Chapter 62
62
Hudson
The ice feels like home. It’s where I’m myself.
For me, it’s not about the fans. It’s the game.
The sound of the puck sliding across the ice.
The scrape of blades as I skate.
The way everything disappears.
It’s my therapy.
Especially when I’m just messing around with the guys, running drills.
We just laugh and fuck with each other.
There’s no pressure today. No Coach barking orders at us. Just a few friends having a good time.
Mason’s working on some sort of save that he’s convinced will “blow everyone’s mind” next season, but from where I’m standing, it mostly makes him look like a toddler learning how to walk. A drunk one at that.
I line up a puck at center ice, aiming for the top left corner of the net. I’m in the zone, my stick slicing the air as I prepare to take the shot, but then . . .
My attention drifts.
It’s her.
She’s up there, watching from the coaching box like she’s working, even though today’s session isn’t remotely official, so she doesn’t really need to be here.
Unless Dane asked her to take notes on Mason’s “walking on ice” performance, which is doubtful, her presence is definitely a surprise.
Molly Sinclair is dressed casually today in jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. Her legs are crossed, and she has her tablet balanced on her lap. She looks like she’s analyzing every move we make, but I know better.
She’s not working. She doesn’t need to be here.
She’s here for me.
Watching me.
Or at least that’s what I hope.
“Hey, Wilde.” Mason skates out from the net and heads my way. He jabs his stick lightly against the back of my knee.
“What?” I mutter, shoving him off as he skates into my space.
“Your girl’s here.” He smirks.
“Shut up, Goodie. She’s not my girl.” My tone lacks any real conviction, and Mason knows it.
Mason raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with my lie. “Right. And I’m not the best goalie in the league. So you want to tell me the reason you’re staring at her like a lovesick teen, then?”
I aim my stick to hit the puck, ignoring him. He skates back to the net, leaning on his stick, prepared to block my shot. “Seriously, just go talk to her. You’re not exactly subtle, dude.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words come out too fast. I want to cringe at how defensive I sound.
Mason snorts, shoving off the ice and skating in the opposite direction. “Sure, you don’t.”
I let out a long breath. My heart’s pounding like I’ve been sprinting drills for an hour, but I know Mason’s right. I’m not doing myself any favors by pretending I’m not aware of Molly sitting up there.
I skate toward the boards.
By the time I reach the coaching box, my pulse is doing double time. I have no plan. No reason to be here. I’ve spent years thinking I’m good at improvising, but somehow, every time Molly’s involved, I feel like I’m seconds away from tripping over my own feet.
The door creaks as I step inside, and Molly looks up, startled.
“Hudson?” she says, her voice sharp with surprise. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on the ice?”
I shrug, leaning casually against the wall. Or, at the very least, trying to look casual while it’s blatantly obvious I came in here for her. I am regretting all my life choices at this very minute.
“Needed a break and wanted to check-in. Looked like you were working hard.”
She narrows her eyes. “The coaching staff isn’t here. What exactly are you checking on?”
“You,” I say simply. She hasn’t been herself lately. With every failed lawyer, I can feel her getting more and more anxious.
Her mouth opens like she’s about to respond, but no words come out. Her cheeks start to flush. It’s adorable how flustered she gets. She pulls her gaze away from me and looks back at her tablet, clearly trying to compose herself.
No one is buying the act, Hex. Just admit you’re excited to see me.
“I’m fine,” she says after a moment, but her voice is tight.
“Yeah, I can see that. You’re working so hard up here. Really breaking a sweat.”
“Someone has to.” Her eyes are still on the screen, refusing to look at me. It’s cute. It’s as though she thinks I’ll stop bothering her if she continues to ignore me.
Spoiler alert: It won’t work.
I take a step closer, folding my arms. “Admit it. You just like watching me skate.”
That makes her look up. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I taunt. “You’re up here, watching me. And you’re not even subtle about it.”
“I’m working.” She sits up straighter. “Not everything revolves around you, Hudson.”
“Sure, it does.” I take another step closer. “So, what’s on the tablet? Practice stats?” I challenge. “Notes on my incredible performance today?”
Her lips press into a thin line, and she angles the screen away from me. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yet,” I say, leaning against the table beside her, “you’re still here.”
She rolls her eyes but can’t fight the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t you have something better to do? Like chasing pucks or falling on your face?”
“Funny,” I say, tilting my head. “You didn’t mention anything about me falling on my face. In Vegas .”
Her eyes widen, and her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink. “Don’t you dare.”
I grin. “Don’t I dare what? Remind you of the Elvis vows? Or the fact that you were a willing participant?”
“Hudson.” She glances toward the glass window, most likely worried that someone might hear us. “We agreed not to talk about this in public.”
“We’re alone.” I move in closer. “And I’m just saying, I think Elvis would be proud of us right now.”
She groans, covering her face with her hands. “Why are you like this?”
“Charming? Irresistible? Devastatingly handsome?” I offer.
“Infuriating,” she mumbles through her fingers.
I reach out, placing my hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Hex. Admit it. You like me. Just a little.”
She reaches out, removing my hand. “You’re insufferable.”
“Which is basically the same as lovable,” I point out.
She shakes her head, but her lip twitches. “You’re impossible.”
“Yet”—I lean close, my lips practically touching hers—“you married me.”
Her breath catches, most likely trying to decide whether to punch me or kiss me.
“Hudson.” Her voice catches me off guard.
“Yeah?” I raise an eyebrow.
“You need to go back to practice before Mason comes up here looking for you.”
I shake my head. “He won’t.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because he’s too busy perfecting his drunk toddler move,” I say, grinning.
Molly laughs, the sound light and unexpected, and everything else fades.
It’s just us in this stupid little box, and I don’t want to be anywhere else.
“You’re impossible.” She shakes her head.
“You already said that. Plus, it doesn’t matter. You’re stuck with me.”
She inches her head back, the space between us growing. I don’t like it and will need to remedy that. “For now.”
“For now”—I reach my hand out, cradling her jaw—“but I don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind either,” she whispers, and just like that, I know I’m screwed.
With that settled, I pounce, pushing her back until she leans on her elbows, that way no one can see us, and then I make quick work of dropping down to the floor in front of her.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes are wide, full of shock.
My lips spread into a giant grin. “Tasting my wife.”
I think she’s going to say no, but instead, she shivers at my words.
Never an objection.
She lifts her ass, giving me ample space to remove her underwear.
Once they’re off, I sit back and look at what’s mine. Her pussy gleams back at me. Hot and wet and ready to come. Which she will, but only on my tongue today.
There’s not enough time to fuck her right. But I still need to see her fall apart.
Molly Sinclair coming is my favorite sight. Making her come . . . my favorite pastime.
I lean forward, placing my hands on her thighs to keep them spread, then lift to place a kiss on her lips. She tastes like cherries and sin.
Her tongue swirls around mine. I kiss her once, twice, and on the third peck, I pull away, moving my mouth to her jaw.
With slow movements, I trail a line down her neck, dipping my tongue in the hollow before moving to her exposed collarbone.
Since she still has her shirt on, I drop down, positioning myself to continue my exploring. When my mouth meets her skin this time, my teeth graze her soft flesh.
It drifts up, getting closer and closer to where she wants me, but I don’t go there. Instead, I trail kisses up and down her thigh.
Hands tug at my hair, and I look up to find Molly staring down at me, her eyes fiery with desire.
“Don’t you dare pull away again.” She groans as my tongue starts its descent in the opposite direction as she wants.
Her legs shake in protest. “Please.”
“Patience.” I lick my way back up, leaving goose bumps in my tongue’s wake.
A groan escapes her mouth, but I still don’t give her what she wants. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an asshole?”
“Wow, I didn’t know you were so impatient, Hex.” I chuckle against her skin.
I nip her thigh. Then I trace my tongue over her bare pussy lips, kissing the plump skin.
“Beg me to fuck you with my mouth.”
“No.”
I lean forward and blow on her swollen clit. Her whole body shudders. A primal moan escapes her lips.
I pull back. “Beg me, Molly.”
I peer up, catching her glassy gaze, mouth open in pleasure as she silently begs me with her eyes to get her off.
When she shakes her head, I move closer, running my tongue from the bottom of her slit to the top.
“Tell me what you want. And I’ll give it to you.”
“Fuck me with your tongue.”
“Good girl. Your wish is my command, wife.”
And I do. My lips move up, kissing her clit once before sucking it into my mouth.
A primal moan escapes her as I swap off between licking and sucking.
My tongue moves lower, leaving her clit and finding her dripping wet hole. I dip my tongue inside until she’s squirming against me, then I add a finger, replacing my tongue.
“Fuck, you’re so tight.”
My fingers push, curving upward to find her sweet spot, while my mouth latches back on to her clit.
“What I’d do to fuck you right here. Right now. Fuck. Your pussy is grasping my finger so tight. It’s begging to be fucked by my cock.”
“Just do it already,” she groans, making me chuckle.
“Is that what you want? For me to fuck you?” I press a firm kiss to her again, nipping this time. Driving her crazy.
“You’re all talk.”
“And you’re a needy little girl. But I’ll shut you up.” And with that, I return my mouth to her clit, pretending it’s her mouth and kissing her until she’s a mess.
“I’m coming.”
And she does, on my tongue, just like I wanted.
Fuck, she’s perfect.
And as I told her . . .
All mine.
And when she finally comes down from the high, I can’t help but ask, “Would it be the worst thing to stay married to me?”
“No,” she says sadly. “No, it would not.”