Page 67 of Slap Shot
"Noted," Jack said dismissively. "Now, if we can get back to handling the actual crisis?"
Ivy left, her heels clicking against the floor like bullets. The moment the door closed, Heather's hand brushed his under the table.
"Well," Vicky said dryly, "that was entertaining."
"Glad you enjoyed it," Jack replied, and Oliver caught something in the look they exchanged that suggested their conflict had shifted into entirely different territory.
THAT EVENING, OLIVER'Sapartment felt like a sanctuary. Charlie sprawled across his favorite spot on the rug, completely relaxed for the first time in weeks. Heather sat on the couch with her laptop, but she was shopping for restaurant reservations instead of analyzing security breaches.
"So we can actually date now," Oliver said, settling beside her with two beers. "Publicly. Like normal people."
"I don't think we'll ever be normal people." She closed the laptop and turned to face him. "Normal people don't catch conspiracies or have panic attacks in grocery stores or need service dogs to function."
"Normal people don't hack into secure systems for fun or rebuild their careers after their ex-husband betrays them or fall in love with broken hockey players."
"You're not broken," Heather said firmly. "You're complicated. There's a difference."
Oliver set down his beer and pulled her onto his lap. "How did I get this lucky?"
"Well, someone had to attack our organization with sophisticated cyber warfare. Then you had to have a criminal past that made you useful to the investigation. Then I had to be smart enough to catch you. Then—"
He silenced her with a kiss that started soft but quickly turned heated. Weeks of hiding, of stolen moments and careful distance, all of that was over. They could be together without looking over their shoulders, without worrying about policies or surveillance or professional consequences.
The kiss deepened, and suddenly Heather was straddling him properly, her hands fisting in his hair as months of suppressed desire came flooding to the surface. They could touch each other now without fear, could make noise without worrying about being discovered, could celebrate their freedom in ways they'd only dreamed about.
"We don't have to be quiet anymore," she breathed against his lips, the realization hitting her like a revelation.
"No, we don't," Oliver agreed, his hands sliding under her shirt to palm her breasts through her bra. "We can be as loud as we want. We can fuck on every surface in this apartment and not worry about anyone finding out."
The crude promise sent heat spiraling through her core. "Is that what you want to do? Christen every room now that we're free?"
"I want to worship you," he said, standing and lifting her with him. "I want to take my time with you, make you scream my name without worrying about who might hear."
Charlie padded toward his bed in the corner with what looked suspiciously like a doggy eye roll. Smart dog knew when to make himself scarce.
Oliver carried her to the bedroom, but instead of the desperate rush of their previous encounters, he set her down gently and began undressing her with deliberate slowness. Each piece of clothing was removed with reverent care, his hands and mouth following the path of revealed skin.
"I love that I can take my time with you now," he murmured against her throat as her blouse fell away. "No more rushing, no more stolen moments. Just us, with all the time in the world."
When her bra joined the pile of discarded clothes, Oliver's mouth found her breasts with worshipful attention. He sucked and licked and gently bit her nipples until she was arching against him, soft moans filling the air without any attempt to muffle them.
"God, I love those sounds," he said, his voice rough with want. "I love hearing how much you want me."
"Then you're going to love what comes next," she said breathlessly, pushing him back onto the bed and straddling his hips.
She took her time undressing him, mapping every inch of his muscled chest and shoulders with her hands and mouth. When she reached his jeans, she took extra care freeing his cock, wrapping her hand around the thick length and stroking him slowly.
"Fuck, Heather," Oliver groaned, his hips bucking into her touch. "Your hands feel incredible."
"Just my hands?" she asked with a wicked smile, before lowering her head to take him into her mouth.
Oliver's head fell back with a harsh curse as she worked him with her tongue and lips, taking him deeper than she'd ever been able to before. Without the fear of discovery, she could focus entirely on his pleasure, on learning exactly what made him lose control.
"Jesus Christ, your mouth," he panted, his hands threading through her hair. "So fucking perfect. I could watch you suck my cock for hours."
She pulled off him with a soft pop, her lips swollen and slick. "Later," she promised. "Right now, I need you inside me. I need to ride you until we both forget our own names."
Oliver's eyes went dark at her words. "Then take what you need, sweetheart. Take everything."
