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“Hurry up,” he said, his breath ghosting over the back of my neck.

“I’m trying,” I gritted out, pressing the card against the sensor a second time.

The lock clicked green—thank god—and I shoved the door open.

We tumbled inside, and Mikey launched himself at me, shoving me back against the wall, his mouth crashing onto mine. I groped blindly for the edge of the door, and slammed it shut.

“Fuck, you were so hot out there tonight,” I said against his lips, my fingers tangling in the soft curls at the back of his hair as I pulled him closer, taking the kiss deeper.

Mikey groaned into my mouth, his hands clawing at the hem of my shirt, tugging it up over my ribs.

“Me?” he gasped. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” He yanked the fabric over my head, tossed it somewhere, and slapped his palms—hot and calloused—flat against my chest, dragging his nails over my nipples.

I shivered, and he bent forward to suck the right one into his mouth, coming away with a loud pop. “I wanted to kiss you when you came off the ice after you dragged those two defenders to the wall and flipped that dirty no-look pass right onto Kovalev’s tape.”

I wasn’t sure if it was me or the hockey talk turning him on more. Maybe, for Mikey, it was one and the same.

“I was buzzing the entire time I sat there waiting for my line to get the nod,” he continued, his words coming fast. “You have no idea how fucking turned on I’ve been all night.”

“I think I have some idea,” I panted, gripping the hem of his turtleneck and shoving it up over his chest.

He helped me pull it off, his arms tangling in the sleeves for a split second before it hit the carpet beside my shirt.

Mikey stepped back, and in the dim light bleeding through the window from the building across the street, he looked suddenly hesitant. Almost … scared.

Oh shit.

“Hey, wait. What’s wrong?”

TWENTY-FOUR

MIKEY

I clasped my hand to the back of my neck, inwardly kicking myself for putting that worried look on Cally’s gorgeous face. “Nothing’s wrong.” I told him.

“Are you sure?” His arm rose as if he was going to reach for me, but then he seemed to think better of it and dropped it back down, his index finger tapping against his leg.

“Is this because of the other night?”

I shook my head hard. “No. Absolutely not.”

We hadn’t really talked about his nightmare, so I’d been left with more questions than answers.

We also hadn’t discussed what had happened when I woke up at dawn the next morning with dick nestled against his ass.

I’d flexed my hips and, in his sleep, Cally had pressed back, letting out a breathy little moan that sounded a lot like the noises I made when I was about to come.

I’d been tempted to wake him up with my mouth, but knowing what a rough night he’d had, I’d told my dick to take a chill pill instead, and slipped out of his room and back to my own so he could grab a few more hours of sleep.

And then I’d spent the next couple of days obsessing over that moan and what I thought it could mean.

“I’ve been thinking.” I rubbed my sweating palms over my thighs. “Are you … are you satisfied?”

Cally’s brows drew together, twin lines forming between them. “What do you mean? Of course I’m satisfied.”

“Really?” I asked with a lift of my brow.

Cally’s gaze darted away, instantly raising my suspicions.