Page 64 of Goalie's Obsession

My hips jerk involuntarily, thrusting into her hand as she squeezes and strokes just right. “Fuck… Lucy…”

She kisses me then, her tongue sweeping into my mouth as if to claim every part of me. Her hand never falters, each stroke pushing me closer to the edge.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” she murmurs against my lips between kisses. “To have you like this… completely at my mercy…”

I’m trembling now, every muscle taut and ready to snap.

And then something catches our attention from the shore—a shout or maybe laughter—pulling us both back from the edge of our shared madness.

We stagger out of the water like two people who didn’t just commit a borderline felony with the help of a few waves and the illusion of privacy.

Lucy’s grinning like a cat with cream, and I’m doing everything I can to not visibly lose my shit.

Because I wasthis close.

One more second and I would’ve come in her hand. In the goddamn Pacific Ocean.

I adjust my board shorts as casually as I can, but it’s no use.

I’m stillfuckinghard.

Painfully. Obviously.

And that’s exactly when Ryder walks up. He's got a towel in one hand, piña colada in the other, and he takes one look at me before choking on his drink.

“Ohhellno,” he wheezes.

“Shut up,” I mutter, snatching the towel.

Logan saunters over, smirking like the smug bastard he is. “I warned you. That bikini’s a weapon.”

“Shedidwarn me,” I grumble, wrapping the towel around my waist in a sad attempt at dignity.

Ryder, not content with verbal torment, digs around in his beach bag and pulls out a plastic glow-stick halo leftover from some promo event.

“I hereby anoint you,” he says, placing it on my head like some unholy priest, “Saint Connor of the Beach Boners.”

Lucyloses itbeside me, doubling over with laughter as she wipes saltwater from her face.

“Oh my God, stop,” she gasps, swatting at Ryder. "Let him settle down."

I'm still trying to recover when Lucy grabs her towel from our beach chairs, dabbing at her face and neck. Water droplets trail down her collarbone, and I'm immediately back to square one with this whole situation.

A few strands of wet hair fall across her face, and before I can stop myself, I reach out to brush them back.

"Careful." Lucy's voice has that teasing edge I love. "People might think you actually like me."

"Maybe I do."

She blinks, caught off guard by my honesty. "Connor..."

I don't let her finish. My hands find her waist and I pull her close, not giving a single fuck about the cameras I know are clicking away in the distance.

When my lips meet hers, she makes this little sound of surprise that drives me crazy. But then she's kissing me back, her fingers curling into my chest, and everything else fades away—the beach, our teammates, the paparazzi.

This isn't for show.

This isn't part of our deal or arrangement or whatever the hell we've been calling it since that damn auction.

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