Page 39 of Slap Shot

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"Yes," she gasped, her inner walls starting to flutter around him. "I love it. I love how you make me feel."

When his other hand reached around to find her clit, Heather came apart instantly, her orgasm ripping through her with devastating force. The sensation of her clenching around him triggered Oliver's own release, and he spilled inside her with a muffled groan of her name.

They stayed locked together for long moments, both trembling and gasping for air. When Oliver finally withdrew, he immediately pulled her into his arms, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder and neck.

"Okay?" he asked, his voice gentle now.

"More than okay," she said, turning in his arms with a satisfied smile. "Though we should probably get dressed before security makes their rounds."

As they cleaned up and dressed, a strange sense of peace settled over him. The immediate crisis was resolved, and despite all the complications, he had Heather, in every way that mattered.

"How long can we keep this up?" Heather asked, straightening her blouse and trying to tame her disheveled hair.

"As long as we have to." Oliver tucked his shirt in, then reached for her hand. "Whatever it takes."

"Even if it means sneaking around like teenagers?"

"Especially then." He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "Some things are worth the risk."

Heather's smile was brilliant. "Good answer."

As Oliver prepared to leave with Charlie trotting beside him toward the back stairwell, he was confident they'd weathered the worst of it. The attacks would continue, but they understood the threat now. His past was safely locked away, Heather was safe, and they were together.

Chapter Twelve

Heather

Heather pushed open the glass doors of Chill headquarters, laptop bag slung over her shoulder and coffee clutched in her free hand. Her body still hummed with memories of Oliver's touch, and her mind cycled through the implications of what they'd done.

Professional. She needed to be completely professional today.

The elevator ride to the third floor was endless, every floor ding reminding her of the soft sounds she had made when he'd touched her, the way he'd whispered her name. By the time she reached her office, her cheeks were flushed and her pulse elevated in a way that had nothing to do with caffeine.

She'd barely settled at her desk when her phone buzzed with a text from Oliver:

Good morning. Sleep well?

The innocent question made heat pool low in her stomach. She'd slept terribly, tossing and turning as her body remembered every moment of their encounter.

Eventually. You?

Like a rock. Speaking of a rock...

Heather stared at the eggplant emoji and snorted.

It wasn’t long after she settled into her office that her phone buzzed with news alerts. She scrolled, her stomach sinking as she read headline after headline:

Chill Coach Under Fire After Player Medical Leaks

Locker Room Questions Kovalchuk's Leadership

Former Players Speak Out: 'Women Don't Understand Hockey Culture

The articles were brutal, painting Coach Vicky as either incompetent or deliberately negligent. Social media was worse. Anonymous accounts spread rumors about player dissatisfaction, team dysfunction, and calls for her resignation.

Heather recognized a coordinated attack when she saw one. The timing, the messaging, the way certain phrases kept recurring across different platforms. Someone was orchestrating this campaign against Coach Vicky.

Someone with serious digital skills and no conscience about destroying a woman's career.