Page 93 of Hockey Wife

Too loud, but God, she loved her name on his lips. This was what it felt like to be important to someone, a moment distilled when she was at the center of another person’s universe, and he hers.

“Shush,” she hummed against his lips.

But he was too far gone. His strokes became quicker, more fervent, and his moans increased in volume. This man wanted the world to know his pleasure, and she was so caught up in it. The throbs in her core peaked, her pleasure tipped over, and she clamped down on his cock as a loud sob escaped her.

He met her orgasm with a juddering thrust and a groan loud enough to wake the entire house.

Lying still, she luxuriated in the weight of him, the solid comfort he brought. Seeming to shake himself back to reality, he propped himself up and stared at her.

“We good?”

“We are so good,” she whispered back before a raspy laugh erupted from her mouth. She clapped a hand over it and murmured, “sorry!”

“For what?”

“I was trying to be quiet and even keep you quiet so we wouldn’t wake anyone, but damn, you’re a noisy boy.”

He chuckled. “That’s what you do to me. Don’t want to be quiet around you.” He turned serious. “How’s the head?”

“Didn’t get any.”

He grunted. “You did this morning, you greedy girl. And I meant your actual head.”

“Could be worse. I could have not just had an amazing orgasm.”

“Or two.”

That set her off laughing again. He kissed her, probably to keep her quiet, but soon it was more than a kiss. It was everything.

He stopped on a sigh. “Gotta take care of business.” Slowly he withdrew from her, as if worried he might hurt her. He headed to the bathroom, and she lay there quietly, pondering on what just happened. She wasn’t fool enough to think it meant more than a tension release or him feeling sorry for her after what happened at the game. She would enjoy it for what it was: a lovely connection with a wonderful man.

He returned and climbed into bed. For a second, she thought he would stay on his side, but then he reached for her and pulled her close.

“You need your sleep.” A tender kiss to her temple made her smile.

She’d rather stay awake, listen to his breathing, to all that life. But it turned out he was right: she did need it, and soon tiredness overtook her as she sank deeper into his embrace.

29

April stood at the counter, a whisk in one hand, the pancake mix box in the other. She looked up at Banks as he entered the kitchen.

“Is Georgia okay? What time did you guys get in last night?”

“She is. And almost two.” He made himself a cup of coffee. “She’s sleeping. Nasty cut and a bruise starting to show. But she’ll be okay.”

His sister shook her head. “I thought it took her eye out. I’ve never been so scared in my life. All I could think was: this poor girl. Quickly followed by: Dylan is going to kill me.”

He hid his smile behind his cup. “You got the order of operations right.”

“And she didn’t even cry. I think she was just stunned. Literally.” She measured some of the mix into the bowl. “Fucking McMillan.”

“Yep,” he affirmed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so …”

“Pissed.”

“Smitten.”

---