Page 21 of The Perfect Snipe

Time to check on the kids.

I pad down the hallway, the hardwood floor cool under my bare feet. In the living room, Mason and Stella are sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to some cartoon on TV.

"Hey, guys. Everything okay out here?"

They nod without looking away from the screen. I shake my head, smiling. At least some things are normal.

"I'm going to take a bath. Just knock if you need anything."

Another set of distracted nods. I'll take it.

Back in the bathroom, I turn on the water and add some bubble bath as the tub fills. The sweet scent of lavender fills the air, and I inhale deeply. Just what the doctor ordered. Some alone time to relax.

After stripping down, I climb into the tub, the water lapping against my skin as I let out a slow sigh. But as I close my eyes, my mind starts to wander, and it doesn't take long for it to find its way to Leo.

Fuck, that man is infuriating. But fuck if the image of his tented joggers hasn’t been haunting me for days. Days. The man is packing.

And the way he got all controlling and growly when I stepped on the ceramic shard . . . Fuck, I’m wet just thinking about it. My grandmother wasn’t wrong when she called him a Viking.

That raw, primal energy is there. Just beneath the surface of his controlled exterior and fucking hell, do I want it to snap.

My hand slides down my body, tracing the curve of my breast, my fingers lingering on my nipple. Viking Leo's touch would be rough and demanding. A soft moan escapes my lips as I pinch and roll the sensitive peak between my fingers, feeling a throb of pleasure between my legs.

Then it wanders lower, skimming over my stomach, my hips, until I'm touching myself. My fingers move in slow, deliberate circles, building a steady rhythm that has my breath hitching and my heart racing. I picture Leo's body, hard and muscled, poised above me, his eyes locked onto mine as he pushes into me, filling me completely.

A low, guttural sound tears from my throat as I imagine the feel of him moving inside me, the friction of our bodies driving us both to the brink. My hand moves faster, the pressure building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in my core.

"Fuck, Leo," I whisper, my voice ragged and desperate. I'm so close, so goddamn close. I can almost feel him, almost taste him. And then, with a final, shuddering cry, I come undone, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over me.

I slump back against the tub, my chest heaving. Bad move, Catharina. Yeah, getting off to Leo Hartman while I live withhim is fifty shades of wrong for many reasons. Hell, I don’t even know if he has a girlfriend. The man never goes out unless it’s with Wyatt or the team.

Not that it’s any of my business. I’m here temporarily and have my own problems to deal with.

Grumpy, uptight Leo Hartman and his monster erection are not one of them.

Chapter 9

Leo

Fifteen points. Four spots in the rankings. That's how far away we are from even having a shot at the wildcard position for the playoffs. And with the way we've been playing lately, that gulf feels insurmountable.

With each passing game, each missed opportunity to gain ground in the standings, the weight of my promise to Wendy grows heavier on my shoulders.

Fuck this.

Time to get out of my own way. Nothing's stopping me from going out there and beasting except the bullshit between my ears. My body feels good—legs springy, shoulders loose. I’ve got this.

Standing in the tunnel, I roll my neck and shoulders to loosen the tension coiled in every muscle. The concrete walls around me seem to close in, amplifying every sound. I focus on steadying my breathing, in and out, grasping for that icy calm control I've honed over the years.

Smitty’s up front, dialed in, and ready to take the ice. The rest of the team is amped up, ready to take on Arizona.

The lights dim and the whole Minotaurs’ entrance show starts. The roar of the crowd grows louder, reverberating through the tunnel. We skate onto the ice, taking a few laps, then line up to do some warm-up drills. The familiar scrape of skates on ice is almost soothing. Wyatt's hitting the net and Morrow seems more on his game than he's been lately.

Of course, Mykyta’s hamming it up near the plexiglass, his toothy grin on full display. He's juggling a puck on his stick, much to the delight of the wide-eyed kids pressed against the glass. While his dumbass should be focusing more, I know PR is important, and as long as he doesn’t start flirting with any moms I’ll keep my mouth shut.

Hudson glides over, his wide smile mirroring his sunshine personality. Guy might look like a fucking grizzly bear, but he’s more Winnie the Pooh than ferocious. Same with his giant mastiff. Never met a dog who just seemed to want to be a couch potato.

“Gonna kick some coyote ass tonight,” he says as he pulls up to me.

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