19. Emmy
NINETEEN
We get blownout by Chicago.
As a team, we’re off-kilter.
That cohesiveness we had my first week on the Stars disappeared, and it might be my fault.
Frustrations were high during intermissions in the locker room, and when the final buzzer sounded, Maverick stormed out of the arena like a kid who didn’t get his way.
The ride back to the hotel was silent, and after a quick debrief with Coach and instructions to be in the lobby at seven tomorrow morning for our flight home, we all went our separate ways.
Connor, Grant and Ethan invited me out to dinner, but I took the room service route. A bowl of spaghetti the size of my head and a glass of red wine in the peace and quiet is so much more appealing than a loud restaurant.
There’s also a pint of chocolate chip in the mini freezer, and the only things I plan to do the rest of the night involve a couple of episodes of reality television and the vibrator hidden in my suitcase.
I shovel the last bite of pasta in my mouth and toss my used napkins in the trash can. I grab my toy from my bag and stretch out on the bed, clicking it on.
I’ve been wound up tight the last couple of days. From the losses, to not playing well, to the conversation with Maverick I keep replaying in my head, I know a quick orgasm will help relieve the tension I’m holding on to.
I don’t know the last time I touched myself, but god, it already feels good to turn my brain off and relax into the pleasure. I tease my nipples with the toy then drag it down to my shorts. The vibrations pulse against my clit, and a soft moan slips free.
Before I can sink into the mind-numbing bliss, a knock on my door has me throwing my toy in the air.
It nearly hits the ceiling then lands in the middle of the bed, still humming as I hear a louder knock.
I really can’t catch a break.
“Shit.” I turn off the vibrator and shove it under a pillow. “Who is it?”
“Open up, Hartwell,” a familiar voice says.
I narrow my eyes and jump off the bed, stalking toward the door. I open it and find Maverick standing there, looking obscenely attractive in his gray sweatpants and plain white shirt. The ends of his hair are wet, and there’s a small red mark on his cheekbone.
“Can I help you?” I ask politely, three seconds away from slamming the door in his face.
“We need to talk.” His dark eyes sweep over the shorts and tank top I slipped into after my shower, and he lets out a shallow breath. “Now.”
Maverick squeezes past me without an invitation inside. His hip grazes against mine as he makes his way into my room, and I don’t bother arguing with him.
“Why are you here?” I close the door and flip the deadbolt. “Does curfew not apply to you?”
“What the hell happened out there tonight?” He paces around the small living room and glares at me. “You were slow as shit.”
I laugh and push the strap of my shirt up my shoulder. He follows the movement, and his eyes gleam a shade darker. “I guess we’re getting everything out in the open, aren’t we?”
“You didn’t pass to me. Three separate times you went to someone else.”
“Because Seymour had the better shot, you selfish ass. Do you make room calls for everyone so you can criticize their playmaking? Or am I the only one lucky enough to be interrogated by you today?”
Maverick stops pacing. He steps toward me, his stride quick and determined. Before I can take a breath, my back is against the wall.
His hands rest on either side of my head, caging me in with nowhere to go, and a spark of adrenaline races up my spine.
“No,” he says, and I feel the word everywhere. “For some goddamn reason, I can’t get you out of my fucking head.”
“And that’s my fault?” I whisper.
“You’re maddening. Impossible to read.” He touches my cheek. Drags his finger down my jaw with exquisite care. “The most annoying person I’ve ever met.”
“Yet here you are, pinning me against a wall.” I lift my chin, and our gazes collide. “Why aren’t you walking away? You did yesterday.”
Maverick blows out an exhale. It sounds like it’s pulled from the trenches of his soul. Like he’s reluctant to let it go.
“I don’t want to walk away,” he says lowly. “Not anymore.”
“What—” I lick my lips, and he follows that movement too. “What do you want?”
There’s a beat of silence, and I wonder if he’ll ignore the obvious invitation I’ve laid at his feet.
Asking him to stay would be the stupidest idea I’ve ever had, but I’ve been so lonely lately.
It seems like this moment is inevitable, like everything has been leading to here since he invited me back to his apartment the first day we met.
If not tonight, then eventually, and now that he’s right in front of me, I really don’t want him to go.
“You,” he says, and it’s so soft, I think I might have misheard him. “Can I have you, Emmy?”
Emmy.
Not Red.
Not Hartwell.
Emmy.
My breath catches. My heart trips and stutters over itself. A little m gets carved out in my chest, an incision in a spot no one else has ever found.
Now it belongs to him.
“Yes,” I say, and his eyes twinkle as bright as stars in the midnight sky. “You can have me.”
Neither of us move.
It’s like we’re both waiting to see who will give up their power first. Who will call out the other’s bluff.
But the next thing I know, his mouth is on mine.
It’s rough and messy. A feverish press of his lips. The swipe of my tongue against his. A low sound working its way up his throat when I run my fingers through his hair and tug.
“Jesus,” Maverick mumbles.
“I think the time for Jesus has passed,” I say.
He lifts me off the ground and splays his hand over my ribcage. His thumb strokes along the underside of my breast, a tortuous drag that makes me want to scream at him.
“Do that again,” he tells me.
I pull on the ends of his hair, the longer strands that brush against his ear. His skin flushes a dark red, and he hisses when I leave hot kisses down his neck.
“What?” I ask. “This?”
“Emerson.” He presses me into the wall, and I feel him hard between my legs. Long, thick, and absolutely distracting. A painting of the Golden Gate Bridge tips sideways. His hand folds around the back of my head to stop me from stabbing myself on the corner of the canvas. “What are we doing?”
“I don’t know.” I roll my hips and a sigh slips out of me. I could get off like this: the friction from the seam of my shorts. His fingers stroking my ass. “You started it.”
“And you aren’t stopping it.”
“Because I’m horny and your dick against my thigh is better than the vibrator I shoved under my pillows when you almost knocked down my door.”
“Hang on.” Maverick pulls back and looks at me. There’s a bead of sweat on his forehead, and his pupils are blown wide. “Are you okay with this?”
“The talking? Not particularly. I can think of a dozen other things I’d rather be doing, and half of them involve your fingers.”
“What do the other half involve?”
My eyes bounce to the front of his sweatpants, and I lift an eyebrow. “Want to find out?”
His laugh is soft and boyish, and he kisses me again.
This kiss is lazier. A slow, sensual burst of lust as he takes his time with me.
He guides my arms above my head. My legs wrap around his waist. His lips glide against mine, coaxing them open so he can sink his teeth into my bottom lip.
I moan at the sting and quick bite of pleasure. Maverick answers with a pleased hum that rivals a wildfire as it burns its way through me.
“Are we doing this?” He bends his neck and moves his mouth to my shirt. He sucks on my nipple through the cotton, soaking the material until it sticks to my skin in a translucent haze. “Are you ready to admit that you want me, Hartwell?”
“Fuck.” I wiggle against him, and he presses my hands harder into the wall.
“That wasn’t a yes or no.”
“Why not? Maybe your dick will make me hate you a little less.”
“I have a nice dick. No complaints, ever.” Maverick moves to my other nipple and sucks on the pointed peak. Rolls his tongue over the thin fabric, and heat builds at the base of my spine. “And you could never hate me.”
“I hate you more than I hate anyone else,” I say, but when he bites the soft flesh of my breast, we both know I’m a liar.
“Is that why you’re grinding against me, Red? Why you’re getting my sweatpants all wet? Because you hate me?”
“Yes.” I move my hips in a circle and gasp when the tip of his cock brushes against my clit. “But I’d like you a whole lot more if you got on your knees like a good boy and showed me you know how to use your tongue and fingers for something less annoying than running your mouth. If not, I have no problem making you sit in a chair and watch while I get off from eight inches of silicone.”
“Well, shit.” His thumb strokes my collarbone then the line of my throat. “Sounds like heaven on earth.”
“Rules,” I say. I try to break my wrists from his hold, but he doesn’t let me budge. “This is a one-night thing.”
“It’ll probably help us on the ice. We can fuck out the tension between us and be good as new.”
“It’s only fucking. I don’t date hockey players.”
“And I don’t date period. I’ve never been with the same woman twice.”
“Then this will be easy. It’s just sex. You leave as soon as we’re finished. We don’t speak of this ever again, and we don’t let it affect our professional roles.”
“Deal. Last time you were tested?”
“Six months ago. Everything was negative, and I haven’t been with anyone since. You?”
“Over a month ago. Also negative.”
I bob my head in some sort of nod, not sure what else to say.
“Have I finally figured out a way to shut you up, Red?” Maverick murmurs. “A way to keep your smart mouth from running all the fucking time?”
“There are other ways to shut me up, but here we are. Still against a wall when I could be choking on your cock.”
He grins, and gosh, it’s a devastating thing.
Maverick walks us to the bed and drops me on the mattress. From the way his tongue sneaks out of his mouth as he watches me, I know he’s going to be thorough when he finally touches me.
He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. I can’t help but study the lines of his body when he’s bare-chested. The artwork on his arm and the dark hair trailing down his torso. The deep cut of muscles across his stomach, and how his silver necklace sparkles under the lamplight.
My throat goes dry.
Maverick Miller is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
“You’re staring,” he says, and there’s pride in his tone.
My eyes snap up to meet his. “I am not.”
“It’s okay to think I’m hot, Hartwell. You can tell me about it when I’m on top of you.”
“I don’t think you’re hot.”
“Liar.” He runs a hand up my calf. His fingers reach the hem of my shorts, and he gives them a gentle tug. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“You. I’ve never gotten to see so much of you.”
I pull off my shirt and throw it with his. “So why aren’t you looking at me?”
“Because you didn’t tell me I could look.” His thumbs hook in the waistband of his sweatpants, and he works them down his thighs. “Until you do, I’m just going to stare at your pretty face.”
I don’t know what I thought sex with Maverick would be like, but it’s not this.
Him talking about consent when I’m half naked in front of him. His erection pressing against his briefs and my hand dangerously close to slipping into my underwear.
“You think I’m pretty?” I ask, taking a line from his playbook.
“Nah.” He breaks into another grin, and there’s a pang in the center of my chest. Between my legs, too. “I think you’re fucking gorgeous.”
“You can look at me,” I say, and he steps closer. “If you want.”
“I want. More than I’ve ever wanted anything else,” Maverick says, rough and low, and I believe him.
His eyes move away from my face. They drop to my chest and he lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a moan and a whine. The hand at his side flexes before he adjusts himself over the outside of his briefs.
He licks his lips again, a man starved. “Take off your shorts.”
I wiggle out of the flimsy pajama bottoms and kick them away, leaving me in a pair of lacy purple underwear. My toes scrunch against the sheets, and I’m itching to touch him.
Maverick brushes his knuckles against the inside of my thigh, then curls his fingers around my ankles. He tugs me toward the edge of the bed, and I sit up.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“You said you wanted me on my knees.” He drops a kiss to my shin, then kneels on the ground in front of me. “And I’ve always liked being a good boy.”