Page 25 of Her Hat Trick Daddies
“Is thiswhat?”
“Some sort of bro code. You know, for any time a player is in pain but is too macho to admit it.”
For the second time in as many minutes, he narrows his dark gaze at me. At first, I think he’s going to bite my head off, but he doesn’t.
“Sometimes I get tension headaches. That’s all.”
“Big man to admit that,” I say with a smirk, pushing off the chair and striding over to him. I tip my head toward his notepad, leaning in just enough to catch his attention. “Is that why you’re taking notes on paper like an old man?”
He looks up at me with mock offense, raising an eyebrow. “Old man? I prefer the termclassic. Paper has a certain… authenticity. Not everything needs to be on a flashy screen.”
“Oh, please. We spend half our time glued to our phones, watching TV, dissecting game footage—”
“Exactly,” he interrupts with a smirk. “One less thing to add to the digital overload, the better.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes, but the smile that pulls at my lips betrays me as I step closer, letting my hand brush lightly over his left shoulder.
“Well, you’re in luck. I happen to know a thing or two about a quick fix for headaches and stiff shoulders. My friend is… well,wasa masseuse.”
And now apparently I am too? What the hell am I doing?Touching this man was not part of the plan. Follow the damn script, Leighton. Come in. Tell him. Leave. For fuck’s sake.
He glances at me, a playful glint in his eyes. “Careful, Leighton. We don’t want anyone catching you getting handsy with the captain,” he teases, but he gestures toward the spot anyway. “But you don’t have to ask me twice. It’s right around here.”
I inch closer, my fingers grazing the warm, firm line where his neck meets his shoulder, the subtle curve of muscle beneath my touch making my breath hitch. “Here?”
He shifts slightly, his jaw tightening in that familiar, rugged way. “Yeah, that’s the spot.”
I let my fingers drift over the soft fabric of his long-sleeved thermal, just beneath his collarbone, feeling the way his muscles tense and tighten beneath my touch. I apply a slow, deliberate pressure. “How about here?” I murmur, my voice like a slow drag of silk over skin.
He exhales deeply, his voice rough and low. “Keep going, sweetheart. Find all my weak spots,” he drawls, the words sliding off his tongue like a sinful promise.
The second he sayssweetheart, something tightens deep in my gut. That voice, thick with need, hits me like a lightning strike. Ithasto be Lion. Same tone. Same heat. Same barely-leashed hunger.
He leans back in his chair, more relaxed now, spreading his thighs wider, cocky, inviting, and damn if that sight doesn’t send a pulse of slick heat straight to my core.
I grin, leaning in closer, just a whisper away from him. “Guess I had a good teacher.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “But I bet you weren’t expecting to use what you learned all the way over here…on me.”
Before I can respond, my thumbs press into the firm, knotted muscle beneath his trapezius, and I feel his body shift instinctively under my touch. I know I’ve found another spot, but he’s holding something back, and I’m about to find out exactly what that is.
I dig deeper, using my knuckles to press harder into the muscle, pushing through the layers of tension. His body’s wound, coiled with tension, like a thread pulled so taut it’s about to snap. And yet, he hasn’t seen the team masseuse? Isn’t that part of the routine? Mandatory? Interesting…
But I don’t ask questions. I just keep moving. God, he’s all heat and steel and restrained power. Every second my hands stay on him, the energy and tension tighten between us, dangerously coiling hot and low inside my belly.
A rough groan breaks from his throat, the sound desperate, and it damn near rips through me, my thighs clenching involuntarily. It could sound like a thousand men, but in this moment, another reminder of Lion—the familiarity in his voice.
Goddammit, that feels good,” he grunts, his hands locking around mine, holding them there like he’s marking me. His grip is unforgiving, branding me. He turns his head slowly, eyes meeting mine, dark and molten. There’s something else there now, something raw.
Hunger.
“You keep touching me like that, and you’ll be bent over that desk before you can blink, sweetheart.”
A sharp, needy whimper slips from me before I can stop it.
He smiles, a wicked curl of his lips. “Something tells me that’s exactly what you’re hoping for,” he growls.
I know this is wrong. I came here with one purpose, but now, standing in front of this man—the same man from that unforgettable night—my defenses are crumbling, piece by piece. I’ve wanted this for so long. It’s more than just physical, more than just the ache of desire. Something deep inside me stirs, something I can’t ignore. My pulse races, a throbbing, desperate ache between my legs, wet and wanting. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way, like the world outside doesn’t exist, like the only thing that matters is what he’s doing to me.
