Page 46 of In Too Deep

Without thinking, I tilt my hips, making her yelp as I turn us over without ever withdrawing. I can hit her G-spot perfectly as Istretch one of her legs toward her chest, opening her up more to let me go deeper.

“Fuck yes, just like that. I’m close,” she gasps, her nails digging into my chest.

I nod, though she doesn’t see it with her eyes closed. I don’t let up or slow down, repeating the same motion over and over until she’s peaked, and even then, I don’t stop. I’m addicted to her orgasms, and my instincts demand another hit of her. My fingers are back on her clit, my forearm effectively pinning her to the mattress as she tries to squirm away from the pleasure-pain. My knot throbs with my pulse, my spine tingling.

“Do you want me, sugar? Do you want—”

“Spencer, fuck, yes, give it to me. Give me your knot.” Her words become stilted with every thrust of my hips.

My chest rumbles with a growl that turns to a purr as I feel Tori’s walls flutter again, practically sucking my cock deeper and deeper. Then, like a bullet to the heart, my balls draw up and I’m pressing forward until my knot pops perfectly into place inside her pussy. My orgasm washes over me in wave after unrelenting wave, my whole body shaking from the force of it. When I’ve shot the last bit of my cum into her, all the strength leaves me, and I collapse, only barely managing to get my arms around Tori and roll to the side to avoid crushing her.

The next few minutes are silent apart from our breathing, and I savor the warmth and closeness. Tori’s fingers come up to play with my hair, and I smile, my eyes still closed as I relish this moment.

“You’re mine?” Tori says, though it comes out as a tiny, vulnerable question that makes my heart ache.

I pull her closer until she’s tucked under my chin, her arms crossed over her breasts to be as small as possible. She relaxes as my lips brush against her hairline.

“Yours.”

The doctor cleared meto drive just in time to make the appointment Logan arranged for us during All-Star break, but I swear I must be seeing things. The GPS brought us across the river and into the West Bank area, and has us stopping in front of one of the many single-story shotgun houses on this street. A small sign outside declares it to be the law practice of H. Jones, so I know we’re in the right spot. But it couldn’t be more different than I would have imagined as the place of business for a successful pack court lawyer.

The front yard inside a waist-high chain-link fence is overgrown, the grass and wildflowers desperately reaching higher and higher for an ounce of sunlight. A well-maintained stone path cuts through, leading up to a covered porch. There are a couple of wicker chairs and a matching coffee table, surrounded by larger potted plants.

Eli and I pause for a moment at the front garden gate, probably for similar reasons, as we stare up at the green house blending into the jungle-like landscaping. I glance around the deserted streets, tension twisting my insides despite not finding any cars or people. Not that I’m ashamed to be here, but we were warned to watch out for anyone tailing us. If we were caught and outed before we’re ready, all this effort would be wasted.

I follow Eli through the open gate, my thoughts swirling. With Tori and Spencer in Vegas, now is the perfect time to get this ball rolling. At first, I was seriously hesitant to trust Logan to take point on this. He’s smart, almost too smart, and trying to be too clever could just as easily backfire as it could succeed. Filing court documents before approaching upper management is a huge risk and, even though we’ve gone through our contracts with a fine-toothed comb, they could still terminate all of us on the spot.

Which would absolutely fucking suck, to put it mildly. I’m healing faster than anyone expected, and the doctors have cleared me to return to off-ice conditioning ten days sooner than the original estimate. Though I need to get back on the ice before Leroy tanks any remaining chances we have at making the playoffs.

Eli’s sharp knocks on the front door pull me out of my head, and I square my shoulders. We wait for several long moments, but I can’t hear any movement from inside. Eli and I share a worried glance, and I pull out my phone to check Logan’s message. No, we’re at the right address.

Eli lifts his hand to knock again, but before he can make contact, the purple-painted wood slab swings open, revealing a massive, shirtless form. One inhale is all it takes for me to recognize him as an alpha, and a bonded one at that. Earthy matcha mixed with something soft and feminine. Honeysuckles?

“Can I help y’all?” the alpha asks, his deep voice echoing from within his barrel chest.

“Hi. We’re here to see Ms. or Mr. Jones? The pack court attorney?” Eli asks in response, a hesitant edge to his voice.

Not that I blame him. This stranger is big enough to tower over me and has almost a foot on my partner. His dark skin gleams with sweat, like he’s been out doing manual labor before we arrived. Deep brown eyes narrow as he looks us up and down before nodding to himself and leaning back far enough to turn his head.

“Ayo, Greenie. You’ve got some new clients or somtin’,” he calls into the house.

I’m not sure what to make of this. Logan promised that his buddy’s lawyer is one of the best in the city. But how good could they possibly be when this is the greeting we get?

“It’s all good, B. They’re early, but they can come on in,” a female voice answers back.

B, the alpha, steps back, holding the door open for us to step inside, and closing the front door behind us. The front room is much cleaner than I was expecting, though there are still potted plants occupying space on every flat surface. But the furniture is clean and modern, the hardwood floors reflecting the afternoon sun spilling through the sheer curtains. There’s a closed door to the right, and a doorway with batwing doors hung inside to separate the sitting room from what could be a kitchen, at least judging by the transition from wood to tile flooring.

“Have a seat. She’ll be with y’all in two shakes,” B says, motioning to the couches before turning and heading through the swinging doors.

I find my skepticism reflected back at me when Eli looks my way this time. I’ll admit that my experience with lawyers is lacking, but this doesn’t feel like the norm. I stay standing, keeping my body angled toward the door as my eyes scan everydetail of the room, searching for anything that could indicate what sort of mess we’ve gotten ourselves into. Eli takes a seat on the couch, though he doesn’t relax, choosing to stay perched on the edge of the cushions. Motion at the back of the room draws our attention, and my confusion only deepens as I see the woman pushing through the saloon doors.

First thing that hits me is her halo of tightly coiled curls, the near-black tresses shiny and healthy despite the chaotic array. She’s not tall, though I wouldn’t exactly call her short either. There’s also a timeless youth to her deep complexion, only a few laugh lines around her eyes marring her otherwise flawless skin. Dressed professionally in a blouse and wide-legged trousers, her bare toes poke out from beneath the hems of her pants.

“Sorry ’bout the wait, gentlemen. I was just making some refreshments for us. D’you mind getting the door for me, baby?” Ms. Jones starts, her words thick with the regional accent, curls bouncing as she nods to the closed door off of the sitting room.

Eli jumps up from his seat as if someone had tased him, scrambling for the door as she dips back into the kitchen and reemerges holding a bright yellow tray laden with a full pitcher of what I can safely assume is homemade sweet tea and three crystal glasses. She gives Eli a bright white smile as she leads the way through the door and into her office.

This space is more in line with what I had pictured a lawyer’s office would look like. Massive floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed with thick-spined legal texts. Half a dozen filing cabinets, some of the drawers open to reveal manila folders, and several more neat piles of folders and documents sitting on top of the metal columns. A large, solid wood desk, with a high-backed chair behind it and two smaller but no less comfortable chairs in front of it.

---