Page 2 of The Triple Play

But as I tried again, a different image played behind my eyes. Not sheet music. Not the crowd. Not Elliot.

Colton Miller.

His grin. His swagger. That wild, golden-boy energy like he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed and hadn’t even bothered to fix his hair. I could see him skating toward the glass, sweat dripping down his neck, his tongue between his teeth as he winked at me like I was the only thing he saw in the arena.

Then came Xavi Moreau—dark eyes, darker scowl, helmet off, curls damp with sweat. Broad and brutal and brooding. The kind of man who didn’t ask for permission. Who just pointed and said, “come.”

And Cole Maxwell…

God, Cole.

The team’s oldest vet. Silver at his temples, smirk like sin. The kind of man who could take you apart piece by piece and enjoy every second of it. Slow. Methodical. Ruinous.

My thighs clenched.

What the hell was I doing?

But I didn’t stop.

In my head, I was on my knees in the locker room.

Colton in front of me, tugging me closer by the hair, playful but greedy. “Let’s see how good that pretty mouth really is, sweetheart.”

Xavi behind me, holding me in place, whispering filth in French while he slid one thick finger between my thighs.

And Cole? Cole stood over us, calm and in control, stroking himself lazily with one hand as he watched me fall apart under the two of them. His voice low and commanding. “Good girl. Just like that. Take everything they give you.”

I whimpered—actually whimpered—and slapped a hand over my mouth.

Jesus Christ.

I was flushed from head to toe. My nipples were hard, scraping against the inside of my bra. I reached for my water and gulped it down like it could put out the fire between my legs.

But the images kept coming.

Now I was on my back, legs spread, with all three of them hovering over me.

Colton was between my thighs, tongue buried in me like he was starving. His hands pinned my hips down, and his muffled voice sent vibrations straight through my core.

Xavi sucked on my nipples, telling me in that deep, accented growl that I was his.

And Cole knelt at my side, fingers wrapped around my throat—not tight, just firm. His mouth brushing mine as he said, “You wanted attention, baby? Let me show you what it feels like to be worshipped.”

My hips rocked against nothing.

I leaned against the sink, panting, trying to shake the images out of my head.

This wasn’t who I was. I didn’t do stuff like this. I didn’t even watch porn.

I had a boyfriend. Even if he was inattentive and moody and made me feel like an afterthought.

I didn’t fantasize about getting railed by three hockey players in the staff room.

Except… I did.

And it felt better than anything Elliot had given me in months.

I stared at myself in the mirror. Cheeks flushed. Pupils blown. My lips parted like I’d just been kissed senseless. I splashed cold water on my face and grabbed my phone, hands still trembling.

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