Chapter 2
TUCKER
This party is so much better than I hoped. When I crashed my cousin’s shindig, I was just trying to take my mind off being stuck in Pittsburgh for the entire off-season. My teammates are all on yachts in Monaco fucking scantily clad European women.
I’ve been on my couch with an ice pack on my mangled mouth, alternating terrifying sessions with the team dentist and boring preparations for my brother’s upcoming wedding. An unfortunate side effect of the best job on earth.
But I’ve got my temporary crown and nobody’s getting hitched this week, so I thought I’d come out to the family ski house, rag on Stellan and his nerd friends, play video games, and pass out.
Instead, I’m leading a gorgeous woman by the hand, her golden-brown fingers interlaced with mine, her bare feet padding silently behind me.
When I tug her along, a conspiratorial smile plays at the corners of her mouth. That smile has been driving me crazy since I first spotted her in the pool—natural, uninhibited, entirely unlike the calculated expressions I've grown accustomed to from women who recognize me.
The puck bunnies want me for my fame, so they can say they bagged a hockey player. Sloane seems like she just wants to do something wild.
Stellan stuck me in the basement bunk room–a barracks-style space with four twin double-deckers. It’ll do just fine for what I have in mind. I push open the door and flick on the lamp, bathing the room in a warm glow. It's rustic but comfortable, with exposed beams and knotty pine walls.
"So, this is where you're planning to seduce me?" Sloane asks, eyebrows raised as she takes in the bunk beds. "Bold choice."
"Just living out a summer camp fantasy," I say with a grin. "Though I promise I've graduated from the awkward teenage fumbling."
She laughs, the sound sending a pleasant warmth through my chest. "Good to know."
I walk to my duffel bag, unzipping the side pocket. "Anyway, I wasn't kidding about the condoms." I pull out a small box with ‘THIN ICE PROTOTYPE - NOT FOR RETAIL' stamped across it. "They sent me samples to 'test' and give feedback. These are the new ultra-thin ones."
Sloane steps closer, taking the box from my hands. "So, you really do sell condoms."
"And socks. Though I don't have those with me." I watch her examine the box, struck by how utterly normal this interaction feels. She's not swooning over my stats or asking how much I'm being paid. She's just... interested. In me.
"Do you always carry prototype condoms with you?" she asks, setting the box on the nearest nightstand. Her hair is a mass of big, bouncy blonde curls—a soft, voluminous mass of natural springs. She is stunningly gorgeous.
"Professional responsibility," I say with mock seriousness. "I take my market research very seriously."
"I'm sure you do." She steps closer, until we're nearly touching. Barefoot, the top of her head barely reaches my chin, and I have to resist the urge to lift her to my level.
Instead, I reach out, running a finger over her collarbone like she did to me earlier. "You're gorgeous," I tell her, the words coming out more reverent than I intended. "And not at all what I expected to find at my cousin's stuffy law party."
"What did you expect?"
"Not you," I say simply.
Her eyes darken, and she places her hands on my chest.
She sighs. “I … know who you are.”
Damn. Not so anonymous after all. Oh well. I shrug. “That happens a lot.”
She shakes her head. “No. I … my last name is Grentley.”
“Grentley?” I clench my stomach, like I’m waiting for our surly goalie to punch me or something. I take a step back and really look at Sloane. “You’re Grentley’s wife?”
She shakes her head, curls bouncing. “Ex-wife. We are divorced. Everything’s final. My name change is just taking a minute, that’s all.”
I am in the basement with the ex of a guy who hates my guts.
Josh Grentley, who was a dick to my brother Gunnar and has all sorts of things to say about how I spend my time off the ice. Holier-than-a-priest Grentley, whose wife never came to games. Grentley, whom I’m supposed to protect, even though he acts like I’m beneath him.
Sloane takes a step toward me, closing the space I made, nudging my duffel bag with her polished toe. “I’m not trying to start anything lasting. The exact opposite, actually.”
My mouth drops open of its own accord as I search for something to say.
I’m not used to being the one requiring encouragement to be bad.
Sloane puts a warm hand back on my shoulder, the heat of her skin soaking through the damp T-shirt that’s annoyingly in between our bodies.
“Do you want to be irresponsible with me, Tucker?” Her lips curl into that smile again as she slides her hands up to loop around my neck.
And that’s just it. I do. I want to do everything with her. From the moment I saw her, sunlight gleaming off bronze skin, her bold approach in the water … I feel drawn to her. The sunburst pendant around her neck pulls me like a tow line.
Grentley has never done me any favors or been nice to anyone in my family. He’s a jerk, and he doesn’t like me anyway.
Fuck it.
I lean down, capturing her mouth with mine.
The first touch of her lips is electric, soft, warm, and faintly tasting of bourbon and fig.
I meant to start slow, to savor this, but the moment she responds—pressing herself against me, opening to me—all restraint evaporates.
This is worth whatever Grentley comes up with for payback.
My hands find her waist, then slide lower to cup her ass, lifting her against me. She makes a small sound of surprise when she feels my hard-on, then wraps her legs around my hips, deepening the kiss. The weight of her in my arms, the press of her core against my thickening cock—it's intoxicating.
I walk us to the nearest bed, lowering her onto it without breaking the kiss. Her hands are everywhere—tugging at my shirt, tracing the muscles of my back, threading through my hair. When we finally part for air, her chest is heaving, her lips swollen.
"Too fast?" I ask, bracing myself above her.
She answers by pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it aside. Her eyes roam over my chest, lingering on the tattoo again before she traces it with her fingertips. "Not fast enough," she says.
I catch her wrist, bringing her hand to my lips. “How do you want this to go, Sloane?” My voice drops lower. “Dirty? Gentle? A little rough?”
Her eyes darken with interest. "How rough?"
Oh shit. “I can talk dirty to you, baby. Pull your hair." I maintain eye contact, watching for any hesitation. "But with your hair, I want to ask first. I know curls are a little different."
A small smile plays at her lips. "You definitely cannot pull it," she says.
The permission sends heat straight to my groin. "And the rest?"
"I'd like that," she says, her voice steady despite the flush spreading across her chest.
I nip at her neck. “If I do something you don’t like, say so and everything stops, no questions asked." I lower my mouth back to her neck, no longer holding back as I suck hard enough to leave a mark. "Now turn over for me."
Her eyes widen slightly, but she complies, rolling onto her stomach. I help position her on her hands and knees, running my palms down her back to her perfect ass.
"God, you're beautiful," I say, giving her backside a squeeze, my fingers lingering between her cheeks. The small gasp she releases tells me I've done good. "Such a dirty girl, hooking up with a stranger at a party."
I trail biting kisses down her spine as I remove her bikini while my free hand comes down in a light smack against her ass cheek. She jumps slightly, then pushes back against me.
"You like that?" I ask, my voice rough with need.
"Yes," she breathes, the word barely audible.
I deliver another light smack to her other cheek, reveling in her moans and the way all that golden skin jiggles at my touch. "Good girl. Now spread your legs wider for me."
She complies immediately, and I reward her with a gentle stroke between her thighs, finding her already wet and ready. "Look how wet you are," I growl, circling her entrance with my fingers. "All this for me?"
"Yes," she moans, dropping to her elbows, changing the angle of her hips.
Her skin is still warm from the sun, smelling of chlorine and that sunscreen. But she also smells like she wants me. Bad.
She’s totally bare, and I stare at that beautiful mound, exploring her body with my hand, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her moan.
With each response, I feel a growing need to please her, to make this more than just another hookup.
This woman mesmerizes me. I want Sloane to remember this, and that realization doesn’t scare me.
She looks at me over one shoulder. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, her curls a wild halo around her face. "You're staring," she says, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.
"Can't help it." I run my hands up her thighs, spreading them gently. “I’ve got this beautiful body aimed right at my face.”
Her laugh turns into a gasp as I lower my head between her legs, trailing kisses up her inner thigh. All thoughts of anyone else in our lives vanish. There is just us and crackling desire. At the first touch of my tongue against her center, she bucks against me, a surprised moan escaping her lips.
"Oh god," she breathes, her fingers kneading the sheets. "It's been—fuck—years since anyone did that."
I lift my head, genuinely surprised. "Years? That's criminal neglect."
She laughs breathlessly. "I don't want to talk about it. I just want more."
I'm more than happy to oblige, kneeling between her thighs on the cramped bed, ignoring my discomfort and dedicating myself to her pleasure.
I flip her onto her back so I can do this more comfortably, lapping at her while she drops her hands into my hair.
Her responses guide me—the tightening of her fingers in my hair, the way her breathing changes, the small sounds she tries to muffle.
When I add my fingers to the mix, curling them inside her, her back arches off the bed.
"Tucker," she gasps, the sound of my name on her lips sending a jolt straight to my cock. "Please, I need—"
I know what she needs. I intensify my efforts, focusing on the spot that makes her thighs tremble. Within moments, she's coming apart, her body tensing and releasing as she bites her lip to stay quiet.
I kiss my way back up her body, enjoying the aftershocks that ripple through her at each touch. When I reach her mouth, she kisses me hungrily, tasting herself on my tongue, her hands fumbling with the waistband of my board shorts.
My cock springs free, and she sucks in a breath. I palm my length and grin at her. “You hungry for this, Sloane?” She lets out a whimper, and I shuck my shorts the rest of the way, grabbing the condoms and rolling one on.
Positioning myself between her legs again, I tease her entrance with the tip of my cock. "Tell me what you want, Sloane. I want to hear you say it."
She stares at me, eyes heavy with desire. "I want you to fuck me, Tucker. Hard."
The crude language on her lips sends a jolt through me. I enter her with one powerful thrust, earning a cry that she muffles with her fist. I palm her tits with one hand, tweaking her brown nipples as I set a punishing rhythm.
"Such a perfect dirty girl," I praise, watching where our bodies join. "Taking my cock so well. You like it rough, don't you?"
"God, yes," she gasps, meeting each thrust.
I reach between us to find her clit, circling it with my fingers. "Touch your tits," I command. "Show me how you like it."
She does, one hand moving to cup her breast, pinching her nipple. The sight nearly undoes me.
"That's it," I encourage, my voice strained. " fucking sexy."
I can feel her body beginning to tighten around me, her movements becoming more erratic. I increase the pressure of my fingers, matching the rhythm of my thrusts.
"You going to come for me?" I demand, feeling my own release building. "Come all over my cock like the dirty girl you are?"
"Yes," she cries, her body tensing. "Tucker, I'm—"
"Do it." I tighten my grip on her hip. "Come for me now, greedy girl.”
She breaks with a cry that she barely muffles against the pillow, her inner muscles clenching around me in waves. The sensation pushes me over the edge, and I follow her into release, burying myself deep inside her as pleasure crashes through me.
My body tingles, nerve endings on fire as my blood thrums through my veins.
I carefully withdraw, yanking off the condom before pulling her against my chest. We're both breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.
"You okay?" I ask, suddenly conscious of how aggressive I'd been.
She nods against my chest. "More than okay."
"Your hair alright? I didn't pull too hard?"
Her laugh is soft and satisfied. "You handled it perfectly."
I brush my lips against her forehead, surprised by the tenderness I feel. "Good. I like knowing what you like."
She melts into me, her curls tickling my chin, her hand resting over my heart. The silence between us is comfortable, not awkward.
"Well," she says finally, a smile in her voice. "I can see why they hired you to endorse those."
I laugh, the tension in my chest dissolving. "Wait till you try the socks."
She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at me with those incredible green eyes. Something about her gaze makes me feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with our nakedness.
"What are you thinking?" I ask, tugging on a curl and watching it spring back into shape.
"That I wasn't expecting this," she admits.
"The mind-blowing sex, or the Thin Ice condoms?"
She swats my chest lightly. "Both, I guess. But mostly... you."
I understand exactly what she means. In my world, people see what they expect to see—the hockey player, the enforcer, the Stag family troublemaker. But Sloane's looking at me like she sees something else entirely.
"I know what you mean," I tell her, tracing patterns on her bare shoulder. "This feels... different."
She doesn't ask how or why, just nods like she understands. Then she stretches, her body moving sinuously against mine, reigniting the hunger I thought was temporarily sated.
"So," she says, trailing her fingers down my chest. "Those prototypes. How many do you have to test?"
I grin, rolling her beneath me again.