Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
He smiles.
It’s sharp, wicked, and a thoroughly amused smirk. He dodges a wild left hook from the other player who managed to break free of a ref’s hold and avoids the collision by barely an inch. The old Rowdy would have shoved the ref, slammed his stick against the glass, and screamed more profanities that would rival a sailor all the way to the box.
The new Rowdy steps back, throws his hand up in a ‘who, me?’ gesture, and bursts out laughing. A genuine, booming, infectious laugh that rings out clear as day. He pats the referee on the shoulder, cracks a joke that makes the linesman shake his head in disbelief, and calmly skates toward the penalty box.
The entire arena goes fucking nuts.
The crowd erupts into an ear-piercing, deafening cheer, chanting his name. He took care of his teammate, handled his business like a boss, and laughed it off like it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. It’s the ultimate show of his cool, unshakeable confidence. And I captured it all with my camera lens.
I watch him approach the box, the off-ice official opens the glass door for him, and Rowdy’s dark, searing eyes sweep the area until they land directly on mine. My breathing hitches, my hands freeze, and I’m completely caught off-guard.
Rowdy stands inside the penalty box, surrounded by thousands of screaming fans, and leans his thick forearms on the top of the glass. The wicked, playful smirk is back on his lips, eyes burning with a heat that makes my knees weak and my pussy ache.
Slowly, deliberately, he looks right at me.
I lower my camera, shaking my head in a mild, affectionate disbelief at his antics. At seeing my reaction, his smirk widens. He leans closer to the glass, making sure I can read his lips, and slowly mouths ten words that send a jolt of desire straight to my core.
You’ll be in my jersey tonight… making my favorite sounds.
My mouth goes dry and my heart slams against my ribs, because I know exactly what he’s talking about. The desperate, breathless whimpers, me moaning his name in the hotel room this morning when he made me come while fucking me with his fingers.
Rowdy winks at me, throws his heavy body onto the penalty bench, and picks up his water bottle like he didn’t just completely ruin my ability to move. I use the edge of the seat in front of me to keep myself standing, clutching my camera to my chest, feeling my face burning a bright red and my pulse hammering in my ears.
Reformed enforcer, I think to myself, letting out a shaky laugh as I look at him again, sitting there like he’s the king of the world. He might be transforming his image for the press, but as I turn to head back up to the luxury suite where my friends are waiting, I know one thing for certain: tonight, back at the hotel, Rowdy Bouchard is going to play entirely by his own rules.
TEN
ROWDY
Being on and off the ice, today and well into tonight, has my blood pumping and my adrenaline flowing. No sooner does the hotel door slam shut behind us than my last thread of control snaps in half. I don’t let Jett take two steps into the room before I’m on her. I grab her by the waist, drag her against my chest, and slam my mouth down on hers. Her hands fly up to wrap around my neck, her small fingers twisting in the hair at the nape of my neck.
We can’t keep our hand off each other. It’s a messy, chaotic collision of our mouths, hands, and heavy breaths. I back her up until her hips meet the edge of the desk, my hands sliding under the hem of her shirt to grip her warm, soft skin. She pulls me in deeper, her tongue entwining with mine, tasting like mint and pure temptation. I groan into her mouth, my cock throbbing so damn hard against the front my jeans it’s aching to be released.
I want her. Right now. Right here against the desk.
But I force myself to take a step back, my dark eyes locked on her dazed and flushed face. Jett’s lips are swollen, her dark short hair is a beautiful mess, and her breathing is coming in rapid pants.
“Stay,” I tell her, breaking the remainder of our physical contact even though my body screams to do the opposite. I walk across the room to where my duffel bag sits on the luggage rack, unzipped. Right on top of it is what I’m after. My hands grab my spare preseason game jersey. I pull the dark green-and-silver fabric from the top and toss it in her direction. It lands right in her arms.
“Put it on, and don’t bother with your bra or panties.” My voice is as rough as gravel, dropping into a deep tone, leaving no room for debate. “I’m making good on my promise, sunshine. The first time I take you, it’s going to be with you wearing my name.”