in the small mirror by his stall, raking his fingers through his hair until he looks like the captain again and not the man who just had me pressed against the wall.
We slip out of the locker room one at a time—him first, confident and steady, then me five minutes later with my pulse still racing. By the time I reach my car, he’s already leaning against it like we’re just heading home, as if nothing happened.
The drive is quiet, but the tension lingers, warm and undeniable between us. His hand finds mine across the center console, steady and certain, like he’s anchoring us both to whatever we just stepped into.
We’re past the point of no return.
And there’s no going back.
23
JACKSON
Imust have the word idiot written across my forehead because Chase has been watching me all morning. Not obviously, he's too smart for that, but I catch him looking at me during practice, during the post-skate cooldown, in the locker room. Studying me like he's solving a puzzle.
And the way he looked at me when I was watching Maya at breakfast this morning tells me he's figured it out.
