Page 68 of Code Violation

“When I said, ‘I want you,’ I meant in my mouth,” I clarify.

“Fuuuck, Vesper.”

Silas tips his head toward the ceiling when I sit up on my elbows and swallow him down. He’s long and thick, and I gag when he hits the back of my throat.

I want to keep sucking, but he pulls his cock from my mouth and slides down between my legs, running his tongue along my pussy.

Getting lost in this man is the best type of remedy for gut-wrenching disappointment, and his tongue is a surefire way to make me come.

White-hot pleasure licks through my body when he pinches my swollen clit between his teeth.

I wonder if he can taste blood, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Apparently, Silas doesn’t care whether I’m on my period or not; he still wants to taste me.

“Jesus, Knockout.” His approval vibrates against my sex, another swipe of his tongue passing from one entrance to the next. “I could drown in this cunt.”

Several more rhythmic lashings of his tongue, and I unravel into his mouth, the heavy weight of earlier feeling less painful than it did before.

“Let me get you off,” I plead when he works his mouth up my body, lips finally resting against mine. I can taste myself, but when it’s mixed with Silas, I kind of like it.

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t owe me a thing. Tonight was all about you and what you need.”

“I want to have sex with you.”

“I know,” he replies softly, “and we will again, I promise.” Silas runs his fingers through my hair, studying me for a second. “But we both know you need more time before we sleep together again. Your body, mind—they’ve been through a lot, and they’re still spinning out, even now.” He sets a chaste kiss against my forehead. “Nothing has changed for me—and definitely not the way I feel about you. So, relax, okay? Because I’m not going anywhere.”

23

. . .

Silas

Rhys Sharpe rivals Theo Cavendish in the asshole department.

No, scratch that. No one is a bigger asshole than Cavendish, but the new goalie comes pretty fucking close.

Mid-practice, Mason slides up alongside me and grabs his water bottle. “Tristan told me that Rhys was once a decent guy, but let fame and hype go to his head.”

“He’s probably right,” I say, taking a pull from my own drink and setting it back down on top of the boards. “Did he play with Rhys?”

Mason screws up his face as we both watch him warm up with the goalie coach. Rhys barely acknowledged us in the locker room, other than to turn his nose up at me when I welcomed him onto the team.

“Tris knows a lot of people. Apparently, he played with him in peewee. Word is, he only left Toronto because no one liked him. Even if he makes shutouts for fun.”

When Rhys drops into the splits, I can see why he’s one of the league’s best. His reaction time and puck anticipation are unmatched.

“If you want to be a spectator, then you’ll have to buy tickets,” Coach booms from center ice.

I set my bottle down next to Mason’s, holding up a finger and asking for a minute.

“Hey,” I say before Mason skates away. “Are you free to talk later tonight?”

He side-eyes me, and I know he’s working me out. It’s been two weeks since Theo and Coach raised their concerns, and I’ve been biding my time, waiting for the right chance to talk with Mason. This isn’t a conversation I’m looking forward to, and I’ve been putting if off for too long.

“I guess it depends on what it is you want to talk about,” he replies, a defensive edge to his voice.

I take a second to think about the best way to approach his drinking. I’ve never been good with emotions or heart-to-hearts. Oftentimes, I wonder why I was appointed as captain. The only person I’ve ever been able to lay it all on the line for is Vesper, and that’s only because she pulls every thought from my brain.

It’s been over a week since she crawled under the duvet with a pregnancy test and we found out that she wasn’t carrying my baby. I could see it in her eyes, the same disappointment that sat heavy in my chest. In the end, all I could do was remedy her sadness with my tongue, and even then, it didn’t feel like enough.