Would it be so bad if Isla figured it out? Keeping this secret is wearing on me, and I could really use someone to talk it all out with. But if she knows, it’s only a matter of time before my brother will, too, and then it’ll make its way to my mom. And that is something I’m not ready for. Not yet.
“Go, go, go!” Isla shouts at the big screen as Maddox breaks away from the pack and flies down the ice. He passes to Logan, who passes to Griffin, and all my worries about her perceptiveness disappear.
Griffin slides the puck back to Maddox before two New York players surround my brother. They block his access to the net and give New York’s defensemen time to form a human wall. Cool as a cucumber, Madds scans the ice, noting that Loganis busy trying to create an opening before finding Griffin. My husband skates around the back of the net, cutting between the defensemen and shoving one toward the boards. It’s the opening Madds needs, and he taps the puck toward Griffin, who tips the puck up onto his stick before slapping it over the goalie’s shoulder and into the top left corner of the net.
The horns blare, the commentators go wild, and the camera focuses on the face I’ve woken up to almost every morning since that night in Las Vegas. Leaping up off the couch, I shout, “Hell yeah, ba—” Then I clamp my lips shut, realizing what I was about to say.
Lexi doesn’t notice, but Isla does. She lifts one eyebrow and cocks her head to the side in a silent question. I give her the most clueless expression I can muster in response as I sink back onto the couch, but it feels like my cheeks are on fire, so I doubt I’m fooling her.
Shit. I have to be more careful. With every week I’m married to Griffin Wright, this all feels more and more normal. More right. But I can’t forget that our marriage was a drunken decision, that Griffin is my brother’s best friend, and that staying married to him is the furthest thing from proving myself and emerging from Maddox’s shadow.
The problem is, I’m not so sure I care anymore.
I’min bed wearing nothing but a lace camisole and matching thong when Griffin calls. These post-game video calls have become our routine when he’s on the road. And they always lead to ridiculously hot video sex.
But tonight, we’re talking about the book we’ve been reading. Griffin texted me this morning to tell me he has several scenespicked out to read to me. I can’t wait, because the book is hot. It’s enemies to lovers, and the buildup to the characters falling for each other is so good. And the sex scenes?
Let’s just say, I’ve had to take some breaks after the spicy chapters to—ahem—let off some steam.
“Fuck, baby. Look at you.” Griffin’s hazel eyes drink me in when I answer the call. I can’t see all of him, but I see enough to know he’s shirtless. Griffin shirtless is a work of art. I wish he was here so I could run my hands all over him.
Letting the camera dip lower so he can see all of me, I grin when he mutters another low, “Fuck.”
“Good game tonight,” I say, my voice husky as I pan the phone back up. “That goal was a thing of beauty.”
“It has nothing on you, sunshine. Nothing does.”
Now my heartandmy lady parts are squeezing.
“Man, I wish you were here.”
I sigh, snuggling into the pillow. “Me too. Are you having fun, though? You have some free time to explore tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah. We have some things planned. But I don’t want to talk about New York or the guys or our plans. I want to talk about you and the chapters we were supposed to read. Then I want you to take off that sexy little scrap of lace, spread your legs for me, and let me watch you fuck yourself while I pretend my hand is your warm, wet pussy.”
As a moan drips from my lips, Griffin smirks.
“You’re such a good little slut for me, wife, and damn, I love it.”
“Your mouth,” I rasp, shaking my head.
“I’m going to use this mouth to eat your pussy when I get home, but for now, I’ll have to settle for reading you some spicy scenes in this book. Then I’ll use it to tell you how to fuck yourself.”
My thighs squeeze together, my body flushing with heat. What is he doing to me? I’ve never been as needy as I have been since we got married. I’ve never been a prude, but I’ve also never been a wanton sex goddess. But that’s how he makes me feel. Free and sexy andhungry.
“Now, have you gotten to chapter fifteen yet, baby?” Griffin’s dark blond brows waggle, and I giggle.
“Yes.”
“Good. Then lie back and let me read it to you.”
And he does. The chapter is spicy, the author leaving nothing out. I get more and more wound up as Griffin reads about cocks thrusting into pussies, heaving breasts, and fingertips digging into full hips. My body grows warmer, between my thighs slicker, and when Griffin reads the part where the hero growlsminewhile fucking the heroine, I can’t help it, I let my fingers roam down to where I’m aching and slip them beneath the waistband of my thong.
“Is my wife wet and needy?” Griffin rumbles. He sets the book down and leans forward so his face fills the screen. “Is your pussy begging to be filled?”
I suck in a breath, my back arching at his words. “Yes.”
“Open my bedside table drawer,” Griffin says. His voice is gruff and filled with dark promise. I arch one eyebrow at him but set the phone on my bedside table before leaning over to do as he says. He groans when my movements expose my ass to him.
