Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
MORGAN
“Can you do me a favor?” I ask the woman at the reception desk when we check into the hotel in Denver two days later. “Would you mind putting me in a room close to a stairwell?”
“Sure, let me see what I have,” she says, tapping her mouse a few times.
I’m trying not to lay my head down on the wooden counter while I wait. Our flight was delayed because of some thunderstorms in Boston, and while we all got our keys from operations as we entered the lobby, I decided to stop at the front desk to see if they might be able to switch my room.
“You good, Morgan?” I hear AJ call from behind me, and turn to find her and McCabe standing there. Everyone else seems to have headed up to their rooms already.
“Yeah, just seeing if I can get a room closer to the stairs. I have this weird anxiety about needing to be near an exit in hotels. You guys go ahead.”
“All right. You can make that request with operations for future stays, so you don’t have to wait when we arrive,” she says.
I already did that before my last trip, but given that I wasn’t supposed to travel for this game, I’m stuck with the room that was originally booked for Natalie. “Call if you need anything.”
“Will do,” I say, turning back to the front desk and briefly closing my eyes as I stand there waiting for a new room assignment.
I wouldn’t be so dead tired if I hadn’t been up half of last night dealing with yet another PR emergency. While this one cut my beach weekend with Aidan short, at least this time it wasn’t his fault.
Instead, my darling, talented social media intern fucked up big time and now her future with the team is quite uncertain.
When I’d told her I’d be “on call” if she needed me during Saturday night’s game, I certainly didn’t expect to get a text from her saying: I’m so sorry. I messed up so bad. Nor did I expect a text from AJ, explaining the situation, to follow.
Apparently, while I was busy getting railed by Aidan in the shower after our beach dinner, Natalie was distracted during a game and accidentally posted a picture of her and our superstar rookie, Jake MacIntyre, in bed together rather than the image the team photographer had sent her.
Why she had the team’s social media account open on her personal phone instead of the one we gave her, is a mystery I may never know the answer to because AJ and Patrick are dealing with this, and I’ve been instructed not to speak to her while HR “investigates” the situation.
I feel partially responsible for not properly talking to her about etiquette around the players.
I can’t help but feel like I should have been the kind of mentor that sat her down and said, “Hey, here’s what you need to know about being a woman in professional sports.
” I should have explained to her that as an intern, it was imperative that she not sleep with anyone on the team.
I assumed that HR had talked to her about how to remain professional around the players.
When Aidan and I first realized we worked together, I set up hard and fast professional boundaries . . . but then I crossed them. Normally, my sense of right and wrong is a little too strong, but around him, it completely fails me.
I’ve given myself all kinds of reasons why our situation is different—that we’d already had sex before we knew any of the ways we were connected, that our relationship is entirely outside of our professional commitments, and that because we are keeping things casual it’s okay.
But did I hold back because it would have felt hypocritical to have that talk with Natalie? And if so, is what happened to her partially my fault?
“I’ve got a room that’s across from the stairwell on the fourth floor,” the front desk employee tells me. “But it’s on the side by the road, so it may be loud in the morning.”
“That’s fine,” I say, knowing that I’ll sleep through the traffic, but I may not go to sleep at all if I’m anxious.
With my key in hand, I make my way across the lobby toward the elevator, moving slowly because I’m so tired. When I get to my room, I almost pass out face-first on the bed, and the only thing that saves me from that fate is my bladder and my phone buzzing in my bag.
I grab my phone on my way into the bathroom, but it’s Aidan with a video call, and I’m not answering it while I’m peeing. Apparently he’s impatient, though, because he sends a text immediately.
Aidan
Why aren’t you answering your phone?
Morgan
Sorry, I was peeing. Didn’t think you needed to see that.
Aidan
I wouldn’t have minded.
Morgan
Well I would have. What’s up?
Aidan
What’s your room number?
Morgan
Why?
Aidan
I want to see you, obviously.
Morgan
I’m exhausted and can’t afford another night of no sleep.
Even as I text it, though, a thrill runs through me at the thought of having him here with me.
Aidan
I’ll be sleeping tonight too, you know. I can just as easily do it in your bed as mine.
Morgan
I fear we won’t actually get any sleep.
Aidan
I consumed about five pounds of pasta tonight, in preparation for tomorrow’s game. I’m going to sleep like a baby, but I’d really prefer to do it with you in my arms.
Morgan
And this is what you call casual?
I’m sure he’s getting tired of me questioning him on this, but he’s confusing the fuck out of me. He wants to fall asleep with me in his arms, even if we don’t have sex first? Absolutely nothing about that seems casual to me.
If this is how guys think, then no wonder I’m perpetually confused about them sending the wrong message!
Aidan
Give me your room number so we can both go to sleep. Please.
Morgan
Well, since you asked nicely, it’s 4312. I’m right across from the stairwell at the end.
Aidan
Be there in 2 min.
Sure enough, I’ve barely finished brushing my teeth when he’s knocking on my door.
A quick kiss to my forehead, and then he’s stripping my clothes off and pulling his own T-shirt off to slip it over my head before he drags me to bed.
Nothing shocks me more than the way he wraps his arm around me and pulls my back against his chest, and says, “Goodnight, baby.”
His steady breathing is instantaneous, and grows slower and deeper against my hair as he drifts off to sleep.
I know it in the way his arm relaxes around me, and his body softens behind mine.
I wish I was half as relaxed as he is, but his presence has me so keyed up, I’m not sure how long it will take me to fall asleep.
Idon’t know if my own moan wakes me up, or the intense throbbing between my legs.
But as I crack my eyes open, letting them adjust to the dim light filtering through the edges of the curtains, it’s instantly clear to me why I’m so turned on.
Aidan’s hand is in my underwear, his fingertips resting against my clit.
I’m not sure if he’s even awake, but when his hand twitches and rubs right across that sensitive bundle of nerves, I can’t control the way my hips jerk in response, or the breathy sigh that escapes.
“Well, good morning.” His voice is rough and low. Tendrils of his breath caress my skin behind my ear and coast over my cheek as his hand freezes.
“Morning,” I croak out the word through a throat already tight with longing.
He slides a finger along my seam, where it easily glides through the moisture pooling there. “You always wake up so wet and turned on?”
“Only when someone’s hand finds its way into my underwear in my sleep.”
“That happen often?” There’s an edge to his voice that makes me think he doesn’t like that idea.
“There’s a first time for everything.” I’ve never woken up turned on like this, except with him.
“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of my head as the pad of his finger meets my clit, circling over it and drawing another moan from the back of my throat. I’m so turned on, I’m already halfway there.
“I’m already close,” I say.
“I can tell.” He increases the pressure and my breathing grows shallow and quick as I chase that orgasm. When it doesn’t come immediately, he flips me onto my back and spreads my knees, settling himself on his stomach as he dips his face to my center. “God, I missed this.”
I can’t even respond because he slips two fingers into me and curls them up as his tongue toys with my clit, stealing my breath.
The sensations are too strong, too good, and the heat spreads from my core through my veins until it feels like electrical pulses are shooting through me, exploding every nerve in their wake.
My whole body feels weightless, like I’m floating through space while disintegrating, turning into stardust.
My legs collapse to the side as my orgasm subsides, and he looks up at me with a shit-eating grin.
“Get up here,” I mumble, my eyes half-closed. “I want to taste you, too.”
“Can’t. My alarm is about to go off—”
“How do you know?”
“I always wake up ten minutes before it’s set, no matter what time that is.”
“You’re a freak of nature,” I say, the words slow as the tiredness overcomes me.
“I’m your freak though,” he says with a laugh, and my eyes fly open at the implication that he’s mine. That can’t be what he meant.
“You have . . .” I circle my finger in the air, vaguely in the direction of his face. “. . . me all over your beard. You should probably wash your face before you see your teammates.”
“No way. I want to be tasting and smelling you all morning.”
My core clenches at the thought of him thinking about this even when we’re apart, no matter how gross the idea of what he’s suggesting actually is.
“That sounds like exactly the kind of distraction you’re not supposed to have this season.”
“All right,” he says, like he’s about to broker some sort of deal. “I’ll wash my face so your scent isn’t a distraction, if you let me do this again tonight.”
I was surprised when I heard we weren’t headed back to Boston after the game, but AJ explained that the team tries not to do that unless it’s a short enough flight that they can get back to Boston by midnight, or a longer overnight flight where everyone can just sleep on the plane.
“We’ll see. Maybe if you’re good, and don’t get in any fights during the game or afterward, that can be your reward.”
His eyebrows lift as he gives me a smirk. “I do love a good incentive.”
“At this point, whatever it takes to keep you focused and not on AJ’s shit list,” I say, reaching out to tap his nose. But he grabs my hand, pulling it out of the way and bending down to kiss me goodbye.
“I can’t promise I won’t be thinking about my head between your legs through all of morning skate.” He pushes off the bed and stands there staring down at me.
“Use all that focus and put it toward hockey,” I say with a laugh.
“Maybe. I can’t really leave here without my shirt though,” he says, and when I sit to pull the hem up and over my head, he groans. “I really wish I didn’t have to leave.”
“Go,” I say, handing him his T-shirt and pulling the sheet up to tuck it under my armpits. “You’re not going to let me be a distraction, remember?”
“Hmpf.” The sound rolls around in his throat, but he turns and grabs his phone and his key card off the nightstand. And then he slips out the door, shutting it quietly behind him.
My phone buzzes a minute later.
Aidan
Made it back to my room without running into anyone. Can’t wait to see you again tonight.
My head crashes back into my pillow. It’s not serious. He just wants sex.
But even as I tell myself this, I realize that he wasn’t the one who just came so hard he felt like he turned to stardust. In fact, the only thing he got out of that was pleasuring me. And somehow, that was enough.