Page 192 of Check & Chase
I peel off her jeans and panties in one motion, baring her completely. She’s already wet, thighs trembling slightly as I settle between her legs.
“Fuck, baby. You’re soaked.”
“For you,” she breathes, parting her legs wider. “Always for you.”
I hook her legs over my shoulders and find her clit with my tongue—hot, swollen, begging for attention. I work her slowly at first, teasing strokes that make her hips jerk, then focus intensely as she moans my name.
“Don’t stop,” she gasps.
The moment she starts to tremble, I slide two fingers inside her pussy, curling them slightly. That’s all it takes; she falls apart fast, her orgasm powerful, wave after wave, as her muscles tighten around me.
I crawl over and kiss her, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She reaches between us, palming me through my sweats.
“I need you inside me,” she whispers. “Right now.”
I yank my pants down and stroke myself once before lining up with her entrance. Her legs wrap around my waist as I slide in, inch by inch, until I’m buried to the hilt.
We both groan.
“You feel so good,” I pant, setting a hard rhythm that has her crying out beneath me.
I pin her wrists above her head, moving deep and rough. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, along with her breathless moans.
“Yours,” she gasps. “All yours.”
“Damn right,” I say, reaching down to touch her. “This pussy’s mine.”
She comes again with a cry that could wake the neighbors, clenching so tight around me it nearly knocks the air from my lungs. The second she starts to come down, I let go, thrusting hard until I’m spilling deep inside her with a groan that’s more of a growl.
We stay tangled together, breathing heavy, completely wrecked.
“Feeling better?” she teases softly, fingers brushing my hair back.
I laugh breathlessly. “You might just be the secret to winning this series.”
“Guess we better do this every night, then.”
“Coach’s orders,” I smirk, kissing her again.
Game day dawns clear and cool, perfect hockey weather. I wake before Emma, slipping out quietly to begin my game-day ritual. The familiar routine grounds me and pushes away lingering doubts.
Emma joins me eventually, moving around the hotel room with comfortable familiarity. She doesn’t demand conversation or push for attention, just exists in the same space, a steady presence that anchors me.
“Nervous?” she asks as game time approaches.
“Terrified,” I admit, adjusting my tie. “It’s like I’m more aware of what’s at stake.”
She appears behind me in the mirror, wrapping her arms around my waist. “You’ve got this. I’ve never seen anyone more prepared, more determined.”
I turn to face her. “It’s not just about the Cup anymore. It’s about us, our future. Winning means financial security, better contract leverage, more options for wherever we decide to live.”
Her expression softens. “Chase, our future isn’t dependent on whether you win or lose this series. We’ll figure it out either way.”
“Logically, I know that. But it feels connected somehow. Like everything good in my life is riding on these next few games.”
She takes my face in her hands. “Listen to me. You could lose every remaining game in this series, and I’d still be wearing this ring. Still planning our future. Still proud of you. Nothing changes that.”
I lean down to kiss her, pouring all my gratitude into the contact. “What did I do to deserve you?”
