18. Harbor
HARBOR
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Discipline over desire, Harbor. That’s what it takes to win.
Maybe it’s time I stopped playing by my father’s rules.
Because I’m not walking away now.
Not with Weston freaking Steele, captain of the Coastal Crushers, staring at me like this. Like I’m the most gorgeous woman on the planet.
Even if this is a one-off thing.
Even if it proves my dad right about me.
Maybe I don’t have the right mindset for a career in professional hockey.
But right now, all I care about is following my heart. For once in my life, I’m doing what I want.
Not what’s expected of me, what I should do.
I’m choosing me over the Hayes’s legacy.
Because I need to know. Know what his hands feel like on my bare skin, how his rock-hard body feels pressed against mine .
How he feels inside me.
I need him.
This is probably a terrible decision, and an even worse career move.
But still, I twist the lock, unbuttoning my blouse as I make my way back across the room.
Back to Weston and his piercing blue gaze.
Butterflies zoom around my belly as his eyes rake over me, assessing the situation.
I should probably feel self-conscious. The man’s gorgeous, a professional hockey star. I’m sure he’s seen his fair share of beautiful women.
But surprisingly, I’m not nervous or insecure.
All I feel is buzzy excitement.
This is really happening.
He reaches up, his large hands wrapping around my waist, pulling me into his lap again.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, his fingers tickling my bare stomach. “So damn perfect. I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”
“Like what? Naked?”
He chuckles, a low, throaty rumble sending a ripple of excitement zinging through me.
“Yes, that. But I was going to go with something more poetic. I was thinking more along the lines of undone.”
“Oh.” I lick my bottom lip, contemplating his answer. He’s definitely deeper than I gave him credit for.
“And I wanted to be the one responsible for that. Maybe someplace a little more romantic than the video room, though.” He traces his finger along my cheek, down my jawline to the divot in my neck.
I half-sigh, half-giggle as he undresses me slowly, so slowly, my blouse slipping off my shoulders, my arms, until it pools on the floor in a silky puddle.
“This…” He drops his lips to my ear, heat rushing over me. “Right here. This freckle’s been taunting me since I met you.” His tongue darts out, licking the spot.
Cupping my cheek, he kisses me softly and I melt into him. He tastes so good, fresh and minty, his lips moving over mine. I open to him and his tongue slides in, exploring. Chill bumps rise on my skin as his hands tangle in my hair.
I could stay like this, locked away with Weston, forever.
So this is what it feels like to choose myself over other people’s expectations. To prioritize my happiness over family reputation, personal desire over professional perfectionism.
My father would call it weakness. But it’s the toughest thing I’ve ever done.
I feather my fingers over his strong pecs, his biceps. The man is ripped, his muscles visible even beneath his gray T-shirt.
Breaking our kiss, he reaches behind him and yanks his shirt off, dropping it to the floor next to mine.
Fuck me.
He’s every bit as gorgeous as he was in the locker room. I didn’t know there was such a thing as an eight-pack in real life, but he’s got it. I trace the ridges of his abs, the deep V of his hips peeking out from the waistband of his shorts.
Sexy as hell.
I’m torn between savoring the moment and cutting straight to the chase, my pussy throbbing with desire.
Weston drops his lips to my chest, kissing the delicate skin peeking out of my bra. My nipples harden into sharp points as he thumbs them through the thin satin material. Reaching behind my back, he smoothly unhooks the lingerie, lowering the straps over my shoulders and freeing my breasts.
Cupping the tender flesh in his palms, his calloused fingers tickle my sensitive skin. Wetness floods my panties and a moan falls from my lips, loud in the quiet space.
“Fucking gorgeous, baby,” he murmurs, bending down to lick and suck my nipples. “I’ve been dreaming of these perfect tits since the first press conference.”
My entire body’s hot and humming with desire as I straddle him, hitching my skirt up around my hips for better movement. He’s fully aroused, his cock thick and hard against my belly through his shorts.
I need this man right now.
“Weston…” My eyes flutter closed as I get lost in the haze of him—the crisp scent of his cologne, his tender touch, the desire shimmering between us.
I can’t think, can’t second-guess. All I can do in this moment is feel and it’s fucking magical.
“Harbor?” His deep voice brings me back to reality. “I’m only going to ask you this one more time. Now’s your chance to bow out. Because once we do this, there’s no going back.”
No going back.
To the safety of professional distance, to my father’s playbook of perfection.
The point of no return . Maybe it’s exactly what I need to finally start living.
“Are you sure?” His gaze is steady on mine, pupils dark and wide.
I’ve never been more sure about anything in my whole damn life .
I nod. “Absolutely. I want you, Weston.”
What I don’t say—can’t say—is: I need you.
Too much, too soon.
I’m borderline already going too far, but right now I don’t care.
All I care about is the incessant pulsing between my thighs, the racing of my heart as he slips his hand between my legs.
“Yes…” I practically hiss the word, my hips moving all on their own. Wanting—needing—more.
Harder, faster.
He strokes the sensitive skin, teasing my swollen clit through the satin of my panties.
God, I need this man.
To show him how sure I am about this, I shimmy off his lap and slip my panties down my legs, losing the skirt in the process.
I’m fully naked in front of him and his lips break into a Cheshire cat grin.
“What?” I raise a brow, biting at the corner of my mouth.
“You’re sexy as fuck, you know that?” He stands up, ripping his gym shorts off and freeing his cock. Fisting himself, he pumps a few times before rummaging through his bag and producing a condom.
“Wow. You’re prepared. Was this on your to-do list today?”
“No. But I am the oldest child by five minutes. Preparedness is a byproduct of the position.” He tears open the foil packet and rolls the rubber over his impressive length. Then he sinks back down onto the chair, pulling me toward him .
I drop down onto his lap, gliding my hand up and down his stiff shaft. He’s big.
Like, really big.
I mean, proportional and everything. But the man’s six-five. A giant to my five-foot-four stature.
“You still good?” Weston’s hands still on the small of my back, eyes narrowed.
I swallow hard. “Yeah. It’s just—you’re really…big.”
He laughs, his chest vibrating. “Don’t worry, Hurricane. It’ll fit. I won’t break you. Promise.”
His expression’s so intense, so sincere, and my breath hitches in my throat.
I won’t break you.
Promise.
I’m not sure that’s a promise he can keep.
Choosing this moment, choosing him—that’s shattering every wall I’ve carefully constructed around my heart.
Maybe it’s time those walls finally come down.