We find a rhythm together. Slow at first, then faster as need takes over. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her legs tightening around me to pull me deeper. I can feel her getting close again, can see it in the flush spreading across her chest, the way her breathing goes ragged.
"Come for me," I murmur against her ear. "Let me feel it."
She does. Clenches around me so hard I see stars, her whole body going taut before she melts beneath me. The way she clenches around me, the trust in how she whispers my name—it sends me over the edge right after her.
We collapse together, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. I should move, should deal with the condom and give her space, but she tightens her arms around me.
"Stay," she says. "Just for a minute."
So I do. We lie there, hearts gradually slowing, the pre-dawn darkness pressing against the windows. Eventually I do move, dispose of the condom, find my boxer briefs in the chaos of her previously organized room.
She watches from the bed, sheet pulled up to her shoulders, hair a wild mess I'm responsible for. Thoroughly satisfied and absolutely wrecked—and I did that. Made her look like this.
"Ryder?" She catches my hand as I'm pulling on my jeans. "I don't regret it."
"Me neither."
"But we still have to figure things out."
"After three more games," I agree, even though we both know we just complicated everything. "We'll figure it out then."
She nods, lets my hand go, and I force myself to walk out the door.
The sky is starting to lighten as I cross to my own cabin. Not quite dawn, but getting there. The stars are fading, and somewhere a raven calls. My phone shows fifteen missed texts from the team group chat, two from Preston, and one from Chief that just says:Get some sleep before practice.
I don't sleep. Just stand in the shower until the water runs cold, trying to reconcile the man who pulled a victim from a burning building with the man who just made love to the woman who's supposed to be his fake girlfriend.
Two more games to prove I belong in the NHL.
And I just fell in love with Piper Meadows.
Chapter 13
Piper
The bed beside me is cold. Has been for hours, since I watched him pull on his jeans in the pre-dawn darkness, since we agreed to 'figure things out' after three more games, since he walked out my door. I blink at the ceiling, brain foggy with too little sleep and too many questions.
I sit up fast enough that the room spins. The covers pool around my waist, and I'm naked, and oh God, we had sex. The kind where I forgot my own name. The kind where his mouth on my neck made me loud enough that I'm grateful we don't have neighbors..
And he's gone.
My phone reads 6:47 AM. Grey morning light seeps through the curtains. I grab the nearest shirt from the floor—one of his flannels—and yank it over my head. The fabric smells like smoke and cedar and his skin.
I fell asleep eventually. Exhausted. Confused. Now I'm awake and he's still gone and I still have no idea what happens next.
I pad to the window and peek through the curtains. His truck sits in his driveway, right where it always is. He's home. Twenty feet away. Not here.
My chest gets tight.
"Okay, no," I say to my empty cabin. "We're not doing this. We're professional adults who had consensual sex and can handle it like mature people."
I walk to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. The woman in the mirror looks thoroughly ravaged—hair everywhere, lips swollen, a faint red mark on my neck where Ryder's mouth did something that should probably be illegal. I press my fingers to it and the memory hits hard.
His hands on my hips. His mouth on my skin. The way he said my name like it was the only word that mattered.
I grip the sink. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe I wasn't good enough. Maybe I was too much, too loud, too needy?—
"Stop it. Just stop."
