Page 74 of The Perfect Snipe

“Leo?”

“Never done anything like that before. When you yelled at me for not spanking you hard enough that one time, I started to . . . to look into things online.”

I spring up onto my elbows. “You what now?”

“Kinda worried you might find me boring. Doesn’t help the way all of you poke fun at the fact I’m quiet too.”

“Leo Hartman, you areamazingin bed. There’s nothing you have to worry about, trust me. Especially with that tongue of yours.”

His lips twitch up as if he wants to smile. “What about my dick?”

“That too.” I place a kiss on his shoulder and fight not to smile at his admission. I never would have thought he’d beworried about his performance. But nothing we did is anything he needed to research. “What exactly did you read about because sixty-nining is a no brainer.”

“Never restrained anyone before.”

I laugh, then grab his chin and turn his head so he’s looking at me. “And? Did you like it?”

His pupils dilate a bit. “Yeah.”

I lay my head back on his chest, wanting to press and see what else he might be interested in. Then again, I also want to be surprised. So I don’t question him and relax with him, my fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin. It’s been a long day anyway and exhaustion is starting to take over.

“Just want you to know that no matter what happens in the playoffs, I'm proud of you," I say, wanting Leo to know I’m in his corner. While the Minotaurs are excited now, the reality and pressure is sure to hit soon.

His arm tightens around me as he shifts and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “That means a lot.”

“Stay here for the night.”

“Didn’t plan on leaving.” He adjusts us and pulls the blanket over our bodies, then pulls me back into his arms. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Chapter 31

Leo

The roar of the TD Garden crowd is deafening as I step onto the ice for the third period. The scoreboard glares 2-2, the tension thick enough to skate on. This is it.

Game five.

If we win tonight, we move on to the next round, taking this series four games to one. And fuck, do we need this. We need to feel like the universe isn't actively trying to kick our asses for once.

I take a deep breath, the cold air filling my lungs as I face my teammates. "We've got this. Play our game, stay focused. Let's show the Bruins what we're made of."

The guys nod, then skate to our positions. I lock eyes with the Bruins' center across from me. He's got that look—the one that says he'd rather die than lose this game. Well, buddy, get in line.

The ref glides into position, puck in hand. For a moment, everything seems to freeze. Then the puck drops, and the world explodes into motion.

I win the face-off, muscle memory taking over as I send the puck back to Hudson. He doesn't hesitate, passing it to Mykyta, who carries it into the offensive zone. He takes a shot that makes the crowd gasp, but the Bruins' goalie gets a piece of it. The puck rebounds, but Petrov's there in a flash, keeping us in control.

He passes to me, but a Bruins’ defenseman gets his stick in the way, deflecting it. “Fuck!”

And just like that, we're on defense.

“Watch the left!” I call out as one of their wingers streaks down the boards. Petrov shifts, cutting off the lane, while Hudson sticks with the player barreling toward the net. But Ian’s slow to turn and the Bruins’ player gets past him, taking a shot.

Smitty keeps the puck out of the net with a glove save the whistle is blown, giving us an opportunity to change lines.

I shake my head. “Fucking dammit.”

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