Page 130 of Secrets on Ice

“Of course, I am. Just didn’t think that was his type,” she says, staring at the blonde chatting with Nelly.

“He likes brunettes.” I smirk.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve been good, staying away from him. It’s been hard and I’ve been keeping it very professional.”

“I noticed that when we were at his apartment,” I tell her.

“Thanks for being the buffer, otherwise …” She takes a sip of her drink.

Otherwise, she would have fallen into bed with him and that doesn’t help anything, I know the feeling. My eyes land on Sully and his harem of women. I force myself to look at my drink instead, because I don’t like that pit of jealousy that seems to have threaded through me. My eyes look somewhere else, and I see Emmett is holding court at the bar with Jo tucked under his arm. Pierre is telling some story that has Evan howling. The energy is pure opening-night high, but every time I glance over, that blonde is still talking to Sully, and his eyes keep finding mine over her shoulder.

Eventually, the crowd thins. Cassidy leaves with Marlowe, and this time I think she is actually hanging out with her, it’s not code for Nelly. Emmett and Jo head home, and one by one the others peel off until it’s just the two of us walking back to the apartment in the cool night air.

The apartment is quiet when we walk in. Sully drops his keys on the counter and turns to me. Without a word, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a folded jersey.

His.

“I hated seeing you in someone else’s name,” he says, voice low and rough.

I stare at the jersey in his hands. “Sully … I can’t wear this.”

“I know, just … I don’t know, I thought …” he says.

I take it from him and an idea pops into my head. “Doesn’t mean I can’t wear it when no one else is around.” I smirk as I pull off the shirt I’m wearing and slip his jersey over my head. It hangs soft and huge on me. His eyes go dark the second it settles on my body.

That’s all it takes.

Sully closes the distance in two strides. His mouth is on mine before I can say another word. He walks me backward until my shoulders hit the fridge, hands already under the jersey, sliding over my skin.

“Fuck, Em.” He groans against my lips. “You have no idea how hard it was watching you wear his name all night.”

I don’t answer. I just kiss him harder, fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bedroom. We don’t make it all the way. He sets me on the edge of the bed, yanks my underwear off, and drops to his knees.

He eats me like he’s been starving for it, tongue deep, fingers curling, sucking my clit until I’m shaking and coming with his name in my mouth. Then he’s up, condom on, pushing into me in one long, deep stroke that makes us both groan. He fucks me hard and deep, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping the hem of his jersey like he can’t stand the thought of taking it off me. Every thrust is rough, deliberate, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the quiet apartment.

“You look so fucking good in my name,” he rasps against my ear. “Take it. Take all of it.”

I come again, clenching around him, and he follows a few strokes later with a low, guttural sound against my neck.

We stay like that for a long moment, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to mine.

Neither of us says the word ‘mine.’

But he does demand that the jersey stays on for tonight.

35

SULLY

First road game of the season and it's ugly from the drop. They come out heavy, running everything that moves, and the refs have decided they're not calling anything tonight, which is fine, that's hockey, until it isn't. Second period, Cap's got the puck behind the net, and their winger comes in late and high, driving him headfirst into the boards.

Emmett goes down.

I don't remember deciding anything. I'm already there, gloves off, and the guy's got about half a second to look surprised before I've got a fistful of his jersey. He gets one in early, right on the cheekbone, and it opens me up. I feel it go warm down the side of my face, and I don't care. I get him twice, then a third, and the linesmen come in. It takes both of them to get me off him, and the crowd is absolutely feral.

I get five for fighting, as does he, and we both go to the box. He continues to chirp me the entire time, but I ignore him as I sit there with a towel pressed to my face and blood on my knuckles. Emmett is back on his feet down the other end, which is the only part I actually needed to know.

What a fucking disaster of a game and I’m to blame. We lose 3–2. They score on the power play we hand them. I sit on that bench in the third with my jaw locked and a cut cheek and watch the season's first road game slip away.