Page 91 of Slap Shot Scandal
His body finally stills, but he doesn’t move. He stays buried inside me, his forehead pressed against mine.
“I don’t want to be anywhere else but inside you.” His fingers trace light circles over my belly and I sigh, content for the first time in as long as I can remember.
“Same.” I trace the outline of his cheek, his jaw. “Which is a real problem—because you’ve got hockey to play, and I’ve got a team to save.”
CHAPTER 25
WESTON
Holy hell.
Fucking Harbor Hayes was life changing.
The way her eyes flutter shut when she’s close to unraveling. The flush across her chest, her breath catching.
The way she takes my cock—every last inch of it—squeezing and milking me until I’m more wrung out than after a game.
And the best part? The way she’s mine.
All her moans, every inch of her luscious body.
Mine.
But it’s more than that. The way she looked at me when she said she was mine—like she meant it and it scared the hell out of her. That look’s going to keep me awake for the next decade.
I want her all over again and I only left her hotel room fifteen minutes ago. Sneaking out like some damn rookie trying to dodge curfew.
Except now there’s more—so much more—on the line.
I didn’t mean for this to get so tangled. It wasn’t supposed to be complicated.
But it is.
And those rules we set? I already know they’re going to be shot to hell.
Starting with rule #1—no one can know.
Uh-huh, sure. Because there’s no fucking way Callum and Bennett aren’t going to sniff this one out. They’ll probably piece things together by the end of the week, knowing my nosy-ass brothers.
As quietly as possible, I creep into the foyer of the rental house using my phone as a flashlight. I’m dehydrated as hell, which—coupled with the lack of sleep—is gonna make practice significantly more painful tomorrow. I need water before I hit the sack for the few remaining hours of the night.
“Strategy meeting went long, huh?”
Fuck my life.
Callum’s standing in the glow of the pendant light, shirtless in joggers at the kitchen island, chugging a pink electrolyte drink.
I scrub my hand across the back of my neck and do my best to look innocent.
“Uh, yeah. Late night.”
He stares at me for a long second, dark brows knitted.
Finally, he breaks the awkward silence. “Be careful, Weston.”
It’s not a warning. Just a quiet reminder of everything that’s at stake.
He tosses his drink into the trash. “I’ve watched the fallout when captains lose focus. And I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at her during practice.”
