Page 76 of The Hockey Contract

He moved faster now, harder, his breathing growing ragged, mirroring my own. The room spun around us, the world narrowed down to just the two of us, locked together in this primal dance of pleasure, lost in the rising crescendo of sensation.

He leaned down, kissing me again, fiercely, passionately, his tongue mirroring the rhythm of his hips, thrusting in and out of my mouth, mimicking the act of sex itself. His pace intensified, his movements becoming more frantic, more urgent, driving me closer and closer to the edge.

“Sienna,” he groaned against my lips, his voice raw with exertion, “God, I’m going to cum.”

“Me too,” I gasped back, the words barely coherent, ripped from my throat as my own orgasm began to build, a tidal wave of sensation washing over me. My pussy clenched around his cock, tightening, squeezing, milking him with every spasm.

And then, we climaxed together, a simultaneous explosion of sensation that ripped through both of us. I cried out again, a long, shuddering moan that turned into a scream as wave after wave of orgasm crashed over me, convulsing my body, stealing my breath. I felt Jax shudder against me, his own release powerful and explosive, his hot cum spurting deep inside me, filling me.

We collapsed against each other, breathless, slick with sweat, our naked bodies trembling with the aftershocks of our shared climax. He was still inside me, buried deep, our bodies still intimately joined. I didn't want him to move, didn't want this connection to end.

Slowly, our breathing returned to normal, the frantic rhythm of our bodies calming, easing into a peaceful stillness. He shifted, pulling out of me slowly, and then rolled onto his side, pulling me with him, spooning me against his body, his arm wrapping possessively around my waist.

We lay there for a long time, tangled together in the soft sheets, our bodies still flushed and tingling. Neither of us spoke, content in the shared silence, the intimate closeness. His hand moved idly, stroking my pussy, tracing circles on my clit, a silent, tender caress that spoke volumes. My fingers traced the line of his arm, the hard muscle beneath my touch, feeling the rise and fall of his chest.

He pressed a soft kiss to the nape of my neck, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Wow,” he murmured finally.

“Yeah,” I breathed, contentedly nuzzling closer against him. “Wow is right.”

Chapter 25: Jax

The flight back from Vancouver was quiet, the team subdued with focused energy rather than celebratory chaos. We'd won, but Edmonton awaited, and playoffs allowed little time for lingering satisfaction.

My mind, however, was still in that hotel suite with Sienna—the taste of her lips, the soft sound she'd made when I deepened the kiss, the way her body had melted against mine with perfect trust.

It felt surprisingly natural having her travel with the team. Other players' wives and girlfriends made the trip regularly, and Sienna had integrated seamlessly into that group.

At home, after traveling back and forth between Edmonton and Seattle during games, the final Perfect Home Furnishings contract arrived via courier—glossy promotional photos, shooting schedules, appearance commitments. Everything I'd wanted when this arrangement began. I set it aside without the triumphant feeling I'd anticipated, more interested in the sound of Sienna's key in the lock as she returned from the bakery.

"You're home early," she observed, setting down grocery bags. She'd taken to shopping for both of us, somehow remembering my preferences without being told. "No practice today?"

"Optional skate. I worked with the trainers instead." I gestured to the contract on the coffee table. "Final paperwork came."

"That's great!" Her smile seemed genuine, though something flickered in her eyes. "Everything you wanted."

"Everythingwewanted," I corrected. "Your bakery debt will be officially cleared next week when the first payment processes."

"Right." She busied herself with the groceries, movements slightly too precise. "Our arrangement working perfectly."

I watched her move around the kitchen, realizing how completely she'd transformed not just my house but my entire routine. My formerly empty refrigerator now held actual food. Cabinets contained spices I couldn't name but had developed tastes for. The pristine counters regularly hosted flour dustings and cookbook splays that I'd once have found irritating but now associated with comfort.

My phone buzzed with a text from Coach Miller requesting an early meeting before tomorrow's practice. In Edmonton, I might have been annoyed at the interruption to recovery time. Here, watching Sienna unpack groceries for meals we'd share, I felt a twinge of reluctance to leave even temporarily.

The next morning, Coach ushered me into his office with unusual cordiality.

"Harrison, sit down." He closed the door, a rarity that immediately put me on alert. "I want to talk about your performance this playoff run."

I tensed, preparing for criticism despite our winning record. "Something specific concerning you, Coach?"

"Yes, you've been distracted, daydreaming, while I've been briefing the team and in the locker room." He leaned forward, his expression serious. "But you're playing the best hockey of your career. More physical when needed, more creative offensively, better instincts on when to jump into plays."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me. Thank your wife." His casual statement hit like a body check. "Marriage clearly agrees with you."

The observation left me momentarily speechless, guilt surging at the deception we'd been maintaining. Yet there was undeniable truth in his assessment—I was playing better, feeling more settled, approaching the game with new perspective.

"Sienna's been... supportive," I managed finally.

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