“This is Nadine. My wife.”
“Jo, my fiancée,” I say, still always excited to say it.
“I may have heard something about that,” Long says. “I was shocked. Couldn’t believe it.”
It’s meant as a dig at me, but Jo freezes next to me, assuming he’s talking about her. About how she doesn’t belong with me.
Which is, of course, utter bullshit, and I open my mouth to correct the record, but he goes on before I can stop him. “Although, I can see it’s real. You really are getting married. Good for you. Congratulations.”
I glance at Jo, waiting for her reaction, and she eventually eases, understanding he meant no harm and is truly happy for us. She smiles at him. “Thank you.”
After that, the conversation flows easily. As it turns out, when he’s not working, Malcolm King is actually a beauty of a guy. He’s relaxed and has a dry sense of humor I like. It’s also nice how he and Camden seem to be friends. It shows me that he really does care about the well-being of his clients.
Jo and Nadine wander off to find the wine, which I’m happy about since she hasn’t really been able to become friends with any of my teammates’ wives or girlfriends. She’s always working at the game, and since our situation is atypical with how it came about, it never occurred to me that I should be introducing her to people, bringing her more into the fold. I make a mental note to talk to Naomi about it. I’ve known her as long as I’ve known Sheffy, and she’ll be able to help Jo become accustomed to the hockey life.
Because that’s what I would like.
Jo in my life.
Camden and I trade numbers, and I promise him tickets to an upcoming home game since his team unfortunately ended their season earlier this month. While they won the Bowl last year, they ran into some bad luck in the divisional round this year. There was a rumor floating around about Camden retiring soon, but I don’t know him well enough to ask about it. When the girls return an hour later, apparent friends and a little giggly from the alcohol, Jo and I say our goodbyes and head back to my place.
Gus makes figure eights around our feet when we walk into the room, and Jo immediately picks him up. He’s becoming more her cat than my own, and I find the digital camera she left here to document it. I don’t really know how to work the thing, besides click and shoot, but I do it while she nuzzles Gus to her cheek.
After a few clicks, she spins my way. “What are you doing?”
“Taking photos.”
“That’s my job.”
“But when the muse calls…”
She laughs, and I capture that before setting the camera down. Jo immediately puts Gus down to pick it up, clicking away. I lean against the counter, posing. “Is the muse calling?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I remove my coat, tossing it haphazardly over one of the chairs. “How about now?”
She briefly lowers the camera, enough that I can see her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. A spark in her dark eyes. So I keep going.
She positions her camera again, and I strip off the rest of it, staring into the camera lens. By the time I’m completely naked, she’s taken countless photos, yet she’s still not done.
But neither am I. Her quiet intake of breath sends goose bumps racing over my skin when I lower to my hands and knees. Behind her camera, her skin flushes pink, and each inch of space I cover while crawling to her sets my own skin on fire. I’m harder than granite by the time I’m kneeling in front of her. I tip my head up, wrapping my hands around her calves, waiting until she lowers her camera to beg. “Please, Jo, can I fuck you?”
Because this woman deserves nothing less than utter devotion. She licks her lips, nodding once, before repositioning the lens up once again, snapping pictures of me like this.
On my knees.
For her.
I glide my hands up her legs, allowing myself a few momentsof squeezing her thighs and ass before I pick her up, carrying her fireman-style to the bedroom, where I lay her down so I can strip off her clothes as well. With her face still behind the thing that has always given her confidence, it’s a weird yet intimate experiment to allow her to capture these moments. Kneeling on the bed while tugging her pants off. Holding myself over her after she put the camera down for a few seconds to take off her shirt, only to bring it back into position, aiming it directly at my face.
“You’re so beautiful,” she tells me, voice awed. “A true work of art.”
My cheeks heat, authentic chagrin causing me to duck my head. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do.”
Ignoring her praise, I sink down on the bed, settling between her parted legs to kiss my favorite place. I tongue her soft flesh, the warmest, tenderest part of her, and she inhales a noisy sound before exhaling my name. I shift my gaze up her body, once again finding myself staring into her camera lens.
