Page 38 of Faking the Shot
“Either,” he says. “But for the record, there’s no competition.”
I roll my eyes, but my hand stays firmly in his, as if I’m incapable of letting go.
“I meant it, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dipping into that gravelly rasp that slides down my spine and pools low in my stomach. “Whenever you give me the green light, I’ll be more than happy to give you a real hell of a hookup. Picture it—my mouth on your cunt, licking you until you’re begging me to stop because it’s too much. I’ll give you orgasms so intense, you’ll forget your own fucking name. And when I’m finally satisfied? That’s when I’ll fuck you senseless. Hard. Deep. Until the only thing you can think about is how fucking good it feels to have me inside you. All you’ll want after that is more. More of me. More of this.”
My breath hitches, but I force my expression to stay neutral, pretending his words don’t affect me. Pretending I don’t already feel the ache he’s describing, that I don’t want him to take me apart right here, right now.
“You think too much of yourself,” I say, my voice steady despite the heat rising in my cheeks.
His grin widens, a knowing glint in his dark eyes as he leans closer, his breath teasing the shell of my ear. “Do I? Or are you thinking about it right now? About how good it would feel to let go. To let me make you come again and again until you can’t take it anymore.”
My lips part, but no words come out. My thighs press together involuntarily, and I pray he doesn’t notice the way my pulse is racing—or the way my body is betraying me so completely.
“Not ready to admit it yet, huh?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear like a promise that sets my nerves alight. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got all the time in the world to make you see what you’re missing.”
I hate him. I hate how smug he sounds, like he already knows exactly how I’m going to unravel for him. But even more than that, I hate how badly I want to let it happen, to find out if he’s as devastating as he feels right now. Every word, every touch—he’s a challenge I don’t know if I want to resist.
Chapter Seventeen
Valentina
Avoid Falling for the Player
The helicopter hums softly now, and I’m finally calm. My breathing has evened out, and I’m no longer clutching Kaden’s hand like a lifeline. The fear has faded, replaced by something just as dangerous. The heat simmering under my skin, the onethat had me picturing all sorts of inappropriate things during takeoff, hasn’t left—it’s just shifted.
God, I need to get a grip. But it’s impossible when the memory of his lips crashing into mine lingers, teasing me every time I close my eyes. And then there’s his hand, the same one I was squeezing like my life depended on it, resting casually on his thigh now, his fingers long, strong, and capable. Too capable.
Okay, no. Stop it, Valentina. But my brain has already gone there. Fucking traitor. It’s not just his hand I’m thinking about—it’s those long, strong fingers. I can already imagine them curling inside me, stroking my pussy just right, hitting that perfect spot until I’m trembling and begging for more.
And his mouth—God, his mouth. The thought of his tongue lapping at my cunt, slow and deliberate, licking every inch of me until I’m coming apart? It sends a shiver racing down my spine, heat pooling low in my belly.
I bite my lip, pretending to scroll through my phone like that’s somehow going to stop the vivid, dirty images flooding my mind. But it doesn’t. The mental picture sharpens. His rough palms gripping my thighs, holding me steady as his tongue glides over me, his low, gravelly voice whispering filthy promises against my skin. His dark eyes would be locked on mine, watching me unravel as he pushes me to the edge and makes me beg for more.
What the hell is wrong with me? This is Kaden Crawford. My client. The same grumpy, insufferable hockey player who growls when things don’t go his way. And yet, I can’t stop picturing him on his knees, his lips everywhere, his body pressed against mine, demanding every last shred of control I have left.
I shift in my seat, clenching my thighs together in a futile attempt to ignore the ache building there. Nope. Not working. I glance at Kaden, who’s now leaning back with his eyes closed, looking so ridiculously relaxed that it only pisses me off more.How is he not affected by any of this? How is he not even slightly fazed?
It’s infuriating. It’s unfair. And it’s not helping me one damn bit.
I take a deep breath, willing myself to focus on something—anything—else. My phone, right. Work. The job. The actual reason I’m here. I open my inbox and start scanning emails, desperate for a distraction.
That’s when I see Jacob’s message pop up, and finally—finally—my brain latches onto something useful. Noelle is inviting Kaden to coach kids in Harbor Ridge Community Center
The email explains that Harbor Ridge, a community center in Boston’s South End that focuses on providing after-school activities for at-risk youth. Coaching a hockey clinic for teenagers sounds like something that would be perfect for him.
My heart races as I scroll through the details. The clinic would include kids who’ve never had the resources to play on a proper team, kids who idolize players like Kaden but have never had access to the sport.
This is perfect. This is exactly what we need.
“Kaden.”
“What?” he grumbles.
“Look at this.” I thrust my phone toward him. “Harbor Ridge is inviting you to coach a hockey clinic for teens. This is huge.”
He squints at the screen, his brow furrowing as he scans the email. Then he groans and leans back.
“What’s the big deal? I’ve done this before.”
