32. Chapter Thirty-Two #3
But that kiss? That was the last of his teasing.
Or the beginning of it. In the next instant, Shep hooked his arms under my thighs and lifted me up.
His chin dipped below my center and his heated gaze held mine as he showed me exactly how real this was between us.
His wicked tongue licked up my pussy in one long, wet swipe that destroyed me.
I fell back, losing eye contact, but feeling him between my legs as he devoured me.
He found my clit with his tongue, flicking and teasing, unrelenting.
In barely any time, I was losing control, my fingers digging into the sheets beneath me, my belly trembling, my thighs quivering.
He spread me wider with his thumbs, burying his tongue deep and I flew into the fastest orgasm of my life.
I might have screamed. I think I even lost consciousness for a blink, as when I opened my eyes, he hovered above me with his trademark Golden Boy smirk. “I win.”
A laugh bubbled up from my chest. Such a Shep Landon move. “Negatory, friend.” I stretched, savoring how my skin tingled, how my muscles hummed with satisfaction. “I most definitely won that round.”
His mouth hovered an inch from mine, his fingers tangled in my hair, our legs intertwined. I’d avoided this scenario for years, terrified of risking my heart. Now? Now I wanted to bask in it forever.
“This is it, Merri, yeah?” His eyes burned into me. “No more running.”
He waited, tension pulling his jaw taut, putting a deep V between his brows. Need burned out at me, penetrated the glow he’d just given me, demanded a response.
I nodded, and a ripple passed through him. “No more running.”
He kissed me then, a tangle of lips and tongue and teeth. His body, his strong, muscular athlete’s body, came down over mine. He’d spent years honing all the curves and edges and lines into an elite weapon on the ice, and now he turned all that power on me.
And his cock. Thick and bare and hard, nudging insistently at my entrance. He wrapped his hand around my thigh, changed our angle, and in the next breath, his cock slid up inside me. Stretching my inner muscles with a delicious burn, pushing deep, hitting me so deep, he stole my breath.
I gasped against his mouth as he slid into me, my hands wrapping around him, holding him close, my breasts pressed hard into his chest. His heart pounded against mine, his breath heavy with mine, every inch of our bodies in sync as we chased our pleasure together.
I arched into his thrust, the worry that’d been my constant companion fading under the weight of Shep’s touch. My own inhibition. I felt open, exposed, no armor, no talisman.
And as he powered into me, I felt strong. Invincible.
A little reckless. Maybe he’d given me that too. The freedom to be a little reckless. To chase my happiness.
“Shep, yes,” I breathed against his mouth. “Yes, this is perfect, yes.”
I rocked with him, my fingers digging into him as fiercely as he held onto me. Because happiness didn’t just happen. You had to work for it. Fight for it. Claim it.
I clenched my eyes closed as feelings swelled inside me. His thrusts came rougher, his rhythm erratic… and even that was perfect.
My core tightened and I sucked in a breath. This close. I was this close to having everything—this man, this future, this happiness I’d denied myself for so long.
He groaned, savage and loud, against my mouth. My lips parted as I came in a rush of liquid fire. His body tensed and then throbbed inside mine. He rolled his hips then, slowly moving in and out of my body as pleasure crested inside me.
When he collapsed beside me, tugging me close against his chest, I couldn’t have stopped my smile for all the Stanley Cups in history. His lips brushed my ear, whispering “I win” in that honey-sweet drawl of his.
I snuggled deeper into his warmth. I could play games with Shep Landon for the rest of my life.
I slipped out of Shep’s loft before dawn, making it home just in time for Nat to drag me out for breakfast. My escape was successful, but the fallout from last night was already spreading like wildfire.
Shep’s brawl with Cale made the highlight reels, sparking a frenzy of online commentary—everyone from SportsNet to the YouTube pundits sharing their opinion.
But just as he’d predicted, the focus was on the escalating rivalry between the teams, not on our forbidden romance.
“Playoff hockey,” they called it, “chippy and intense.” The fans ate it up, and a quick glance at the socials told me they were hungry for more.
My muscIes ached—a delicious reminder of Shep’s touch, of the way he’d chased away my panic in the quiet of his loft. I hadn’t meant to go home with him. His confession still played over and over in my mind. He loved me. He wanted a future with me. He wanted my help to make us happen.
What did I want?
I wanted Shep, of course. But did that want carryover outside the bedroom?
Could I picture a future with him? He’d been giving me time.
He’d kept his smile gentle, patient as we circled each other between Renegade Ice, Algonquian Arena and even the quick two-day road trip to Dallas. Not pushing me to decide, to commit.
The time with Shy and Shep and Hannah after the matinee game had been more fun than I’d ever expected. Sitting with Shep and his sister as we cheered on Hannah—I’d found myself smiling, even laughing—relaxed in their company in a way I never would have anticipated.
When Hannah worked her charm on the Littles coaches during drills, Shy and I exchanged knowing glances. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Shep’s daughter may act grumpy, but she had the same charisma as her dad, and it shone brightly when she flipped into competitive mode.
And I recognized that drive, that need to win.
Like a sparking line of electricity snapped into place, my heart simultaneously sped up and warmed.
I understood Hannah, at least this tiny corner of her personality.
I wouldn’t shrug away her desire to be fast, to master the course, to be the best. If she wanted it, I could help her make it happen.
The knot of worry in my belly spun loose. Maybe a ready-made family wasn’t so terrifying after all. Maybe it was exactly what I needed.
When the four of us parted ways afterward, my cheeks burning under Shy’s knowing smirk as she hustled Hannah one way while Shep and I headed back to his loft… Even that felt natural. Happy.
Until the overthinking crept in.
I slid into the booth across from Nat at the Broken Yolk Diner, the aroma of sweet potato pancakes and maple syrup stirring a rumble in my belly. Guess I knew what I’d be ordering. A Renegades cap bobbed at the next table. Then another. And another.
I ducked my head, hid behind the tall laminated menu. For the first time in days, my hands itched to hold Joonie.
Nat leaned forward, her dark eyes narrowing. I plastered on my brightest smile. The one that said “just happy to be here!” and not…
Not thinking about my dead mother. Or my ex stirring crap up on the ice. Or the risk I ran every time I gave in to the magnetic force that was Shep Landon.
“It’s not working.” Nat’s lips quirked as our server poured steaming coffee into white ceramic mugs.
“What’s not?”
She waggled her fingers in the air between us. “Whatever face you’re trying to make. Whatever story you’re trying to come up with. Totally not working.”
“Since when do you say ‘totally’?” I seized on a deflect like a lifeline.
“Since the word totally describes the current situation.” She emptied a packet of raw sugar into her coffee mug. “What gives?”
I fiddled with the handle on my own coffee cup. “Nothing.”
“Last night’s game was crazy. Did you talk to Shep? He totally nailed Lettuce with that roundhouse. Never pegged our Golden Boy for a brawler.” Nat’s eyes sparkled. “And then that hat trick? Talk about making a statement.”
“Wilson and I wrapped things up in the video booth and then I headed out. We have another game tonight, so I’ll be heading to work after this.”
“That’s totally not what I asked.”
“You’re doing it on purpose now.”
“What?”
“Using totally in every sentence.”
A tiny smirk kicked up at the corners of Nat’s lips. “Totally possible.” She leaned back in the booth. “And yet you still haven’t answered. Have you spoken with Shep?”
My hand jerked, sending coffee sloshing over the rim. “Dang it.”
“Spill, Merri Wylie. What did he say?”
I dabbed at the spilled coffee with a flimsy paper napkin, fingers trembling. “Nothing. Or rather, I didn’t say anything. Why would I?”
I swallowed a mouthful of too-hot coffee and winced.
Nat settled back against vinyl of the booth, radiating an infuriating mix of patience and expectation she’d perfected over years of friendship. “And why would you not talk to him?”
“Why would I? It’s not like I talk to all the players after all the games or something. It’s not like there’s anything going on between us,” I lied, the words lingering on my tongue like ash.
Was this who I was now? Lying to my best friend?
“That’s not true,” I blurted, the truth rushing out. “I spent the night with him. He said he loves me. He wants a relationship.”
“Holy Toledo, the word vomit.”
I gulped down another scalding swallow of coffee, my eyes watering as fire burned down my throat.
“What did you say?”
“I haven’t. Said anything, I mean.”
“But you spent the night with him.”
“We didn’t do a lot of talking. And I slipped out this morning before he woke up.”
“Wow. Who is this new Merri? She’s turning into a bad bitch. I’m so proud. What are you going to do?”
I slumped into the booth. “I have no idea.”
But Shep’s words echoed in my mind: No more running.