Chapter 49 Hillary #2
“I’ve got a pizza in the oven,” Murphy called over his shoulder as he moved into the kitchen. “It’ll be out in a second.”
She glanced down at the bag still slung over her shoulder. His gaze flicked to it, and that easy, boyish smile tugged at his mouth.
Hillary just smiled, shaking her head like she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Murphy chuckled and ducked into the kitchen.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. She pulled it out and saw Sydney’s name light up her screen.
Sydney - Lunch tomorrow? No game = no excuses.
Hillary exhaled a quiet laugh through her nose, thumbs hesitating over the keyboard before she typed back a quick Wouldn’t miss it. Then she slipped the phone into her purse, her attention pulling back toward the warmth spilling from the kitchen and the man who felt too good to be true.
Murphy came out balancing a steaming pizza on a wooden board. Hillary blinked, doing a double-take.
“That’s . . . homemade?” she asked, a little incredulous. She’d assumed it would be something pulled from a freezer, not something that smelled like an actual pizzeria.
Murphy smirked as he set it down on the coffee table. “Boss, if I’m gonna prove I can take care of you, I’m not feeding you frozen cardboard.”
Her chest squeezed at that, even as she rolled her eyes and sat down next to him. Finn flopped happily at their feet, nose twitching toward the crust.
As they both reached for slices, she tilted her head, studying him. “You had a good game tonight.”
He shrugged, casual. “Felt good, yeah. But honestly, everyone was clicking. Easy night when the whole team’s rolling.”
She gave him the look. The one she usually reserved for rookies trying to dodge a direct question at press conferences. “Murphy.”
He glanced up, caught by her tone, and saw the small smile tugging at her lips.
“Take the compliment,” she said firmly.
His ears pinked, and he gave in with a sheepish grin. “Okay. Yeah. I played pretty damn good.”
“That’s better,” she teased, leaning back against the couch.
They lingered over the last bites of pizza, both of them avoiding the question circling in the air. Hillary traced the rim of her wine glass with one finger before finally forcing the words out.
“Murphy, do you want to tell people?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’ve wanted to since the beginning.” His eyes softened as he leaned forward. “But it’s always been up to you.”
Her chest tightened with guilt. “I want to,” she admitted quietly. “I do. But can we start slow? I know it’s selfish, but this is hard for me. Growing up the way I did, keeping things private was the only way to keep them safe. But even still, I think I’m just a private person.”
She blew out a forceful breath as her fists balled. “No matter how I say it, it sounds selfish.”
He shook his head firmly. “It’s not selfish. It’s us.” Then his mouth curved into that smile that always disarmed her. “We’ll start small. Tell Sydney. What do you think?”
A shaky laugh escaped her. “Yeah, then we’ll take it from there.”
Later, with the pizza cleared away, it was just the two of them and their wine. The apartment glowed softly, Finn snoring in his dog bed. Hillary curled her legs under herself, watching Murphy stretch out beside her, his arm heavy and warm across the back of the couch.
For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t drowning in guilt or fear. She let herself breathe, let herself enjoy it. Just him. Just them.
Her phone buzzed again on the cushion beside her. Another message from Sydney clarifying the time and place for lunch tomorrow. Hillary bit her lip, then glanced at Murphy.
“It’s Sydney. She wants to go out tomorrow. Ummm . . . Do you want to go out to lunch with us tomorrow?”
Murphy’s brows lifted, his mouth quirking into the start of a smile. "Yes," he said instantly. “Does this mean we tell her?”
Hillary’s chest warmed at how careful he sounded, like he didn’t want to push. She smiled, softer than she meant to. “Yeah, we do.”
Something in his shoulders relaxed. He nodded, satisfied.
She typed a quick reply back to Sydney, confirming, then set her phone face down on the table. The quiet that followed stretched between them, but not uncomfortable. Just charged. He was close, warm, steady, watching her like she was the only thing in the room.
And she realized she didn’t want distance anymore. Not tonight. She wanted closer.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth before she could stop herself.
Murphy noticed—of course, he noticed—and leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that started slow, then deepened when she melted against him. The world narrowed to the press of his mouth, the slide of his hand along her thigh, the certainty of being exactly where she was supposed to be.
The first kiss gave way to another, deeper, until she was pressed back against the couch cushions and his weight hovered over her, careful but insistent. His hands slid under her blouse, calloused palms tracing reverent paths along her skin like he was memorizing every inch.
“You don’t know,” he murmured against her mouth, breath ragged. “You don’t know how many nights I wanted this. How many nights I dreamed about touching you.”
Her fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer. “Then show me.”
That was all the invitation he needed. He stripped her blouse away with a sure, steady touch, but not rushed, every button undone like a promise. His mouth followed, pressing slow kisses down the line of her throat, between her breasts, lower still, each one coaxing a shiver from her.
She tried to pull him up to her lips again, but he shook his head with a grin, kissing along her belly. “No, Boss. Not tonight. Tonight I’m going to worship your perfect body,” he said as he watched his hand slowly travel up her belly and back down.
And then it was.
Murphy worshiped her with lips and tongue and hands, tasting, savoring, praising her in rough whispers that undid her completely.
His strength—so often controlled, harnessed for the ice—was all for her now, holding her steady while he coaxed her higher and higher until she was trembling, her voice breaking on his name.
When he finally moved back up her body, his mouth claimed hers again, her tears mixing with his kiss: tears of release, of relief, of finally letting herself have this.
“I love you,” he said against her lips, the words raw and unguarded. “Every inch. Every curve. Every breath. You’re mine, Hillary. Let me prove it.”
And when he slid into her, slow and deep, it wasn’t just heat, it was devotion. He moved with a rhythm that worshiped, that promised, that undid every wall she had tried to build. His forehead pressed to hers, his whispers anchoring her: beautiful, perfect, mine.
By the time they collapsed together, sweaty and breathless, she could only clutch at him, knowing she would never be able to push him away again.
She slumped against the couch arm, still catching her breath, hair mussed and lips swollen. “All that before we even get to bed?”
Murphy just grinned, leaning down to steal another kiss before offering her his hand. His eyes sparkled, wicked and boyish all at once.
"There is much more where that came from," he said before pressing a kiss to her lips. “Perks of a younger guy,” he said with a wink.
She laughed, the sound shaky and disbelieving as he helped her up. God help her, she was already melting all over again. Because the look in his eyes didn’t just promise more, it promised everything.
And that was only the beginning.