Page 59 of Wrong Score

"More," I plead, pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts with my own desperate need. "Don’t hold back."

"God, you’re perfect," he groans. He takes my hand and presses it to my belly, pushing into the low of my stomach. "You feel that? That's me, driving deep into you."

The sensation is almost too much, and I moan, my body tightening around him. His other hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back so he can murmur against my ear, "No one else will ever fuck you like I do. And no one has ever or will ever feel as good wrapped around my cock as you do."

His words tip me over the edge, and my orgasm rips through me, my body clenching around him as I scream his name. He follows moments later, his grip tightening as he buries himself as deep as he can go, his release hot and claiming, filling me to the brim with his cum.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are our ragged breaths and the faint hum of the arena outside the office, and the smell of what we just did. He doesn’t pull away immediately, his hands sliding over my body, grounding me, as if he’s reluctant to let go. As if wanting one more touch.

Finally, he eases out of me, leaving me feeling both sated and empty. I straighten slowly, turning to face him. His eyes are dark, his expression unreadable as he reaches for his discarded shirt to clean us both up.

"This doesn’t change anything," he says quietly, his voice rough. "It can’t."

"I know," I say, though my heart twists at the finality in his tone.

He grabs my panties off his desk and balls them up in his hand, squeezing them as if he likes the feeling of their dampness in his hand and then he places them in his bottom drawer. I guess he’s serious about keeping them.

“You can use my bathroom to clean up.” He points to the door in the corner of his office. I guess I never noticed it before. “Take your time, there’s a shower in there if you want. The second period is over by now and I need to check on the team and the coaches in the locker room.”

I nod and then gather my things. I’m not ready to wash him away so quickly, but a shower is necessary since he stole my panties. As I gather my clothes and straighten my hair, I can’t help but think that no matter what he says, something between us has already shifted. And neither of us can undo it now.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rowan

The sound of my phone buzzing against the nightstand snaps me out of the fog I’ve been in for the last hour. It’s been a few days since the home game where I ended up bent over his desk in his office.

And now I’m here, laying on top of my neatly made bed like a starfish, staring at the ceiling with an open suitcase on the floor that still has nothing inside of it. I reach over, grabbing my phone, and the subject line of the email catches my eye immediately.

“Bexley Townsend Piece – Urgent Follow-up”

I tap the screen and read through it quickly, my stomach twisting more with every line.

Rowan,

This is my last warning on the Bex story. If you can't deliver, I'm pulling you from the project. Bex is hot right now, and we can’t wait any longer to run a piece that gets readers more insight into his life off the ice. You’ve spent enough time with him. There’s got to be something juicy under that hard shell of his. Fans want to know what makes him tick. Dig deeper. This could be huge for your career… or it could end it.

Best, Charles

I drop the phone onto my bed, letting it bounce onto the pile of clothes that I have yet to organize into my suitcase. My chest feels tight, like I can’t get a full breath in. Writing a story on Bex without him knowing, after everything that’s happened between us? No. That’s a line I’m not willing to cross. Not now.

The problem is, I can already feel the deadline breathing down my neck. Charles will want a draft soon, and the last thing I need is him pressuring me for "exclusive content." But the thought of betraying Bex's trust, what little of it I have, makes me feel sick. How am I supposed to do my job when it feels like every move I make with Bex pushes us further apart?

What would a future with him look like? He’s already said that he missed his chance for a wife and kids. Maybe the eighteen years between us is too big of a gap. He’s looking to retire someday in England and my career is just starting.

And then there’s babies. I can’t have any of my own. He already said he won’t have a family but does he mean that? Or would he resent me later when the reality of not having children sets in like it would have with Drew?

I flop onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling, trying to shove down the anxiety building inside me. Why did things have to get so complicated?

"Okay, what’s with the heavy sighing in here?" Jordan’s voice cuts through my spiral of thoughts. She pokes her head around the doorway, eyebrows raised in that knowing way only sisters can manage.

I groan and cover my face with my arm. "It's nothing. I’m just... packing."

Jordan steps into the room, holding a bag of chips in one hand and some sort of green juice in the other. She gives me a skeptical look before flopping down next to me on the bed, narrowly avoiding my phone.

"Uh-huh, sure. Because you always sigh dramatically when you’re packing," she says, crunching on a chip.

I peek at her from under my arm, but of course, she's already got me figured out. "Fine. It's notjustpacking. I got an email from my boss. He wants a story on Bex."

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