Chapter 21
Lucky
We barely make it to the couch before we’re tangled up—her mouth sealed to mine, her fingers curling into my shirt like she’s trying to anchor herself. Or maybe it’s me trying to stay grounded, because the second her lips part for me, everything else blurs.
The cushions dip as I lower her beneath my body, bracing one hand to keep most of my weight off. But I don’t want distance. Not from her.
Her hands are everywhere—my shoulders, my jaw, skimming under my shirt. I suck in a breath when her palm brushes my skin. I want to savor this. But it’s like my body has a mind of its own, tuned to her and only her.
I pull back just long enough to look at her. “Tell me if you want me to slow down.”
She’s breathless, eyes shining with amusement. “Why the hell would I want that?”
I lift a shoulder, offering a lopsided grin. “Seemed like the normal thing to ask?”
Winnie snorts and pushes at me playfully. “You’re the least normal person I know.”
There was a time that would’ve made me cringe, the allegation of normality. Because it was that distinct lack that was a mark against me. The woman who was afraid of reaching for more can now joke about it, and that’s how I know this will work.
My hand slides beneath her top, slow and reverent, and her back arches into me like she’s been waiting for that exact touch.
I push the shirt higher, letting my mouth find the curve of her neck, and when I finally tug the fabric off, it ends up somewhere behind the couch.
Mine follows a second later. Then it’s skin on skin and nothing has ever felt more right.
I take a deep breath and slow it down. I’ve thought about this—remembering what she feels like, sounds like, tastes like—and now that it’s real, I’m not rushing a damn thing.
I press kisses along her shoulder, down her chest, let my hands memorize every inch of her. She’s soft and warm and perfect, and when I murmur that she smells like vanilla and dirty words, she laughs—this quiet, breathy sound that heats my blood all over again.
Her jeans are next, and I take my time with those too, dragging the zipper down, easing them past her hips in a deliberate, unhurried move. She’s watching me, eyes wide, lips parted, and I swear I’ve never wanted anyone like this.
When my fingers slide between her thighs, I find her warm and wet. She bucks at my intrusion, groaning so deeply I feel it in my balls.
“You still with me?” I whisper.
“Barely.”
I grin, kissing the inside of her knee as I keep going, letting instinct and the way she responds guide me. I want to give her everything. Every touch. Every ounce of pleasure I’ve got in me.
I settle between her thighs with a sense of purpose—and maybe a bit of awe too.
She’s already writhing softly against the couch cushions, her legs open for me, and when I press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to her center, she gasps like I’ve given her oxygen.
Her fingers dive into my hair and tug, hard enough to sting a little—but I don’t mind. Not one bit.
The way she smells, the way she tastes… it’s the best kind of sensory overload. I glance up, catch the edge of her reaction—head tipped back, mouth open, eyes fluttering—and it spurs me on.
I shift slightly, using my thumbs to ease her open and bare the part of her that’s got my full attention. My breath hitches looking at her, glistening and pulsing for me.
I give her a slow lick, featherlight at first, and she lets out a sound I feel in my bones.
“Lucky …” She pants, voice already fraying at the edges.
I hum in response, pushing two fingers inside her, drawing a low moan from deep in her throat. She rocks her hips up to meet the rhythm, and I let my thumb join in the mix—pressing just where I know she needs it most.
I take another glance—her body stretched before me, every inch of her alive with motion. Her hands grip the cushions like she’s barely holding on.
My mouth returns to her with more intent now, teasing and coaxing, slowly building the tension. She’s so responsive, so expressive—it’s like her whole body is talking to me.
And I’m listening.
It’s all about the pressure, motion, rhythm—until she’s trembling, one breath away from unraveling. I close my lips around that one perfect spot and pull gently.
That’s all it takes.
She cries out, voice cracking on my name as she comes apart. It’s wild and raw and honest, and it wrecks me.
I really, really like the sound of my name on her lips.
I kiss my way back up to her mouth, greedy for the taste of her, and she tugs at my waistband with shaking hands.
“I want you,” she murmurs.
There’s no hesitation. I reach for my wallet, grab the condom I stuck in there earlier and make quick work of it. Then I settle between her thighs, pause to look at her, flushed and waiting, her hands limp on her belly.
And then I’m inside her.
Everything tilts.
Winnie’s hands move to my ass and she digs her fingernails in. Her eyes hold mine as I brace my hand beside her head and press the other to her hip, anchoring us both. I move slow—deep—kissing her between every thrust like I’m trying to memorize how she falls apart.
She threads her fingers through my hair and pulls me closer, and I let go. Just a little. Just enough to lose myself in the feel of her.
It builds in waves. The tension. The hunger. The fucking need.
When she finally breaks beneath me, crying out my name for a second time, I follow right after, gritting the pleasure through clenched teeth and a deep, feral growl in my chest. The world narrows to the two of us and nothing else.
We stay like that—tangled up, foreheads pressed together, trying to catch our breaths.
After a few long beats, she whispers, “Okay.” Licks her lower lip. “That was… intense.”
I chuckle, still dazed. “Yeah,” I murmur, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “Nowhere near normal.”
“Fuck normality,” she whispers, her hands stroking my lower back.
Laughing, I tilt my head and bury it in her neck, pressing a soft kiss to her vanilla-scented skin. “It’s getting late. Can I stay?”
“Of course,” she murmurs.
“Good… because we’re going to do that one more time. Need to get my fill before the road trip. Not sure how we’ll survive three and a half days without this.”
She giggles, looking coy. “I believe it’s called your fist and my vibrator.”
I was not expecting that and the thought of Winnie, lying in her bed at night, pleasuring herself while thinking of me… okay, we may need to fuck at least two more times tonight.
Lifting up on my elbows, I stare down at her. “On a scale of one to ten, how uncomfortable were you tonight with the team?”
Her eyes soften, I think appreciative that I’d ask. “To start out, it was pretty close to ten. But before long, I felt like part of the gang.”
“Good,” I say with a satisfied smile. “Because that’s what I wanted.”
“Me too,” she admits and then wiggles under me. “How about we get ready for bed? I want to get Buttermilk settled and I need to wash my face and brush my teeth.”
I pop off the couch, pulling her up with me.
She takes the en suite bathroom and I clean up in the guest one, even using a fresh toothbrush she said was in the drawer, with the promise to meet back in her room.
I go fully commando naked when I climb under the covers.
Maybe I can leave a few things of mine over here, but I’ll ask her about it first. I often think we’re on the same page, but I don’t like to assume.
When Winnie comes out of the bathroom, her head is bent over her phone, the expression on her face guarded.
“What’s up?” I ask as she moves toward me. She’s wearing a simple tank top and short set and her hair is in a high ponytail.
She settles on the edge of the bed, her face scrunched as she stares at her phone. “I, um… I posted a TikTok while we were at Jerry’s tonight, sort of giving a confessional… you know, how vulnerable I was feeling. I tagged you.”
Her gaze rises to meet mine. I hadn’t seen it yet, but I could guess how it went. A self-deprecating admission she was feeling out of her league. “Yeah… that’s your schtick, right? And meeting the team for the first time, I imagine it was appropriate.”
“Right,” she says in a low voice. “It’s just… the comments are more nasty than supportive.”
There’s something about the tone in her voice that puts me on edge. Winnie and I have talked plenty about the dark side of putting yourself out there, how things aren’t always sunshine, lollipops and rainbows. Because people can be brutal.
“Let me see,” I say, not really asking but taking her phone from her hands. I hadn’t seen the TikTok yet, so I pause to watch it.
She’s in the bar’s bathroom, looking beautiful and confounded. I love that look on her.
“Okay… real talk from the women’s room…”
The words reach me, but I watch her expression, that mixture of vulnerability and resolve. She tells it like she sees it, wondering if she’s where she belongs.
“But I do belong here with him.”
That’s the part I focus on, because that’s all that matters. As long as she can see the good down the line, I know Winnie is strong enough to withstand the negativity.
Still, I’m dreading the comments, and my stomach tightens as I read through them.
@truthhurtsalways: You do realize this pity party doesn’t make you relatable—it makes you desperate.
@glam4days: Girl, if you can’t handle the heat, maybe don’t date someone famous for clout.
@realonesonly: Okay but why is she acting like a victim? You’re literally dating a millionaire hockey player.
@brutalhonesty101: This is what happens when average girls think they’re main character material.
@facecarddeclined: No offense, but you look rough. Maybe stick to private breakdowns next time.
I can’t read anymore, fury sweeping through me. My eyes rise to meet Winnie’s, who stares back at me with a curious expression. “I’m sorry… there are some absolute douches in this world.”
She lifts a shoulder. “I know this is part of it. I know what you and I signed up for with this, and it’s not all bad. It’s just… a little hard to read sometimes. I think I might stop looking at the comments.”
“We can stop posting about this dating experiment, Winnie. Neither of us has to prove anything to anyone.”
Her smile lights up her eyes. “I know and thank you for that. And it’s a good option, but I’d like to see it through. My followers—the ones who support me—love this content. I don’t want to let them down.”
I nod, handing her phone back. She plugs it into the bedside charger and I lift the covers to beckon her in. She doesn’t blink at my nakedness and I think it’s adorable she’s wearing pajamas. She yawns as she scoots into me and I pull her halfway onto my body so her head rests on my chest.
One arm around her, I give her a squeeze. “What do you want to do for our third date tomorrow?”
We’d agreed to do something since I’m leaving on the road trip the next day.
“I’m open to anything,” she replies. I hear the fatigue in her voice and she has to get up early tomorrow. Maybe I shouldn’t keep her awake all night with sex.
“How about you invite me over to dinner to meet your parents? I know you normally have dinner on Sundays, but since I’ll be gone, maybe tomorrow?”
Her head lifts and she’s clearly surprised. “You want to meet my parents?”
“I mean… isn’t that what people do when they’re dating?”
“Yeah… at some point. But like… are you sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure. I’ve got two more dates to wow you with my complete normality. Meeting the parents is a classic.”
Winnie shakes her head, chuckles and then settles back against me. “Okay… I’ll call my mom tomorrow and see if they’re available.”
I don’t fall asleep right away, but Winnie drifts off fast. After about fifteen minutes, I ease out from under her and she rolls onto her stomach.
I nab my phone from my pants pocket and pull up TikTok.
I open Winnie’s profile and don’t bother watching her last video again, instead going straight to the comments.
I settle back down against the pillows, angling slightly away from her so the light doesn’t wake her up.
@icequeenxo: She’s clearly not built for this world. Crying in a bathroom? Embarrassing. Weak.
I consider the words, trying to tell myself to be nice. And then I respond.
@LuckyBranson: You’re entitled to your opinion, but here’s mine—Winnie’s the strongest person I know. Vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s honesty. And I’ll take real over perfect any day.
I post it and move on to the next comment.