Chapter 16 #3
Rachel's hands were everywhere, his hair, his shoulders, his chest, like she couldn't get enough. Mac's mouth moved to her other breast, giving it the same attention, while one of his hands slid down to grip her ass, pulling her harder against him.
"Mac—" Rachel was panting now, heat coiling low in her belly. "I need—"
"What do you need?" His hand slid from her ass to her hip, then up to cup her face. "Tell me."
"I don't know," she admitted, rolling her hips again. "More. I need more."
Mac kissed her hard, then his hand moved between them, cupping her through her jeans. Rachel gasped at the pressure, even through the layers of fabric.
"Is this okay?" Mac asked, his hand moving in slow circles.
"Yes—God, yes—"
Mac worked the button of her jeans open, the zipper sliding down. His hand slipped inside, over her underwear, and Rachel's whole body tensed at the first touch.
"So wet already," Mac murmured, his fingers stroking over the damp fabric. "Fuck, Rachel—"
Rachel's hips moved against his hand, seeking more friction. Mac's fingers pressed harder, finding her clit through her underwear and circling it slowly.
"Mac—" Rachel's voice was high and breathy. "That's—oh God—"
"You like that?" Mac's other hand was in her hair, tilting her head so he could watch her face. "Look at me, Rachel."
She opened her eyes, meeting his dark gaze as his fingers continued their slow, torturous circles. The intimacy of it; him watching her, seeing her come undone, was almost too much.
Mac's fingers slipped under the edge of her underwear, touching her directly for the first time. Rachel gasped, her whole body shuddering.
"You're so ready," Mac groaned. "So fucking perfect. Can I—"
His finger slid through her folds, gathering her wetness, then circled her clit with slick fingers. Rachel's head fell forward onto his shoulder, a moan muffled against his skin.
"That's it," Mac encouraged, his fingers working her steadily. "Let me hear you."
Rachel was trembling now, her hips rocking against his hand, chasing the pleasure building inside her. Mac's fingers moved faster, and Rachel felt herself climbing, getting closer—
And suddenly it was too much. Too fast. Too intense.
"Wait—" Rachel grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "Mac, wait—"
"Okay." He immediately stilled, his other hand gentle on her back. "It's okay. We can stop."
Rachel pulled back, breathing hard, suddenly very aware that she was topless in Mac's lap with his hand literally in her pants.
"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I just—it was too much. I'm not ready. I thought I was but—"
"Hey." Mac carefully withdrew his hand, then cupped her face gently. "Look at me."
Rachel met his eyes, expecting to see frustration or anger.
Instead, she saw only concern.
"We stop right now," Mac said firmly. "No pressure, no guilt. You set the pace, Rachel. Always."
"You're not angry?"
"Angry?" Mac looked genuinely confused. "Rachel, I'm half-naked with the most beautiful woman I've ever met in my lap. I'm a lot of things right now, but angry isn't one of them."
Rachel felt tears prick her eyes. "I want you. God, Mac, I want you. But I'm scared. Scared of going too fast, of messing this up—"
"Then we go slow." Mac pressed a kiss to her forehead. "As slow as you need. There's no rush."
He reached for her bra, helping her put it back on with surprisingly steady hands, then handed her sweater. Rachel pulled it over her head, and Mac grabbed his own shirt.
They sat there for a moment, both flushed and breathing hard, the air still charged between them.
"I should probably go home," Rachel said quietly.
"Or you could stay." Mac said it quickly. "Just to hang out. Watch a movie. With all our clothes on and appropriate distance between us."
"Appropriate distance?"
"At least six inches. Maybe a throw pillow as a buffer."
Rachel smiled despite everything. "That sounds very responsible."
"I'm trying to be responsible. It's very difficult when you look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want to kiss me again."
"I do want to kiss you again."
"Rachel," Mac groaned. "You're not making this slow thing easy."
"Sorry." She wasn't sorry. "One more kiss. Then movie with appropriate distance."
"One more."
It turned into three more, but eventually they settled on opposite ends of the couch, Puck materializing to claim the space between them like a furry chaperone.
"Your cat is suspicious," Rachel observed.
"It's his default state." Mac grabbed the remote. "What do you want to watch?"
"Something mindless. Action movie?"
"I have the entire Fast and Furious franchise."
"Perfect."
They watched Vin Diesel drive cars through impossible situations, making occasional commentary, both very aware of the six inches of space between them. Puck fell asleep in the middle, purring loudly, a living reminder to keep their hands to themselves.
Around midnight, Rachel's eyes started to close.
"I should go home," she murmured.
"Drive safe." Mac walked her to the door, both of them moving slowly, reluctant to end the night.
At the door, Mac pulled her close one more time, kissing her softly. "Text me when you get home?"
"Only if you text me good night."
"Deal."
Rachel drove home through quiet streets, her lips still tingling, her skin still warm from Mac's touch. When she pulled into her apartment complex, she sat in her car for a moment, pressing her fingers to her mouth and smiling.
Her phone buzzed.
Mac: Did you get home safe?
Rachel: Just pulled in. Thank you for tonight. For listening. For giving me another chance.
Mac: Thank you for coming tonight.
Mac: Also for kissing me. That was amazing. Can we do that again?
Rachel laughed out loud in her car.
Rachel: Definitely. Good night, Mac.
Mac: Good night, Rachel. Sweet dreams.
Rachel got ready for bed, her mind still replaying the evening, the game, the reconciliation, the kissing, the feeling of Mac's hands on her skin. Mr. Darcy was waiting on her pillow, his amber eyes judging her late arrival.
"I know," Rachel told him, changing into pajamas. "I'm home late. But I have a good excuse this time."
Mr. Darcy's tail flicked.
"I went to Mac's hockey game. And then we talked. And we're trying again." Rachel climbed into bed, and Mr. Darcy immediately claimed his spot against her side. "I was stupid and I almost ruined something good. But I fixed it. Maybe. I think."
Mr. Darcy purred, apparently approving of this development.
Rachel stared at the ceiling, processing everything. The way he'd looked at her like she was everything.
She thought about Mrs. Henderson's words: That's not a man who's going to hurt you, dear. That's a man who's already half in love with you and doesn't know how to hide it.
For the first time since Brad, Rachel let herself hope.
But sleep wouldn't come. After twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling, Rachel reached for her phone, intending to read something mindless until her brain quieted down.
She opened social media, scrolling through the usual noise: book recommendations, library memes, photos from people she barely remembered from college.
Then a post caught her eye. A hockey article shared by someone from Burlington. She almost scrolled past—she'd trained herself not to look, not to care about that world anymore—but the headline made her freeze.
"Dr. Derek Matthews Revolutionizing Sports Medicine in Professional Hockey"
The photo showed him at some NHL event, surrounded by players and coaches, that same confident smile she remembered too well.
Rachel's throat closed.
Her hands started trembling before her mind fully caught up.
The phone slipped slightly in her grip. She couldn't look away from that smile, the same one he'd had that night at the party, when he'd cornered her in the empty hallway outside the restrooms. When he'd stood too close, blocking her path. When his hand had—
No.
She closed the app, her breathing shallow and fast.
It didn't matter. Derek worked with NHL teams, Olympic programs, elite athletes. He'd only been in Burlington temporarily for some consulting gig with Brad's team. Their paths would never cross. Mac's semi-pro team was so far below Derek's radar it might as well not exist.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Rachel's entire body went cold. Not the kind of cold from winter air. The kind that came from deep inside, spreading outward, making her fingers numb and her chest tight.
She knew, somehow, before she even opened it.
Unknown: Hope Vermont is treating you well, Rachel. Brad sends his regards. :-D Derek
The room tilted. Rachel grabbed the edge of the mattress, forcing herself to breathe. Mr. Darcy meowed, concerned, pressing his head against her arm.
Another message appeared.
Unknown: Saw your boyfriend's team got some press. Eagles are making waves. Impressive for semi-pro.
Rachel's vision blurred. Her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the phone.
No. No, this couldn't be happening.
She typed "Derek Matthews Vermont" with trembling fingers, each letter taking effort, her breath coming in short gasps.
The results loaded.
The headline blinked up at her from the screen:
Hockey Legend Dr. Derek Matthews Questions Safety of Small-Town Hockey Programs
Dated one week ago.
The article talked about “concerning patterns” in regional teams, outdated training, lax oversight, injuries brushed off as part of the culture. No names. Just enough accusation to land like a threat.
Vermont.
He was in Vermont.
Here. In her state. In her town, or close enough.
Rachel couldn't breathe.
She thought of Mac's hands on her waist tonight, gentle and careful. The way he'd asked permission with his eyes before kissing her. The way he'd stopped immediately when she'd needed space.
And then she thought of Derek's hands, not gentle, not asking.
Her stomach lurched. She barely made it to the bathroom before she was sick.
Afterward, Rachel sat on the cold tile floor, her back against the tub, Mr. Darcy appearing in the doorway with worried green eyes.
She deleted the messages with shaking fingers, but it didn't matter. The words were burned into her mind. The threat was clear.
Derek had found her. And he wasn't just passing through, he was here, with enough influence to destroy everything. With enough power to ruin her life all over again.
Close enough to finish what he'd started.
The warmth from the evening with Mac felt like it had happened to someone else, in some other life where she was allowed to be happy.
Rachel pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and made herself as small as possible.
She had no idea what to do about this.