We find a brutal pace, and every time I bottom out inside her, I dig my fingers into her hips like an anchor. She leans into me, taking everything I have to give and more. The sound of her slapping against my lap is muffled but still loud enough to echo through the room.
But I don’t care.
Sam places her palm on my chest for balance as she bounces on me, her walls hugging me on the way down and milking me on the way up. Her movements get sloppier, more desperate as she uses me to find her release, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Shit, Bryden, I’m so close.” She wraps an arm around me and moans in my ear.
“Me too.”
I splay my hands under her, holding her in place while I thrust into her, fast and hard. White dots flash in my eyes, and all the blood rushes to my balls.
“I’m coming. I’m coming. I’m coming.” Her cries fuel my fire.
Choking out a growl, I lift her off just in time for my cum to shoot out in thick, messy spurts all over her thighs.
“Fuuuck,” I roar, my back bucking.
Sam kisses me again, this one more tender. But then she cracks a smile.
“What?” I breathe out.
“You cursed.”
I laugh, though it’s hard to get it out with how out of breath I am. “I guess I’m done beingperfectly intact.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ALEX
It’s time.
Kane tips his head, signaling to me. I nod and force my attention back to the crowd. Rolling my shoulders, I lock my hands in front of me and wait for Dear Ole Dad to finally come to the end of his speech. It’s been well over twenty minutes, and a new record. It doesn’t surprise me; he loves to hear himself talk.
“As always, we’re proud of all our teams, more specifically, our hockey players.”
Gee, I wonder why?
“Every season they prove why SKU is the best in the nation, and I can’t be more elated that myonlyson—”
And there it is. He doesn’t care about this team. Only the extension of his image.
I dart my eyes to Kane, giving him a tight-lipped pointed stare. He knows just like I do that this is all an act. Kane squares his shoulders, his jaw visibly clenched. My father places a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to look in his direction. He smiles, patting my back with more care than I’ve ever received from him.
“Alexander Williamsburg—he’s named after my great-great-great-grandfather in case you didn’t know,” he says jokingly and the crowd laughs. “He was a pioneer of a man that paved theway for the Sovereign King’s University that we have today. He was an idol and we”—he glances to my mother, taking her hand in his free one—“couldn’t be more honored to have named this kid after him. Son, you’ve made your mother and me proud. You’ve led this team to victories many times over, following in your ancestor’s footsteps in a way that would make him proud.”
Ancestor? I huff. You mean the angry old bastard that hated everyone. Yeah, I’msograteful to share a name with that asshole.
“I think everyone in the room would agree that we will be rooting for you as you make your transition into the NHL.”
The room erupts in applause, and I give a curt nod, lips pressed into a thin line. I wave, but it’s stiff and fake, just like this father-son dynamic he’s trying to paint.
As soon as the moment passes, I climb down from the makeshift stage. I maneuver through the crowd, being stopped along the way.
“Alex,” Mr. Sheffield, one of my father’s business partners, says, taking my hand in his. “You know your father’s right. You’ve been a damn good captain.”
I squeeze his hand, giving him a firm shake. “Appreciate the recognition.”
“Of course. Any idea who you think will draft you?”
