Page 114 of Cross-Checked

I’m panting and gasping as the waves of my orgasm roll through my body, and then he’s biting my shoulder in between whispering filthy promises about how he plans to use me tonight. And while I’m still coming, he’s sliding into me, his finger still working my clit, and demanding that I keep going. And I do. I’ve never had an orgasm like this, one wave right after the other, and I’m practically screaming his name as the intensity increases until my legs are trembling and the only thing holding me up are his powerful thighs pressing me forward into the countertop.

“Good girl,” he purrs next to my ear as he continues fucking me, even after my orgasm ends. “I knew you could give me a second one. I think we need to go for a third.”

“Oh my god,” I pant. “There’s no way.”

“I didn’t take you for a quitter, Sunshine.”

He pulls out, spins me around so I’m sitting on the countertop, and then spreads his legs wider, bringing my legs up around his hips as he slips back into me. Then his mouth is on one of my nipples, sucking it against his tongue over and over while his fingers toy with my other nipple. It’s like there’s an invisible string connecting them to my core, and with each deeppull of my breast into his mouth, I can feel my muscles spasming around him.

“That’s my girl. Look at you taking me . . . so fucking greedy.”

Whimpering, I look down at where our bodies are joined, and the sight of him, huge and hard, pushing into me, the sound of our bodies meeting, the sight of my tits bouncing each time he bottoms out—all of it makes my core clench tighter.

“That’s right,” he says, his voice low and encouraging, “keep squeezing my cock like that, and I’ll give you that third orgasm you didn’t think you could have.”

I gasp as he holds my hips in place, changing the angle so he pushes into me hard and fast. The smooth glide of his hard cock against the front of my inner walls has the edges of my vision clouding as I tip over the edge with a cry of his name.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he grits out between clenched teeth as his body jerks and shudders with his own release as he holds my body against his. Bending down so his lips are right at my ear, he continues to give me everything with one more declaration. “You deserve every good thing in life, and I plan to make sure you get what you deserve.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

McCabe

Iwatch from the back of the pressroom as AJ steps up to the podium, her eyes nervously flicking over to me before she focuses on the paper in front of her. The room is small, with the tables and podium at the front and only four rows of seats. Currently, the only sound in the room is the clicking of camera shutters, until she clears her throat and everyone falls silent.

Her hair is down and she’s wearing the pink suit that must be the one she was telling Sloane about last weekend. The one that makes her feel feminineandpowerful.

She looks fierce, ready to fight, and unfortunately, I think she’ll need to. I really wish we were holding this press conference in Boston, not in St. Louis the morning before Game 2. I wish the whole Rebels organization was standing right outside the pressroom door, ready to show their support as soon as this was over. But that’s not the situation we’re in.

Me and my fucking mouth. I should have just acted like I didn’t know what Chet was talking about, pretended that he was imagining whatever he saw between AJ and me. It would have been so much better for her if I had, and yet, she’s remarkably calm about having to go public.

“Thanks for being here this morning,” she says, holding her chin up and letting her gaze shift across the rows of reporters. “I want to start by saying that I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished in Boston in the six years that I’ve been the GM for the Rebels, and I’m confident in the team I’ve built and the direction we’re heading. Because I believe in full transparency and have the utmost concern for professional ethics, I want to address the statement we released last night. As I said then, I’ve recently entered into a serious and committed relationship with Ronan McCabe.”

She pauses, like she’s expecting the press to jump in with questions like they normally do, but I think she’s stunned them into silence by addressing this head on. No one even turns to look at me, which tells me they’re still in shock.

“I want to assure you that nothing unethical has transpired. When our relationship extended beyond the professional boundaries of manager and player, I recused myself from all work having to do with his salary, his contract, and his playing for this team. However, I also recognize that a relationship between a GM and a player—even though I’ve been honest about it with our team’s owner and with Human Resources—doesn’t look good. For this reason,” she pauses to swallow, but her voice is unwavering when she continues, “I’m withdrawing my nomination for GM of the Year award.”

That announcement seems to spring the reporters into action—they’re practically jumping out of their seats as everyone yells questions. Behind the podium, AJ sighs, then she starts pointing to different reporters and answering their questions.

Who is handling McCabe’s contract? How long has this been going on? Did anyone else know? How does the team feel about it?The questions come at a fast and furious pace, and AJ answers each succinctly and professionally.

“Are you only making this announcement now because of the Brett Ivers scandal?” The question comes from a grizzled older reporter, one who’s been around since long before I started playing.

“Let me be abundantly clear. Absolutely nothing unethical has happened here, and I stand by that. I’m making this announcement because I have nothing to hide, and hiding this relationship would call that fact into question. I’ve spent my career proving that a woman can succeed at this level in a male-dominated sport. And so, for most people who know me, or know of me, this relationship is going to come as a shock. But on a deeply personal level, I’ve sacrificed my own happiness and sometimes even my health, because I’ve been so committed to my job that it’s always come first. And that is not sustainable. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to have a loving relationship. And if it makes people uncomfortable to see that I’m a woman who is prioritizing my happiness in a healthy, consensual relationship—then that’s on them, not me. I’m proud of the work I’ve done here and the manner in which I’ve done it. And I won’t feel guilty that the person I fell in love with also happens to work for the same organization I do.”

I feel like the oxygen has been sucked from my lungs.Did she just say she is in love with me?Did she just tell that to the press, to the entire nation, before she’s even said it to me? I must have made some sort of a sound in response, because suddenly all the reporters have turned and are yelling questions at me instead, asking about our relationship, my daughter, and how this has affected my game.

Fuck.This is AJ’s moment, and I don’t want to steal her thunder. At the same time, why should she be the only one bearing the brunt of this onslaught? I’m the one who got us into this mess. At every single phase of our relationship, I was the one who took the first step and then pulled her along with me. Andnow, I realize, I’m kind of mad that she beat me to saying the L-word.

“You all want a statement?” I raise my voice to be heard over them, and they quiet almost immediately. “Okay, here you go. Normally, I’m a pretty quiet guy. I put my head down and do my job, on the ice and in life. I prefer to listen rather than talk. I prefer to be in the background. And I prefer to let people speak for themselves. I’ve been told that this tendency can result in me coming across as grumpy or standoffish.”

I smirk over at AJ, making it clear that she’s said these things, and pause while the press laughs. I’m glad they find my self-depreciating remark amusing, as I was trying to lighten the mood a bit.

“So let me be crystal clear,” I say, walking to the front of the room to stand next to AJ. I look down at her as I say, “I love this woman.” And then I look out at the reporters when I say, “And I absolutely refuse to stand by if a single person calls into question anything that she’s done in her professional or personal life. We are the team we are today because of Alessandra Jones. We would not be the winningest team in Boston hockey history if it weren’t for the way she’s rebuilt this organization, we wouldn’t have the team camaraderie we do without her leading by example, and we sure as hell wouldn’t have our eyes on our second Stanley Cup in six years if it weren’t for her. No team is successful because of just one person, but I think you could ask anyone in the Rebels organization what AJ means to this team, and you’d get the same answer I just gave you. Andthatwill be her legacy. Not some award, and not her relationship with me. What she’s done here matters, and it will live on. And that’s all I’ll be saying about this.” I turn to AJ, looking into her beautiful brown eyes for a moment. “You have anything else to say?”

“No,” she says simply, like she can’t trust her voice to say more. And the way her eyes are watering, I think she’s more emotional than she’d want people to see.

“I think we’re done here, then,” I say, and taking her hand, I lead her out of the pressroom.

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