Chapter 10 Tish #2
Authority sits on him like a second coat.
The star-shaped scar on his left cheek pulls when he finally smiles—barely there, private.
I walk to him without thinking.
The rubber mat under my boots deadens sound, and when I step into the players’ bench, the wood smells like years of sweat and soap and winter.
He takes my chin gently between forefinger and thumb and studies me, like he wants to memorize what I look like. When I tilt my face up, he bends and kisses me—no hurry, no hesitation.
His mouth is warm, sure. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, and the low sound he makes into the kiss turns my knees to jelly.
“Trisha,” he says again against my lips, and the way he says my name feels like a promise and a claim.
Ash appears at my shoulder, steady heat at my back, lips finding the place below my ear.
I shiver. “We’ll keep you steady,” he murmurs, and I believe him. Jake slips behind the bench and pulls me gently down to sit, one knee between mine, playful again as his fingers skim the outside of my thigh through denim.
I lean forward, catch his mouth, and he laughs into the kiss.
The cold of the rink melts.
We’re in a different room now. It’s warm and dim, wood-paneled, with a fire ticking in a stone hearth.
A single lamp pools gold on a low table. The Thunderwolves banner is draped over a chair.
Snow dusts the window. Everything smells faintly of pine and something sweeter—orange peel, maybe.
Carl sits on the edge of a wide couch and guides me into his lap like I belong there, one big palm spanning my hip.
I feel strong legs under me, solid; I could anchor a life here.
He kisses the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then the hollow beneath my ear, and I tilt my head without thinking, offering myself to him.
Ash kneels in front of us, hands sliding up my calves to the back of my knees, slow like he’s unwrapping something precious.
His touch is steady, almost reverent.
He looks up at me and the gentleness in his eyes hits harder than any heat.
He kisses the inside of my knee and my breath hitches.
Jake crowds in on my other side, all warmth and laughter and flirtation turned focused.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his knuckles brushing my cheekbone, and his other hand finds mine on Carl’s chest.
He laces our fingers, anchors me there, and then he leans in to kiss me, playful again at first, then slower, deeper when I hungrily respond.
His tongue skims mine and I moan. He swallows it, grinning, then kisses the corner of my mouth.
Carl’s palm slides up my spine, broad and warm, settling between my shoulder blades.
Ash’s thumbs draw circles at the back of my knees that send tendrils of heat curling low.
Jake’s fingers toy with the hem of my sweater, teasing the inch of skin at my waist.
No one rushes me.
No one hurries the pace.
They let the wanting stretch, slow and sweet, until I’m almost dizzy with it.
Carl’s mouth finds mine again, patient, and this time when he deepens the kiss I meet him with everything in me.
His beard scratches lightly, delicious, and he makes that low sound again.
Ash kisses the inside of my wrist, then my palm, like a vow. Jake nips gently at my jaw, then soothes with his tongue, smug and tender at once.
“Tell us what you want,” Ash says, his thumb stroking my pulse point.
“Everything,” I breathe, surprised at my own honesty.
“Good answer,” Jake whispers, laughter low against my throat.
They move like they’ve practiced—like they understand the choreography of care.
Carl holds me, solid.
Ash steadies me, hands patient and strong.
Jake coaxes me to laugh into kisses, to sink into the couch, to stop thinking.
Heat blooms low and heavy. My sweater slides up and cool air hits warm skin. Three sets of hands learn me like a favorite song.
I tilt back and Ash’s mouth follows the line of my throat, slow and devoted, each kiss a yes I feel down to my toes.
Jake’s palm maps the dip of my waist, the curve of my hip, the outside of my thigh; he squeezes once and I gasp, and his grin turns fierce and fond.
Carl kisses me like we have all the time in the world, and I clutch at his shoulders because something inside me starts to unravel.
When I arch, all three of them react—hands soothing, lips gentling, breath warm at my ear.
“We’ve got you,” Ash says.
“We’ve got you,” Carl echoes, his voice a rumble against my mouth.
“We’ve got you,” Jake teases, softer than I’ve ever heard him.
I wake with my heart sprinting and heat blooming under my skin like I’ve been running.
The room is dark. The apartment is quiet.
My name still seems to hang in the air, threaded with a laugh, a vow, and a growled “Trisha” that makes my pulse misbehave.
I press a palm to my mouth and try to breathe. It’s only a dream.
“Oh my god,” I whisper to the ceiling. “Get a grip.”
My phone says 4:17 a.m. I’m up in forty-three minutes anyway. Fine. Shower it is.
An hour later, I’m showered and dressed, and the girls have had breakfast and I’m checking suitcases.
I open the front door to grab any forgotten mail before we go and nearly trip over a bouquet of roses sitting there.
Bending at the waist, I pick it up and search for a card.
Nothing.
No hint as to who they’re from.