Chapter 35
Gail
T he entrance to Magnitude looms before us, a gaping maw ready to swallow us whole into its pulsating belly. We bypass the line, and head inside, where the air is thick with the scent of sweat and perfume, a cocktail of desire and indulgence.
Strobe lights dance across the sea of bodies, making my head pound in time with the bass that reverberates through the floor. My senses are engulfed; the music is a living thing, wrapping around us, pulling us deeper into the heart of Magnitude.
“Over here!” Luce calls out, guiding us toward the shadowy recesses of the VIP section. It’s a darker world within a world, where the silhouettes of the Sabertooths players lounge like kings in their court. Puck bunnies circle like satellites, drawn in by the gravitational force of fame and testosterone.
“Look who’s here!” one of the players shouts over the music as we approach, his words slurred slightly by alcohol or excitement—it’s hard to tell which. Glasses clink, and a bottle finds its way into my hand.
“It’s only water,” Lucia nudges me with her elbow, her eyes sparkling with the reflections of laser lights. She’s home here among the revelry, a natural part of the ecosystem.
I take a tentative sip, yep, definitely just water. It’s a bit depressing to be the only one here who isn’t having any alcohol, but it is what it is.
“Here’s to the Sabertooths!” someone yells.
“Fuck that. Mickey’s the hero of tonight’s game,” another shouts, and glasses lift in unison, a small galaxy of stars toasting to the triumph we all felt earlier in the arena.
They’re not wrong, watching Mickey tonight as the Sabertooths went head-to-head with the Jags was really something. He was like… a god amongst mortals. Ugh, there’s no denying how much I loved seeing him like that on the ice. It was like foreplay.
Another thing I loved was putting Simone in her place. I don’t need to know her to know I have nothing but contempt for her. She’s a predator, expecting the world to be her playground and accommodate her. I hadn’t planned on meddling when she approached Mickey, but… I couldn’t just stand by and watch. She’s why he’s treating me like shit. And while I won’t excuse his behavior, I now know the reason for it.
The beat pulses like a second heartbeat, throbbing through the floor and into my bones. The lights of Magnitude swirl, a kaleidoscope of color bleeding into the shadows where the VIP section huddles. I lean back against the plush leather of the booth, the bottle in my hand slick with condensation.
“Is this your first time at Magnitude?” Soren’s voice cuts through the cacophony, his grin as sharp as the edge of a skate blade. He lounges with an ease that speaks of many nights spent exactly like this one—victorious and venerated.
“Is it that obvious?” I shout back over the music, quirking an eyebrow.
Mickey, never straying far, leans in from the other side, the scent of his cologne mingling with the adrenaline still clinging to him from the game. “You’ve got that wide-eyed look,” he teases, nudging my shoulder with his own. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you.”
“Like you took care of the opposition tonight?” I retort, a playful spark igniting within me. Their laughter is a rich sound, confident and contagious.
“Exactly like that,” Soren says with a wink, clinking his bottle against mine. “To the victors go the spoils.”
Mickey licks his lips. “And I owe you for slapping Simone.”
“That,” I say, locking eyes with him, “was my pleasure.”
Before either of us can say anything else, Luce appears out of nowhere, grabbing my hand. “Come on,” she laughs, her energy a force all its own as she pulls me toward the dance floor. “We can’t let these boys have all the fun.”
With a glance back at Soren and Mickey, who raise their bottles in a silent salute, I follow Luce into the fray. Our bodies move to the rhythm, and I lose myself in the music, in the ebb and flow of the crowd. Lucia is a wildfire, her movements uninhibited and fierce.
We dance for several songs, and I’m just about to cry for mercy when Soren joins us, his presence magnetic as he slides between us. “Mind if I cut in?” he asks, though it’s clear he doesn’t expect to be denied.
Luce laughs, the sound bright and full of mischief. “Try not to break her,” she tosses over her shoulder, her eyes seeking Sawyer in the sea of faces.
Soren’s hands find my hips, guiding me with a gentle pressure that belies the strength in his grip. We dance, our moves shadowing each other, a push and pull that mimics the chase of the game. The warmth of his body seeps into mine, chasing away the last remnants of chill from the ice arena.
“Are you feeling it now?” he murmurs close to my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
“Feeling what?” I manage to ask, my thoughts scattering as a delicious shiver runs down my spine.
“That.” His smile is a flash in the dimness, confident and knowing. Before pulling away, he licks the length of my neck, blowing air onto the wet patch he’s created.
Goosebumps erupt across my skin, and I’m acutely aware of how labored my breathing has become. “Soren.” I mean to sound stern, but his name comes out as a whimper.
His eyes darken, his lips pulling up at the corner in a knowing smirk. “Yes?”
Closing my eyes, I shake my head, using the small moment to mentally steady myself. “Stop playing with me,” I whisper.
As I reopen my eyes, he’s closer than before, having moved while I wasn’t looking. His grip tightens on my waist. His eyes trail the movement of my tongue as I wet my lips, and I feel so lost in him I move closer. “Who says I’m playing?” he rasps. “But if I were, it would be for keeps. I never play for less.”
There’s something infused into his words, something I can’t decipher, but it still makes me feel… possessed and treasured.
Then, before I can really process what we’re doing, he closes the small distance between us. He fuses his lips to mine, kissing me softly. I sigh in contentment, and the moment my lips part, his tongue slides into my mouth. My hands fist in his suit jacket, pushing him closer as I moan into his mouth.
“Soren.”
He growls in answer, his hips grinding against me, sending an electric current through my entire body.
“Mind if I join you?” Mickey’s voice teases from behind, his hands landing lightly on my shoulders before slipping to my front, cupping my slightly protruding stomach. There’s a moment of adjustment, a new balance found as Soren strokes my tongue one last time before pulling back, keeping his hands on my hips in a bruising hold.
“Couldn’t have waited another minute or two, dickhead?” he sneers at Mickey, who just laughs.
“No,” Mickey answers easily. “I have to thank her.”
My eyes widen. “T-thank me?” I ask, turning my head so I can watch him over my shoulder.
He nods slowly, deliberately holding my gaze. “What you did tonight…” Trailing off, he swallows thickly. “Why?”
Even though I haven’t had a lick of alcohol, I feel buzzed and it takes me a second to find my voice. “I didn’t like seeing her touching you,” I admit. Then I shake my head, because that’s not the real reason. “I know what she did to you, and it pissed me off seeing her approaching you.”
“Jealous, baby?” Soren smirks.
“No,” I hiss, my immediate knee-jerk reply.
I don’t think what Simone stirred in me was petty jealousy; it was so much more than that. I wanted to hurt her because of how she hurt Mickey, just as I wanted her to stop touching him because… because… dammit, because I should be the only one allowed to do that.
“Okay, maybe I was a little jealous. I didn’t like seeing anyone else touch Mickey.” I hope they can hear the sincerity in my tone. To my surprise, Soren looks a little sour at my admission. “I don’t want anyone touching you either,” I add, wondering if that’s what’s bothering him, and when he grins, I know I was spot on in my assumption.
Mickey tightens his grip on my hips and grinds himself against my ass. “Why?” he asks on a rasp. “Tell us why you don’t want anyone else to touch us.”
A part of me wants to change the subject, deny what’s been in my heart for months, since I first laid eyes on them at O’Jackie’s months ago, what bloomed and blossomed with every touch and every kiss at Cupid’s Court. But I don’t want to, not anymore. Now that they know I didn’t lie, that they really are going to be dads to our beautiful baby girl, I can finally acknowledge the way I feel about them.
“Because you’re mine,” I confess, arching my back to invite more of Mickey’s grinding, and stretching so I can wind my arms around Soren’s neck, keeping him close. “And I want to be yours.”
“Really?” Soren asks, sounding doubtful, but also hopeful.
“Yes,” I nod eagerly.
I can feel Mickey’s grin against my shoulder. “You’re already ours,” he rasps.
The way they are with me now is so different from the guys who took me home from Cupid’s Court without giving me a choice. Sometimes, when I let myself think about it, like now, I feel foolish for believing them when they’re being sweet. But on the other hand, I don’t want to live my life second-guessing everything. Besides, I’ve seen the change in them; in their words and actions, and that’s all I need.
“I forgive you.” Since they’re not in my head and can’t hear my thoughts, I can only imagine how random the words sound, so I do my best to explain. “For what you did to me after I told you I was pregnant. I… I forgive you.”
Both guys immediately let go of me, like they can’t stomach touching me, which isn’t at all the reaction I was expecting. “You do?” Mickey asks, shock coating his tone as he moves so he stands in front of me, shoulder-to-shoulder with Soren.
“Yes,” I confirm, nodding.
To my surprise, their expressions shift into something that resembles chagrin, which doesn’t make any sense at all. Before I can ask about it, Soren says, “Yeah, about that—”
“About what?” I question, interrupting him.
Mickey inhales sharply. “The owner showed up at the doctor’s as a favor to us.”
“He… what?” I ask, confused. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
The look Soren gives me is filled with so much trepidation my stomach tightens and my breath hitches. “We didn’t trust you,” he murmurs so softly I barely hear him. “So we asked him to help us make sure you stayed with us.”
What. The. Hell.
“You played me,” I whisper, dumbstruck at my own stupidity. “Oh my God!”
I try to move away, but two sets of hands root me in place, making it impossible for me to get away from them. “We did,” Mickey confirms, and at least he has the good grace to sound like he feels bad about it. “But we figured it was… err, the best way?” I’m assuming the question is rhetorical, so I don’t answer.
“We didn’t like having to lock you up,” Soren admits. “So it seemed like the best option.”
A cold, cynical laugh is ripped from my throat. “Yeah. It sure as hell beats asking me, doesn’t it?”
“Would you have said yes?” Mickey asks, and when I shrug, he adds, “Be honest.”
Sighing, I force myself to consider the question. As much as I’d like to think I would have been open and reasonable, I’m pretty sure the answer is no. “Probably not,” I admit. “But if you’d asked back at Cupid’s Court instead of just taking me with you, then I think I woulda.”
To my surprise, Mickey lets out a husky laugh. “That’s fair.”
“Nothing about this is fair,” I hiss. “You’re not fair. You’re not even nice. But none of that matters compared to what I’ve just realized.”
“Which is?” Soren asks.
“I’m not the only one who needs to earn something,” I say, doing my best to stare them down. Which is pretty much impossible since they’re well over six feet and I’m only five-foot-six without my heels. And even with the stilettos, I’m nowhere near their six-foot-four frames.
“I don’t need to fucking earn anything,” Mickey growls.
I smile slyly. “You do,” I say. “You need to earn my forgiveness and your way into my good graces if you ever want to touch me again.”
Soren takes a step closer. “We know you want us,” he growls.
Shrugging, I say, “I never said I didn’t. But just because my body’s hormonal and in a constant stage of wanting release doesn’t mean you don’t have to earn the right. At Cupid’s Court all you had to do was pay me, so I continued our little tradition. But we’re beyond that now. So if you want to touch me, earn it.”
Now that I’ve finished my speech, I spin on my heels and walk away from them. I only manage three steps before I’m hauled back against a wall of muscles. “Where do you think you’re going?” Mickey rasps. “I told you I needed to thank you.”
“Mickey,” I gasp, wobbling on my heels.
Soren’s hands steady me as he sandwiches me between him and his friend. “Stick around,” he quips, and the three of us fall into a dance that’s less about steps and more about the primal give-and-take of movement. It’s a grinding rhythm, bodies pressed close enough to share secrets with every twist and turn.
The scent of their cologne fills my senses, intoxicating me further than any drink could. Soren’s hand slides up my side, a whisper of touch over the exposed skin, while Mickey mirrors the motion on my other side. They are bookends of desire, framing me in a narrative I can’t help but fall into.
“Damn, Gail, you’re something else,” Soren murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
Mickey leans in from the other side, his breath hot on my neck. “Yes,” he confirms in a husky tone. “Definitely something else.”
I tilt my head back, caught between them, a willing captive to this dance that simmers with each of our movements. The world narrows down to the space we occupy; everything else is just shadows at the edge of this vivid, pulsing reality.
“Well,” I say, swallowing down my nerves. “Rumor has it hockey players have a lot of energy after a win.”
“That’s true,” Soren chuckles. “Too much, really.”
“Makes us able to go all night,” Mickey adds, like I didn’t already know that.
I barely recognize my own voice as I rasp, “Show me.”
The bass thumps against the walls, a throbbing heartbeat in sync with my own. Soren’s hand clasps mine, his grip sure and confident. Mickey’s fingers entwine with my other hand, and together, they guide me away from the pulsating dance floor. The crowd parts like a sea of shadows, all eyes on us, or maybe just feeling like it.
“Somewhere more private,” Soren murmurs. There’s a sinful undertone to the words, making my core clench in anticipation.
“Where we won’t be interrupted,” Mickey adds, his voice a wicked promise that curls around me like smoke.
We slip into a dark corner of the club, hidden from prying eyes by a velvet curtain that sways slightly with the air stirred up by the moving bodies. There’s a charged silence here, punctuated only by muffled sounds of music and distant laughter.
I’m once again sandwiched between them, their bodies like iron rods heated by the furnace of the night. Soren’s hands travel up, boldly cupping my breasts. “No bra,” he growls as his thumbs tease my nipples until I can’t help but moan.
Behind me, Mickey mirrors the movement, grabbing my ass and squeezing until I whimper. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” Mickey rasps, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “You have no idea the things I want to do to you.” His words paint vivid images that flash in my mind’s eye—sweaty, tangled limbs and whispered dirty promises.
“I have some idea,” I quip.
“Bet you love this, don’t you?” Soren’s tone is both taunt and caress, and when I grind back against him, seeking friction, he chuckles, low and wicked. “Yeah, you do.”
Heat pools low in my belly as their hard lengths press against me, a double-edged reminder of what I’ve asked for. I’m caught up in the moment, the scent of their cologne mixing with the musky smell of desire that clings to us all.
“Let us make you feel good, Gail. You won’t regret it,” Soren whispers enticingly, his mouth trailing down my throat, nipping lightly at the skin there.
The sound of someone laughing nearby pulls me out of the trance I’ve been under. I still want them, but not here. “Take me home,” I demand, my voice still thick with want, which is good as it doesn’t betray the fact that this is the last time I’ll go there with them.