Page 51 of The Hockey Contract

"Not me. Not usually." I ran a hand through my hair. "How were things at the bakery?"

She allowed the change of subject, launching into a story about a wedding cake disaster narrowly averted. Her voice was warm in my ear, creating an almost physical sensation of comfort despite the hundreds of miles between us.

"I miss having Sprinkles around," I admitted when she finished her story. "The house is too quiet."

"She misses you too. Kept looking for you before bed."

The thought of her dog—our dog, temporarily—waiting for me created a surprising ache. "How's the gala planning going?"

"Overwhelming but exciting. I've settled on the menu—mini pavlovas with Kraken-blue berries, chocolate mousse in edible chocolate cups, and a signature cake with the team logo done in sugar work."

"Sounds impressive."

"If I can pull it off." She yawned, the sound endearingly unguarded. "Good luck tomorrow. I'll be watching."

"You will?"

"Of course. I'm a hockey wife now, remember?" The teasing note in her voice made me smile in the darkness.

"Right. Very devoted."

"Absolutely. I've even learned what a blue line is."

"Impressive dedication."

When she shifted, I noticed that she was nestled amongst a mountain of pillows, but it was her position that had my eyes widening. The crisp white sheets were rumpled around her, pulled just high enough – or maybe not high enough at all – to hint at the bare skin beneath. My brain stuttered for a second, catching up, processing. Sienna was naked in my phone screen, thousands of miles away, yet impossibly close.

For a heartbeat, we just stared at each other. Then, a slight movement, almost shy. Sienna shifted, drawing the sheet higher, just barely grazing the soft curve of her collarbone. It was a reflexive gesture, I knew, an instinctive pull for modesty that only amplified the electric charge that had just jolted through me.

My gaze dropped instantly, drawn against my will, to the visible contour of her shoulder, where the sheet ended its ascent. It was smooth, pale in the soft light, and impossibly, maddeningly alluring. I could practically feel the velvet texture of her skin under my fingertips. My throat tightened, and a low groan rumbled in my chest, unheard, thankfully, through the digital void separating us.

She tilted her head slightly, her hair cascading over her shoulder, partly obscuring the view I was already desperate to memorize. Damn her playful torture.

I dragged my gaze away from her enticing form with an effort, forcing myself to look at the background, the sterile beige walls of my hotel room.

She glanced down, and I watched her fingers begin to move, tracing slow, aimless patterns on the sheet covering her thigh, just below the camera's frame. It was a restless, nervous gesture.

“It’s quiet here,” she admitted, her eyes still lowered, watching her own hand. “Too quiet. I miss the noise. Your snoring.” She glanced up, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips, though her eyes remained shadowed with something that mirrored my own loneliness. “And other things,” she added softly, her voice dropping to a husky whisper.

I swallowed hard, my pulse beginning to thrum a frantic rhythm against my ribs. My body was already tightening, responding to her mere presence, her voice, the almost-naked vision before me. And then, subtly, she moved.

Slowly, Sienna lowered the angle of her phone. The camera dipped downwards, the frame shifting from her face and shoulders to focus lower. My breath hitched again, louder this time, a sharp intake of air that felt like it burned my lungs.

The sheet was still there, the maddeningly tantalizing barrier, but now, it draped over the soft swell of her breasts, and hinted at the shadowed valley between her legs. The curve of her hip, the gentle indentation of her waist, became starkly defined against the pristine white linen. It was a calculated tease, a deliberate undressing with the lens, and my body reacted instantly, violently. My cock, which had been stirring beneath my loose trousers, now hardened completely, throbbing with insistent demand.

I didn't hesitate. Mirroring her movement, I angled my own phone down, framing my chest and lower. My hand, already shaking slightly, reached down, settling deliberately on the bulge in my pants. I made sure she saw, felt the unspoken invitation ripple back across the digital connection.

The video call, in the span of a breath, had transformed.

Sienna’s lips parted slightly, her breath quickening. Her eyes held mine captive, daring me, inviting me. “God, Jax,” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. “You look so good.”

“You’re killing me, Sienna,” I rasped, my voice raw with lust. My thumb moved against my hardening cock, a slow, deliberate stroke over the fabric of my jeans. I watched her eyes follow the motion, widening, darkening. “You know what you’re doing to me, right?”

“Maybe,” she whispered, a slow smile curving her lips, a smile that promised sin and pleasure in equal measure. Her hand shifted from her lap, disappearing beneath the sheet, hidden from the camera's view. But the slight tremble of the sheets, the almost imperceptible shift in her breathing, told me everything I needed to know.

“Tell me,” I urged, my voice low and demanding. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me what you want.” My fingers tightened around my dick, needing the pressure, craving the release that suddenly felt achingly close, yet out of reach.

She bit her lip, her eyes half-lidded, pupils dilated. “I’m thinking about your hands on me,” she murmured, her voice husky. “Remember in the kitchen, that time you were helping me? I wanted you to lift me onto the counter and have your way with me.”

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