Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“You chose ass.”
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I figured opportunities like that don’t come around every day.”
That had a laugh bubbling out of me, too, as I stole the bottle of wine from him. “Well, I promise, with me? There will be plenty of ass opportunity...”
Carter paled when I sealed that promise with a wink. “Why do I feel like you’re talking about ass in a completely different context.”
“Oh, don’t be scared,” I cooed, rolling onto all fours before I stood. “I think you’ll like it.”
Carter scrambled up to meet me. “I think I need to revisit those safe words.”
“So, you’ve really never had sex?” I asked. “I mean, in the traditional sense. You’ve never fucked a woman vaginally?”
He swallowed, that beautiful pink shade of embarrassment tingeing his cheeks again. “Never.”
Something flared in my chest at the admission.
Maybe it wasn’t just the payday that had me buzzing.
Maybe it wasn’t just the fun of it all.
Maybe it was the promise of untouched territory — and the power that came with claiming it.
Free to Explore
Carter
“Atta boy, Carter! Let’s fucking go!”
The praise from Jaxson hit my ears as soon as I won the draw against the San Francisco Sea Dawgs’s center. We were on the penalty kill, and I won the draw clean in our zone, snapping it back to Vince to start the breakout.
And we were off.
Up by one with three minutes left in the game, every single one of us was locked in.
It was always a toss-up in a game like this — either every minute flew by in the blink of an eye, or every second dragged like the game would never end.
It was the latter in this case, my muscles screaming, lungs aching as I struggled for breath. We were in battle mode, defense doing everything they could to keep that puck away from where Will Perry, also known as Daddy P, guarded the goal while the rest of us looked for a breakaway to seal the win.
The last three minutes of a matchup were ripe for surprises. Just because we’d played the stronger game didn’t mean they couldn’t come back and tie it, forcing us into overtime, or, worse — score twice in a row and send us into the locker room with our tails tucked.
We had to be focused, all of us, to see this through.
And in a time where it should have been the last thing I was thinking of, I couldn’t help but channel what went down at Livia’s condo last week.
I should have been focused on the puck, on getting it down the ice and into our opponent’s net. Instead, I found myself thinking about those last couple of minutes of our first lesson, of how tightly strung I’d been, how hard I’d fought to focus enough to get her there before I let myself go.
I needed that energy right now.
I needed to channel that determination, that drive to fight against every bruised and battered part of my body begging me to stop skating and fall into a heap on the bench.
Finish strong, I chanted.
Don’t fuck up, the voice of my old coach echoed.
I shook him off just as the puck went sliding down the ice toward our zone and the penalty kill ended.
Jaxson Brittain and Dimitri Volkov were ready, kicking into defense as Daddy P braced himself in the crease. And when Jaxson sliced the puck hard and fast to where I was at the center of the ice, I was ready, too.
I caught the pass, zipping toward the goal, but one of their wingers took advantage of a slight hesitation in which direction I was going to go and stole the puck away.
As soon as he crossed the blue line, their goalie bolted for the bench.
It was six on five, open net, less than two minutes to go.
It was all we could do then, working as a line to prevent San Francisco from scoring. We fought like we were all on defense, blades digging into the ice, bodies thrown against the glass, thighs screaming, lungs on fire. The stadium was roaring with noise, Sea Dawgs fans screaming for their team.
But when the final buzzer sounded and we’d managed to fend them off, all that noise died in an instant.
“Fuck yeah!” Vince toted his stick overhead as he skated around in a victory lap, Jaxson on his heels. They ended up in a tackle-hug as I bent at the waist next to Daddy P, gloved hands on my knees, wheezing like I had fucking asthma.
Will removed his helmet, squirting water into his mouth as he arched a brow at me. His long hair was dripping wet with sweat, but he was breathing normally, like those last few minutes hadn’t fazed him at all. That was the mark of a true veteran. He wasn’t even celebrating. This was just another game for him, and he wouldn’t let himself hit a celly dance until we had the Cup in our hands.