24. March 25, Friday #2
He dropped his forehead to hers. “Yeah. Me too.”
Not a fix. Not a promise. Just agreement.
Then he kissed her and the ache turned molten.
Clothes came off in messy, urgent rhythm. He lifted her onto the desk. When he knelt at the edge, he was all intent, peppering her thighs with kisses until she could no longer pretend she wanted anything but what he was offering.
She squirmed. He smiled into her skin.
When he finally put his mouth where she wanted it, a ragged sound tore from her.
She braced herself on the desk, letting it take her weight, and lost the fight for control.
He didn’t let up. Not until her arms gave out and she sank back onto the desktop, sending a pencil cup clattering to the floor.
He stood, moving with her, hands sure as he closed the space between them again. She gave herself to him, again refusing to measure what it meant. He was reverent, patient, entirely present as they moved together.
When she came again, it landed deep and surprising, a hot, wordless release that left her arching hard off the desk. He backed off, let her breathe, then leaned over to press kisses against her skin as she came down.
“Exquisite,” he murmured into the crook of her neck.
She laughed, breathless. “If you say so.”
Sprawled across the desk, Zoey expected the familiar prickle of embarrassment. It didn’t come. Instead, she felt oddly solid. Strong. Fierce.
He straightened, grinning a little at the chaos—scattered pens, her wrinkled shirt, her skirt rucked up. Even so, she didn’t scramble to cover herself.
There wasn’t a doubt he was enjoying the view. Still, something had shifted. She’d lived through skinnier seasons and softer ones. This body was capable. Strong. Not broken.
“Careful,” Ilya warned, leaning over her. “You keep looking like the cat who got the cream, I might go for round two.”
Zoey waved him off, grinning. “I’m wondering how much boudoir photos cost and if we can shoot here…and on the ice.”
He growled and wrapped his arms around her, scooping her to sitting while kissing her fiercely. Zoey tasted herself on him and did not care.
“Can you take one more, Mama Bear?”
“Absolutely,” she answered.
He kissed her again, hands heavy and hot.
He was gentle as he eased inside her but took the hint when she pressed her nails into his back.
It wasn’t quiet. The desk thumped, she made sounds, but it wasn’t careless.
He watched her too closely to be careless, adjusting to every shift in her face like he was tracking the puck.
She clutched his shoulders and met him with equal desperation. The day’s teasing gave way to messy, impatient joining: the rough pull of his hands and her name spilling from his mouth like an accident.
When she came again, it was so strong that she just moaned into his open mouth, unable to focus on even the simple action of kissing. A moment later, he followed with a strangled curse and one final thrust, pulling his face away and burying it into her neck.
They cuddled together, tangled and panting. The room smelled of sex and her peppermint diffuser. A janitor’s cart squeaked in the hall; too far to panic, but close enough to remind them how stupid this was.
Just like the last few weeks: too many close calls, a decreasing level of care about being found.
Maybe being busted would make things easier––rip off the Band-Aid, so to speak. She’d ask him later.
“You okay?” he asked.
She let out a shaky laugh. “Is that always your one post-game interview question?”
He smiled but waited.
“Yes, Ilya. I’m perfect,” she whispered, trying not to show how much she adored him.
He cleaned her with tissues from the desk, smoothed her skirt, helped her ease back into her panties with careful fingers. The domesticity of aftercare—simple, exact—made something in her throat soften.
“Not a word,” Zoey warned as she wobbled to one leg.
“I saw nothing,” he promised, but his mouth twitched.
“You thought several words.”
“Many, actually.”
She stuck out her tongue, but he was already putting the desk back in order.
He looped her lanyard over her head and brushed the nape of her neck as he settled it. The small contact made her shiver.
“Is there anything I can help with so you can get out of here quicker?” he asked. “I wasn’t lying earlier. You really should rest more.”
“Hello, Pot,” she shot back.
He didn’t grin but waited, fingers brushing loose hair at her temples.
Zoey hugged him tight, face pressed to his chest, breathing in signature Ilya.
She had done more than her share of late nights over the last few weeks. Certainly more than anyone else in her department.
“Can I come to your place again tonight after I finish?” she asked.
“Always,” he said immediately.
“Do you even have clean clothes there for me to change into?”
Keeping track of switching over her laundry wasn’t one of her resume-listed strengths.
“If not, while you’re getting ready for bed, I’ll throw some in the wash and make sure they’re ready for morning. Not a soul will know.”
She closed her eyes and leaned against his chest, absorbing his warmth. Novel to have someone take care of her for a change.
“How much longer do you have?” he asked.
“If I buckle down, twenty minutes?” she guessed.
“Will a fresh coffee help?”
Her heart kicked. “Definitely.”
“Then I’ll get you a new cup.”
Easy.
Being with Ilya was easy. He could read her enough to anticipate a need; that felt dangerously wonderful.
He kissed her quickly, squeezed her hand, then unlocked the door.
The click sounded less like a fuse and more like the end of borrowed time.
“Be back in ten. Hop to it,” he bossed with a wink.
“You’re hilarious if you think you can get my order and be back in ten.”
A surprisingly haughty look crossed his features.
Zoey giggled.
“Time me then. I bet I’m back in ten.” Ilya challenged her.
“What do I get if you’re not?”
His look turned uncharacteristically serious. “Whatever you want.”
Electricity shot through her. “What do you want if you win?”
He stopped in the doorway, turned back. “Just you.”
She swallowed.
“Also,” he added, “they gave me their personal numbers weeks ago when I was picking up a coffee for you. If I order in the elevator and text when I’m in the alley, they’ll bring it out and I can avoid the fans. So, you’re on the losing side on this one, Mama Bear.”
He lingered a half-second, that open grin hitting somewhere only she felt, then slipped into the fluorescent quiet. The door shut.
Zoey sat a moment, hair wild, knees suddenly less reliable, listening to his footsteps fade.
After her heart reset to a normal rhythm, she returned to Nina’s changes, hoping she could finish fast enough that by the time Ilya returned with her drink she’d be ready to leave and get some rest. She rested best curled up to one particularly tall defenseman with pretty blue eyes.
The most dangerous thing about the last few weeks was suddenly very clear.
It wasn’t the secrecy.
It was that somewhere between locked doors and stolen minutes, this had stopped feeling temporary and she wasn’t sure what to do about that.