Astrid #2
I flipped over the card. No further instructions.
Intrigued, I untied the ribbon and removed the lid of the box. A Hollywood Hawks jersey was nestled inside, the large, fierce hawk on the front swooping down to attack.
I lifted it out of the box, the white material sliding over my skin. I turned it over. On the back of the jersey was the name HANSLEY in large bold red letters and his number—nine—beneath it.
I shook my head, even as I grinned. Why was I not surprised?
Holden wanted me to wear his jersey and nothing else. He wanted me waiting for him. What a cocky motherfucker.
And honestly, he had every right to be. When the trade had gone through, my dad had been ecstatic. Not that he’d ever admit that to any of the staff or players. But man, had he gushed about Holden and his skills on the ice.
I’d resisted searching for information about him online, but who needed the internet when you had a roomie like mine?
According to Charlie’s research, Holden was from the Netherlands. An only child. His dad was American, and his mom was Dutch. He was twenty-nine, like me, and he’d spent the past few years playing in Boston before being traded to the Hollywood Hawks.
Dad claimed Holden had the potential to be a generational talent.
A GOAT. Holden played center, and Dad had praised his ability to be assertive, multitask, and find creative ways to score.
That last comment had had me snorting my coffee, my cheeks flaming as I’d remembered all the creative ways Holden had scored with me in the bedroom.
He’d given me four orgasms in one night. Four!
So, was it any wonder Holden was cocky?
You know you love it.
I hated to admit it, even to myself, but I did love it. I loved his persistence these past few weeks. I loved his attention. His thoughtfulness.
Bit by bit, he was wearing me down. Not that I was going to tell him that. But damn, a girl could get used to this.
I debated whether to follow his instructions or mess with him by disobeying.
It was tempting. But honestly, after all the effort he’d put into this evening, I figured wearing his jersey was the least I could do.
Besides, I knew he’d think it was hot. And ultimately, that would be to my benefit as well.
I grabbed my wine and the jersey and headed to the bathroom.
I locked the door behind me, surveying the room.
It was just as outlandish as the rest of the suite.
There was a custom Hermes dopp kit on the counter.
Gold-plated electronic toothbrushes. An intimacy kit that included everything from condoms and lube to handcuffs and the most gorgeous vibrator I’d ever seen.
It was so pretty, I hadn’t realized what it was at first. It was gold-plated and shaped like a bean with a dent in it, and it looked more like a work of art than a sex toy. Color me intrigued.
I turned it over in my hand. I wondered what it felt like. What kind of settings it had.
I was tempted to use it on myself—get myself off and relax a little before Holden arrived. For now, I decided to take it back to the room with me.
I shucked out of my dress and removed my bra before donning Holden’s jersey. I kept my underwear on as a small act of rebellion. But also, they matched the jersey. A deep shade of red, cut high on my ass.
I met my gaze in the mirror, fluffing my hair and retouching my lipstick. I was glad Charlie had chosen a deep red shade. It looked perfect with Holden’s jersey, and I knew he’d love it.
I lifted my wineglass to my reflection. Here goes nothing.
I downed the rest of the wine and set the glass on the counter with a clink. I was keyed up, and the wine was doing little to take the edge off.
Where is he? And how much longer am I going to have to wait?
I returned to the bedroom, removing the box that had contained his jersey from the bed and tucking Holden’s handwritten note in my purse. I wanted some memento from tonight. Something to remind myself that it wasn’t all just a dream.
Because I damn sure wasn’t keeping the skeleton-key pendant. That would definitely send the wrong message. The title of girlfriend was as unappealing as puck bunny.
I eyed the gold vibrator. I’d never seen anything like it. And I had a feeling one night of experimentation was not going to be enough. That was assuming Holden would be cool with bringing a toy to the party. Not all guys were.
I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the massive bed, debating the best position. Should I lie on my back? On my stomach? I turned over, my legs sliding over the silky duvet cover. Finally, I lay on my side, propping my head up with my hand and making sure his jersey covered my ass.
I felt…ridiculous.
What is taking him so long?
If this was Holden’s plan, it was a shitty one because I was growing more annoyed and bored by the minute. It probably wasn’t even taking that long, but it felt like forever.
I decided to distract myself by reading on my phone. I so rarely had time to read for leisure, but Em had sent me a copy of Meghan Hart’s romance novel that Nate had adapted for the screen and insisted I read it.
Things were just heating up between the characters when the click of the latch disengaging sent my heart racing. The bedroom door swung open, and Holden stood in the frame, a silhouette framed by the light from the hallway. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Powerful legs.
He oozed confidence, and it was sexy as hell. I could feel the power and control radiating from him, and I wanted him to exert it over me. I wanted to give myself to him. To let go.
“Look at you,” he rasped, gripping the doorframe. His slate-gray eyes were hooded, his gaze heavy on my bare feet, my legs, my face. I thought I might burst into flames from that look alone. “Such a good girl. Waiting on the bed in my jersey like I asked.”
Oh god. My body was aquiver, my insides molten. I grinned, rolling on my back, letting him look his fill.
Look at me? Look at him! His blond hair hung loose around his face, his suit pants and button-down shirt making him look like a cross between an angel and a devil.
“Get over here.” I was tired of waiting.
I’d built this up for weeks in my mind. And so far, he was exceeding all my hopes. This was just like the first time, but somehow, even better.
He kicked the door shut behind him. “Do I need to remind you who’s calling the shots tonight?”
“Mm.” I rolled onto my stomach, kicking my feet in the air. “I don’t know. Do you?” I moved in such a way that I knew my underwear would be visible.
Holden growled and stalked toward the bed. “You want to see what happens when you play games, schatje?”
I smirked. Defiant till the end.
In every other aspect of my life, I was obedient. Studious. “Perfect.”
But I was tired of forcing myself into those boxes. I wanted to be this sexy, free, wild woman that Holden brought out in me.
He braced his hands on the bed, looming over me. But I didn’t feel intimidated by his size; I felt…protected. And I vowed to find out what that nickname meant. I assumed it was a Dutch word, but with what little I knew of the language, it could be an insult.
“Before this evening is over,” he rasped, “I’ll have you begging for my cock.”
“Think you can score a hat trick like you did the other night?” I taunted.
I might not know much about hockey, but even I could see he was a phenomenal athlete. He’d scored three goals in one game—aka, a hat trick.
“I scored a hat trick because you were there. You’re my geluksbrenger.”
“I’m your what now?” I asked, trying to gloss over the fact that he’d noticed my presence at the game.
At the time, I’d told myself I was attending to support my dad in his new role. We’d all gone—Emerson, Nate, Brooklyn, Papa J, and me. But part of me had been secretly dying to see Holden in action on the ice.
He had been glorious. Fierce and determined. He’d made it look easy, even when I knew it was anything but. I couldn’t wait until the next game. I’d never been a huge sports fan before, but now, I was hooked. I’d never admit it—especially not to Holden—but I liked watching him play.
“Geluksbrenger,” he said, repeating it more slowly, eyes locked on mine with the sort of intensity he usually reserved for the ice. “It means good luck charm.” He tucked my hair behind my ear, and I got the feeling he wanted me to be so much more.
Unsettled by his intensity and his proximity, all I could say was, “Oh.”
No pressure. I knew how superstitious pro athletes could be about that kind of thing. Between my dad when he’d still been playing and Em, I was full of stories about behaviors that ranged from quirky to downright bizarre.
Holden ran his thumb over my bottom lip, applying a light pressure that had me opening for him. When I darted my tongue out to lick his finger, he groaned, palming his cock over his pants.
“Now, lie on your back and open your mouth.”