11. ZARA #2
"This is a terrible idea," he growls.
"I know."
"We just agreed on boundaries."
"I know."
His mouth traces down my throat, teeth grazing my pulse point, and my head falls back against the wall. "We could get caught. Simone has people everywhere."
"Then you'd better make it fast."
Something shifts in him—control snapping, strategy abandoned.
He lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me toward the counter. Coffee supplies scatter as he sets me down, stepping between my thighs, his hands pushing my skirt up my hips.
"Tell me to stop." His voice is gravel and smoke. "Tell me this is insane and we're risking everything."
"It is insane." I pull his shirt free of his waistband. "We're risking everything."
"And?"
I find his belt, fingers working the buckle. "And I've been thinking about this since I left that bar."
His exhale shudders against my collarbone. "Zara—"
"Stop talking."
He obeys.
His hands slide beneath my blouse, palms hot against my ribs, thumbs brushing the underwire of my bra.
I arch into the contact, already aching, already desperate. His suit jacket hits the floor. I yank his shirt open, buttons scattering, my nails raking down his chest.
"Christ." He hooks his fingers in my underwear, dragging them down my legs.
The cool air hits my exposed skin, but his hand follows immediately—fingers sliding through slick heat, finding my clit with devastating accuracy.
My moan echoes off the walls.
"Quiet." His breath is ragged. "Unless you want an audience."
I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper. He strokes me in slow, deliberate circles, watching my face, learning exactly what makes me gasp and shiver.
When he slips two fingers inside me, my back bows off the counter.
"You're soaked." His voice drops to something dark and satisfied. "How long have you been this wet?"
"Since you—" I choke on the words as his thumb presses harder. "Since I saw you on the ice."
His laugh is rough. "Is that so? Or are you lying to me?"
"Fine. Since you walked into that kitchen and looked at me like—ah—like you wanted to devour me."
"I did." He withdraws his fingers, and I whimper at the loss. "I do."
The sound of his zipper is obscenely loud. I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his cock, feeling him pulse against my palm. Hard and thick and straining.
"Condom," I manage.
"Wallet." He doesn't stop touching me, fingers still teasing, as he retrieves it one-handed.
Watching him roll it on—quick, efficient, his jaw tight with restraint—sends a fresh wave of heat through me.
Then he is there, pressing against my entrance, and everything else ceases to exist.
"Look at me."
I meet his eyes as he pushes inside—one long, relentless stroke that fills me completely. The stretch burns and sings, and I hear myself make a sound that isn't quite human.
"God." His forehead drops to mine. "You feel—"
"Move. Please, move."
He does.
The counter is too hard, the angle almost too deep, and absolutely none of it matters.
Jaxon thrusts into me with the same intensity he brings to everything—controlled at first, then increasingly ragged as my nails score his shoulders.
I hook my ankles behind his back, pulling him deeper, chasing the friction that builds and builds until I can't breathe.
"That's it." His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back. "Take it. Take all of it."
His other hand finds my clit again, rubbing in tight circles that match his rhythm. The pressure coils impossibly tight, edge approaching fast.
"I'm going to—"
"I know." He drives harder, faster. "Let me feel it."
I shatter.
The orgasm tears through me in waves, my body clenching around him, his name escaping on a broken cry. He swallows the sound with his mouth, kissing me through the aftershocks as his own rhythm stutters.
"Fuck—Zara—"
He buries himself deep and comes, shoulders shaking, a groan vibrating against my lips.
For a suspended moment, neither of us moves. Just breath and heartbeat and the distant roar of an arena emptying somewhere above us.
Then his phone buzzes.
Reality crashes back.
He pulls away slowly, disposing of the condom in a trash can, retrieving his jacket, fingers moving mechanically through buttons I'd destroyed.
"That was—" He stops. Starts again. "We should probably talk about—"
"Boundaries?" My laugh comes out unsteady. "I think we obliterated those about five minutes ago."
"This complicates things."
"Everything about this situation is complicated." I slide off the counter, smoothing my skirt with trembling hands. "But we still have a custody case to win, and we still need to convince a judge that this marriage is real."
His eyes search my face. "Is that what we're calling it?"
Before I can answer, his phone buzzes again. He glances at the screen, and his expression shifts from post-coital daze to immediate alarm.
"What?"
"Simone." He is already moving toward the door. "Apparently we're late to some family photo thing in the suite, and my ex's fiancé is making comments to reporters about 'hired help.'"
"Lovely."
We emerge into the corridor separately—him first, me thirty seconds later—but Simone finds us within minutes anyway, her expression suggesting she knows exactly what has happened and is professionally obligated to pretend otherwise.
The rest of the night blurs together. Photographs with sponsors, polite conversations with other coaches' wives, a mercifully brief encounter with Jaxon's ex across a crowded room.
Through all of it, I feel his gaze tracking me—heavy, complicated, impossible to ignore.
It isn't until we are in the car heading home that my phone buzzes with a tabloid alert.
RAPTORS COACH'S NEW NANNY: HIRED HELP OR SOMETHING MORE?
City Pulse Sports & Celebrity Desk
New York’s favorite hockey franchise is making headlines off the ice—and this time, it’s not about playoff standings.
Metro Raptors head coach Jaxon Halberg has been spotted with a mystery woman believed to be the live-in nanny for his six-year-old daughter. While the team has declined to comment, photos obtained by City Pulse suggest their relationship may extend beyond a standard employer-employee dynamic.
This image—captured in a restricted arena corridor—shows Halberg and the woman walking side by side. The pair appear relaxed, comfortable, and notably close, with Halberg’s hand hovering at the small of her back in a gesture that reads as far more personal than professional.
A TIMELINE THAT RAISES QUESTIONS
Sources confirm that the woman, identified only as “Zara,” was hired through a high-profile childcare agency just weeks ago.
According to those familiar with the arrangement, she was brought in to provide stability for Halberg’s daughter during an ongoing custody dispute between Halberg and his ex-wife.
But observers are already pointing out the unusually fast evolution of her role.
“Most nannies don’t accompany coaches to the arena,” one team-adjacent source tells us. “And they definitely don’t look like that when they do.”
PROFESSIONAL OR PERSONAL?
Halberg, known for his disciplined, no-nonsense demeanor behind the bench, has kept his private life largely out of the spotlight—until now. Teammates have previously described him as intensely focused, with little room for distractions.
Which makes this development all the more intriguing.
“He’s different lately,” one anonymous source claims.
Whether that shift is due to a supportive presence at home—or something more—is the question everyone seems to be asking.
THE CUSTODY FACTOR
The timing of Zara’s arrival has also raised eyebrows given Halberg’s ongoing custody proceedings. Legal experts note that establishing a stable home environment can play a significant role in such cases.
“Optics matter,” says family law analyst Lauren Klein. “A consistent caregiver, a structured household—it all contributes to the overall picture presented to the court.”
Still, Klein cautions against jumping to conclusions.
“That doesn’t automatically imply anything inappropriate. But when personal and professional boundaries blur, it does invite scrutiny.”
WHAT’S NEXT?
Neither Halberg nor representatives for the Metro Raptors have responded to requests for comment.
As the Raptors push deeper into the season, one thing is clear: their head coach isn’t just under pressure on the ice.
He’s under a spotlight off it, too.
And whether Zara is simply hired help—or something more—remains to be seen.
But if these photos are anything to go by…
This story is just getting started.
The accompanying photo shows us from behind, walking through the arena corridor. Too close together. His hand hovering at my lower back.
"Well," I say flatly, "that didn't take long."
Jaxon's jaw tightens. In the glow of passing streetlights, he looks exactly like a man watching his carefully constructed plans unravel.
"My lawyer can—"
"It's fine." I turn off my phone. "We knew this would happen eventually."
"Not like this. Not before we had a chance to control the narrative."
I watch the city slide past the window, all those glittering lights and anonymous windows and lives being lived behind them.
Somewhere out there, a judge will soon decide whether Lily Halberg stays with her father or gets sent across the city to a mother who’s never even learned her favorite bedtime story.
"Then we control it now," I say. "The wedding. Make it soon, make it real, make it impossible to question."
"Zara—"
"I'm not backing out." I meet his eyes. "I said yes, and I meant it. Whatever comes next, we handle together."
The word lands between us with unexpected weight. Together. As if we are actually partners in this instead of two people making increasingly questionable decisions in supply closets.
His hand finds mine in the darkness between seats. Squeezes once.
"Together," he agrees.
Outside, the first tabloid headline of many is already going viral.