Page 51 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

“Hey,” I say, laughing and shrugging off my coat. “I’m always on time. Where are you going?”

“I have some errands to run for Finn,” she explains, tucking her hands into her coat and moving for the elevator. “But I’ll be back with lunch just after one for you guys. Steak salad—right?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” I say, amused. Nobody’s ever remembered my order before.

With that, Penny turns and heads for the elevator, her shoes clicking as she goes. The doors close and ding behind her as I duck into Finn’s office.

After meeting her here for the first time, I searched Finn online. Her website was fast, snappy, and immaculate. There were several pictures of her standing in a massive, modern office that seemed like it was at the very top of the world, looking out over Los Angeles.

Finn is sitting behind her desk here, and looks different in this context. Instead of shining chrome accents, floor-to-ceiling windows, and concrete walls, this office is brick and oak accents. In here, itsmellshistorical. Like wood oil and years of people living and working here.

Finn doesn’t lift her head right away when I walk inside. I take a moment to study her while she’s still looking down at her tablet. I watch her tap her finger against the desk, how streaking light from the windows shines on her dark hair, how her arms look with her elbows on the desk. Today she’s wearing a flattering pantsuit, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. From this angle, I can see her thigh disappearing under the desk, and all at once I’m thinking about what it would be like to have her in my arms again.

Shaking the thought away, I clear my throat and smile—hopefully in a way that doesn’t screamI was just imagining you naked—before closing the door behind me.

“Oh, perfect timing,” Finn says, gesturing for me to take a seat next to her. She turns around in her chair and holds up her tablet so I can see the graphs and charts there.

Our shoulders are a centimeter from touching, and I can feel her warmth through the separation.

“We have a lot to go through.” She taps through the screens. Even after two months of working together, I still can’t understand the wholeYour test results just came in. Proteinlevels looking good, and your cortisol has dropped from 22 to 15—that’s likely a direct result from the meditation.

“I’ve been sleeping better,” I say.

“It shows—your testosterone-to-cortisol ratio is getting into the ideal range for performance…” Finn trails off, tapping on the screen of her tablet a few more times. When she does, her elbow brushes against mine.

She continues. “…iron stores are strong…B12 looking good at 750. Those IV protocols we started after back-to-backs are paying off—your electrolyte balance is perfect. Far better than when we tested you during the pre-season.”

My body feels different—stronger. More limber. All those sessions with the physical trainer—stretching and focusing on mobility—have changed the way I move. I notice it every time I lunge for a save, going farther and quicker than I have before.

“This explains your recent improvement in performance,” Finn murmurs, looking up at me through her eyelashes.

My throat gets tight, and it’s like the entire world narrows to just me and her. Since I had her in my bed, I’ve been able to think of nothing else. Even as we were both pretending it didn’t happen at the amusement park, then breezing through our meetings like I don’t still have the taste of her on my tongue.

She blinks, eyes searching mine, and the next words come out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them.

“It’s not the only thing.”

“What?” she says, brow wrinkling. “What else—?”

Before I can stop myself, I lean forward and press my lips to hers. For a heart-stopping moment, I think she might pull back from me, tell me this is a terrible idea.

Then she melts, falling forward into my arms.

We should talk about this—I know that. But talking is the last thing I want from Finn right now.

I’m moving, picking her up and setting her on the desk, and I can tell from the satisfied noise she makes that she likes it. She likes that I’m strong, that I can lift with ease. A thrill runs through me—an urge to throw her over my shoulder and carry her back to my apartment, hide away with her there. Show her everything I can do for her, how this new, optimized body can work for her too.

Her lips are soft against mine, and they part immediately, allowing me to slide my tongue against hers and groan at the friction. I step between her legs and growl deep in my throat when she tightens her thighs around my hips. Knowing she wants me, imagining her wet—it makes my cock hard immediately.

This kiss is better than the first because I know better now. I know to pay attention to everything, catalog it in case this never happens again.

I focus on the way she sighs against my mouth when my hands drift to her hips. How her body responds to my fingers skating under the hem of her shirt. The way she rocks into me, a gasp bursting out of her when she feels that first spark of friction—my cock straining against my pants, pressing into the silky material of her panties.

Thank God for skirts.

Our hands are frantic, quick. I bunch her skirt—looser this time—around her hips and she works my belt expertly, quickly unlatching it and tugging my pants down.

I can’t think about anything except how badly I want to be inside her. It’s all I’ve been able to think about. When I reach for her panties, intending to push them aside, Finn’s hand catches my wrist, and I pause, heart dropping when I think she might push me away.

---