Page 41 of Unleashed

Like she’d always belonged here.

Damn dangerous thoughts to be having at this early in the morning.

Damn terrifying thoughts for a man who’d shared her bed less than a week.

The orange and cinnamon of her scent had worked into my sheets, screwing with my head. Two nights in, and the room felt wrong without her here. I’d memorized her morning habits already—fumbling blind for coffee, curling into my chest to check her phone, that soft hum when I kissed below her ear.

The mattress dipped as Bright landed on the bed, his squashed face radiating feline judgment. The damn cat had made himself at home in my space as thoroughly as his owner, claiming the top of my dresser as his domain. He perched like a gargoyle, watching me watch Lily sleep.

“Don’t start,” I muttered. He blinked, unimpressed.

Lily stirred, her nose scrunching as she fought waking. When her eyes fluttered open, that sleepy softness in them sucked me deeper under her spell.

“Time’s it?” Her sleep-rough voice stroked down my spine.

“Early.” I tugged that wild strand from her lips before I could stop myself. “Go back to sleep.”

She stretched, all soft curves and warm skin. My body responded instantly, remembering exactly how she felt pressed against me.

“Can’t. You guys go back to work today. Means I do, too.” Her fingers found my chest, tracing idle patterns that shot straight to my groin. “Gotta get home, change clothes...”

“Stay.” The word came out rougher than intended. I rolled her beneath me, caging her with my arms. “Just five more minutes.”

She let out a sound—half-laugh, half-protest. A soft, intimate sound I was quickly becoming addicted to. It wrapped around me like a caress. Her hands slid into my hair, teasing and playful. “Why do I have a feeling five more minutes isn’t going to cut it?”

“A rough estimate.” I nipped at her jaw, earning another of those laughs that made my chest tight. “Open to modification.”

Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer as I traced kisses down her throat. Every curve, every soft gasp, every arch of her body against mine felt familiar now. Like muscle memory I never knew I needed.

“Jack...” My name on her lips landed like a punch to the gut—intimate, real. Made me want things I’d already decided to wait for. Made me forget about timing, about playoffs, about every reason I should be patient. Because right now, with her pressed against me, fitting like she was made for it, waiting felt damn near impossible.

Bright chirped his disapproval. I lifted my head, meeting that judgmental stare. He’d retreated to the top of the dresser. “Your boy’s a mood killer.”

“He’s just hungry.” Lily’s fingers traced my jaw, drawing my attention back where it belonged. “Poor baby’s used to having me to himself in the mornings.”

“Five more minutes and I’ll feed him,” I growled, already losing myself in her warmth. In the way she arched into my touch, like she needed this—neededme—as badly as I needed her.

The thought didn’t scare me. Not when she made everything—retirement, the future, life beyond hockey—feel full of possibilities instead of endings.

I claimed Lily’s mouth again, swallowing her soft gasp. Her fingers threaded through my hair and sent sparks down my spine. The world could wait. The only thing that mattered was her skin under my hands and the way she breathed my name between kisses.

Five minutes wouldn’t satisfy the hunger burning through my veins. But we had time now. All the time in the world to build something real. Something lasting.

Something worth choosing every day.

Thefamiliarscentofantiseptic and athletic tape filled Jabari’s office as he worked over my knee. His practiced fingers found every tender spot, poking and prodding as I struggled to keep a blank expression. But Jabari knew my tells too well after a decade of working me over. The tension in his shoulders, the slight tightening at the corners of his mouth. The trainer saw right through my bullshit.

“How’s the pain today?” Jabari asked, his tone neutral.

“Barely noticeable.” The lie rolled off my tongue.

He grunted, unconvinced, but used to players’ antics. I wasn’t the first guy to underplay an injury and I wouldn’t be the last. Beyond the training room door, guys arrived for practice—chirping at each other, music thumping from the weight room, chaos settling into my body like muscle memory.

The game played on.

My phone buzzed. Dad’s name lit up the screen.

Fuck.

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