Page 69 of Huge Pucking Play

"You're beautiful," he says, and I believe him.

His mouth finds me, and I gasp, fingers clutching at the sheets. He knows what he's doing—dear God, does he know—but there's something different about the way he touches me now. More deliberate. More attentive to my reactions. My body feels both familiar and new, more sensitive in places, and he discovers each change with delighted curiosity.

I feel the scrape of morning stubble against my inner thighs, the wet heat of his mouth, the gentle pressure of his fingers. My hands find his hair, not guiding, just needing to touch him, to ground myself as pleasure builds.

"Garrett," I breathe, the only word my brain can form.

He hums against my clit, the vibration sending sparks through my core. My hips rise of their own accord, and his hands steady me, strong and sure.

The tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter. My breathing turns ragged, my thighs trembling against his shoulders. When release finally comes, it washes through me in waves that leave me gasping his name, back arched, hands fisted in his hair.

He stays with me through it, gentling his touch as I come down, pressing soft kisses to my inner thigh. When I can focus again, he's looking up at me with undisguised satisfaction, chin resting on my hip, eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Good morning indeed," I manage, my voice breathier than I intended.

He chuckles, crawling back up to lie beside me. "The best kind."

I curl against him, my body buzzing in the afterglow. His arms wrap around me, one hand splayed protectively over my stomach. Something shifts in me—a recognition of how right this feels, his touch both arousing and comforting. I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart.

"Thank you," I murmur against his skin.

He tips my chin up, eyes serious now. "For what?"

"For being careful with me. For being here."

His smile changes, softens into something that makes my chest ache pleasantly. "Always," he says, and kisses me again, tender and unhurried.

The buzz of our phones—both going off at the same time—cuts through our post-orgasm haze like an alarm clock. Garrettgroans, his arm tightening around me briefly before he reaches for his device on the nightstand.

Garrett's already squinting at his screen. "It's a group text from management."

My stomach does a little flip. Group texts from Blades management rarely bring good news. Usually, they mean schedule changes, emergency meetings, or some crisis with a player that needs immediate attention. I grab my phone and unlock my screen, bracing for whatever fire needs putting out this time.

The message is from Doug Pearson, the facilities manager:

ATTENTION ALL STAFF: Due to an overnight failure in the cooling system, the ice rink is currently non-operational. Maintenance crews are working to resolve the issue, but all team activities at the facility are CANCELED for today. Staff and players will be notified by 8PM regarding tomorrow's schedule.

I blink, reading it twice to make sure I understand.

"The rink's down," I say, turning to Garrett.

"Yeah." His brow furrows. "That's not good. We've got the Avalanche on Friday."

"How long do you think it'll take them to fix it?"

He shrugs, setting his phone down. "Depends on what happened. Could be a quick fix, could be a day or two. Nothing we can do about it now."

A slow smile spreads across Garrett's face. "Looks like we've got ourselves an unexpected day off, Lockhart."

The realization hits me all at once—a free day in the middle of the hockey season is as rare as a penalty-free game. My schedule, usually packed with appointments, treatments, and paperwork, is suddenly wide open. And even better—Garrett's is too.

"What should we do today? The possibilities are endless.”

"Endless possibilities." He pulls me back down beside him, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I like the sound of that."

I snuggle against him, mind already racing with possibilities.

"So," I say, tickling his chest with my fingertip, "what should we do with our stolen time?"

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