Page 27 of Cross Check Daddies
I press the heel of my hand against my mouth as the pressure builds, hips rolling slowly, chasing release. Heat licks up my spine. I keep my eyes closed and let the images come.
Tanner’s voice—low, rough, teasing. The way his eyes lingered on my mouth when we danced. The strength in his arms when he caught me barefoot in the sand.
And then Cam, smirking when we were younger, all confidence and danger. His mouth, his hands, the way he knew every inch of me once. Before everything fell apart.
The lines blur in the dark. One pair of hands becomes two. One body pressing into mine, then another joining. I picture them together, crowding me against the headboard, their voices low in my ear. Fingers stroking, lips demanding, each fighting for more of me.
My hips jerk, thighs tensing. I bite into my hand to muffle the sound as I grind into the toy, the rhythm pushing me toward the edge fast. Then, it slips out, a breathy whimper lost against my skin.
“King.”
I don’t even know which one I mean.
It doesn’t matter.
The climax rolls through me like a wave crashing into shore. Sudden. Hot. Blinding. I shudder through it, pressing the toy harder as I ride it out, teeth still buried in the soft part of my palm. My legs go slack. The air in the room seems to shift.
I toss the vibrator to the side and pull the blanket over me, heart still racing, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.
Sleep finds me seconds later.
And in my dreams, they’re both still there.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ace
Mornings arethe only time I get to breathe. Miami’s just waking up, the air still clinging to whatever trace of coolness the night left behind.
I pull my cap lower as I step into the elevator, earbuds already in, ready to zone out for six miles. That’s the plan. Sweat it out, reset, stay sharp.
When the elevator stops a few floors down, I barely glance up. But then I hear a dog. A snort, followed by the kind of huff only bulldogs make.
The doors slide open, and there she is.
Brooke.
She’s in tiny black shorts and slippers that should be illegal. Hair in a messy bun, oversized sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder. And sure enough, waddling beside her is a fat bulldog with a pink tongue hanging out the side like it’s been through war. My eyes narrow.
“That dog looks suspiciously familiar,” I mutter.
She glances over, eyes widening when she sees me. “Coach?”
“I didn’t know you lived here.”
“I moved in last week. Just taking Buddy out,” she says, giving the leash a tug. The dog ignores her.
I glance at the dog again, then at her. “Buddy, huh.”
She’s not just pretty. She’s dangerously pretty. The kind that makes grown men stupid. I see now why my guys are half-deranged when she walks into the training facility. But that’s not my problem. My problem is keeping the Icemen focused. And right now, I’m the one not focusing.
I run a hand through my hair and shift my weight. “You like the building?”
She shrugs. “It’s...big.”
Yeah. Big. And expensive. I say nothing at all.
We reach the lobby, the automatic doors gliding open. Sunlight pours in. I nod at her. “Alright. Enjoy your walk.”
