Chapter 16
Ingrid
He spends the night.
He spends it next to me, and I’m consumed by him. By the hard lines of muscle. By the length of his thick, dark eyelashes. By the mouth that both says and does dirty, filthy things to me, and yeah, his cock–God–his cock, as he so crassly calls it… I didn’t know could be so magnificent.
It’s magnificent. I said it.
His magnificent penis made me feel things I didn’t know were possible.
Twice.
When morning drags itself into the room, he stirs first, pulling me back against the warmth of his chest. His lips brush the top of my head before finding my cheek, then lower, catching the corner of my mouth.
“Any regrets?” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
“Nope,” I whisper back, shifting against him. “Well… maybe that it took us so long to do that.”
He grins into my skin. “Nah. Just made it better.”
Then his mouth is on my throat, slow and hot, and my body reacts instantly.
He’s already hard again, pressed thick and insistent against my hip.
I should tell him no. I have another show tonight, a routine to follow.
Teas to drink, vitamins to take, yoga to help stretch my limbs.
Nothing, not even the sexiest hockey player alive, should drag me off schedule.
I pay too many people to keep me focused.
Except…
The ache building between my thighs drowns out the sensible voice in my head.
I roll onto him, pushing his broad shoulders into the mattress.
His grin spreads wider when I swing a leg over his hips and settle down, straddling him.
His hands grip my waist, steadying me as I drag my pussy over his length.
“You’re trouble,” he says, steel-gray eyes locked on me like he’s daring me not to finish what I started.
“Yeah,” I breathe, lining him up. “But, I’m pretty sure you love it.”
“Condom,” he grunts, hand failing for the bedside table.
There’s nothing but discarded wrappers.
“I’m on the pill,” I tell him, forcing my brain to work–to be responsible.
“We were tested before the playoffs. I’m clean.” We stare at one another for a long moment. It’s risky and dumb, but holy hell I want to feel him in me again. His hand reaches up to cup my face, “I haven’t slept with anyone since before then.”
What he’s saying is unspoken. Since he met me.
“I trust you,” I tell him, although it seems crazy.
The decision is made more by my body than my mind, and I sink down in one long, slow stroke, and the stretch makes me gasp, makes his jaw go tight beneath me.
My palms flatten on his chest, feeling every flex of muscle beneath my hands as I start to move.
“Fuck, Angel,” he groans, his hips rising to meet mine, filling me deeper.
The rhythm builds fast, needy, my body greedy for every inch of him.
He grips my ass, pulling apart my cheeks, dipping his long fingers into the valley.
The teasing urges me to go harder, faster, until I’m grinding down on him, chasing the high that sparks low in my belly.
He rises up, his mouth finds my breast, teeth grazing before he sucks my nipple deep, pulling a broken moan from my throat.
I ride him harder, my nails digging into his shoulders. The friction, the fullness–it’s too much. My thighs tremble, the orgasm hits sharp and blinding, ripping through me as I cry out his name.
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t give me time to catch my breath before flipping us, pressing me into the mattress with his weight. He pounds into me, deep and relentless, his lips at my ear.
“Again,” he growls. “Give me another.”
And God help me, I do, the tremors starting again, spurned on by the possessive commands, the hard feel of him deep inside of me, the knowledge that his man may be all I’ve ever wanted.
From the look in his eye, I think I’m all he’s ever wanted too.
Later that afternoon, I sit cross-legged in the makeup chair, cradling my mug of tea while the artist works her brush across my lids, layering them with shimmering silver.
The routine should calm me, it usually does, but Madison’s voice keeps threading through, steady and businesslike as she runs down the latest update from the arena.
“They’ve tightened security for tonight. Extra checkpoints, more staff in the pit, and backstage access is on complete lockdown.”
I nod, sipping my tea, pretending the warmth loosens the knot in my stomach. “Any idea who was behind it?”
“They’re tracking the IP for the online threats,” Madison says, glancing down at her phone.
“And following up with the delivery company that brought the box in.” She goes on, explaining that they found out earlier today that the box was delivered by a company–that’s how they got through security.
Somehow it was slipped in with packages by an approved vendor.
The action seemed more like seeing if they could penetrate our defenses.
“It could be a troll, could be something more. The police are on it.”
There had been a press conference earlier by the Atlanta Police Department, assuring everyone that the venue was safe and that tonight’s show would go on as planned.
I spoke at length about it with Marv, making sure that not only was it really safe for me, but for everyone else.
The fans, the arena staff, my team. The last thing I want is for anyone to get hurt.
I’ve been assured everything is under control.
My phone buzzes on the counter beside me. I don’t even reach for it. It’s been going off all day: friends, family, people checking in to make sure I’m okay. I appreciate it, I really do, but my nerves are already pulled tight, and I can’t spare the energy to reassure everyone else. Not right now.
The makeup artist tilts my chin, dusting glitter into the crease of my eyelid, when Madison’s voice shifts, softer, slyer. “So…”
I blink, my lashes brushing the brush. “So what?”
“So. He spent the night.”
A smile sneaks across my mouth before I can stop it. “He did.”
“And he didn’t seem like he was in a rush to leave this morning.”
That grin deepens, helpless. I can see him in my head again, the rumpled blond hair, steel-gray eyes still heavy with sleep, his body warm and solid against mine. I exhale a little laugh. “I would’ve stayed in bed with him all day if I could’ve.”
Madison narrows her eyes like she’s pressing me for details. “That good?”
“Incredible,” I admit, my voice low, almost reverent.
She leans in, conspiratorial. “I’m listening.”
Madison has been with me through the highs and lows, the heartache and euphoria. Sharing some goodness after the last few months of Jake induced pain, seems fair.
I set the mug down, curling my fingers together in my lap.
The words come out in pieces, colored by memory.
“He was… sweet. But strong. The kind of strong that doesn’t just overwhelm you, it holds you up.
He asked if I had regrets before I even had the chance to think them, and when I said no, he smiled like he already knew.
He kissed me like I mattered.” My throat tightens, heat spreading in my chest. “He worried about me. About everything.”
Madison’s brows lift, and her mouth curves into a knowing smirk.
I duck my head, though I can’t wipe the silly smile off my face.
“I saw his friends checked out,” she says casually, flipping through her notes.
“They had to get back,” I reply, still caught up in the glow of remembering. “But he’s staying one more day.”
And just saying it out loud makes my pulse quicken.
I can’t stop thinking about the way he felt inside of me, but it’s more than that.
I’m not used to this–someone choosing me when they don’t have to.
Making the sacrifice instead of forcing me to choose.
Most men I’ve been with have made me feel like my career was a third person in the relationship, this jealous ghost they couldn’t compete with.
Like I had to make myself smaller, dim my own spotlight, just to make them feel big enough.
I learned early on that it’s dangerous, being too much. Too successful. Too visible. Too me.
But Jefferson didn’t flinch. Not after the concert when our night was almost ruined.
Or when I let myself go with him completely.
Not even in the light of day, after he had me, when the reality of who I am–what I am–was right there between us.
He didn’t treat me like a prize to be won or a trophy to show off.
He just…held me, kissed me, made me laugh.
He made me feel like Ingrid the person, not Ingrid the name on a sold-out tour poster.
And that terrifies me. Because the better it is, the harder it is to believe it’s real.
I smooth my hands down my stage outfit, catching my reflection in the mirror.
Shimmering eyes, perfect hair, lips painted just so.
A pop star, through and through. But under the glitter, there’s still the girl who’s been left behind more times than she’s been chosen.
The girl who’s learned that love often comes with conditions–if only you weren’t so busy, if only you weren’t so famous, if only you weren’t so much.
Madison nudges me gently out of my head, or more like she’s reading it. “So…you’re sure he’s not after something?”
“Yeah,” I say, soft but certain. “I don’t think he is. What could a drafted pro hockey player possibly need from me?”
The truth is, the road ahead won’t be easy.
We’re both chasing demanding careers, pulled in a dozen directions we don’t get to control.
That’s always been the breaking point for me–men who couldn’t handle being second to the thing I love most, who wanted me to shrink just enough so they could feel taller.
Jefferson will have to decide if he’s strong enough to stand next to me without asking me to make myself small.
I guess I’ll have to decide that too. For now, I want to believe we can figure it out.
“The girls say he’s a notorious fuckboy.” Madison’s tone is light, but the jab lands sharp. “You could just be another notch on his headboard.”
“You’re right, I could be,” I admit, forcing myself not to flinch. “But I can’t live in that headspace, Mads. I like him. He likes me. He’s shown up for me in ways he didn’t have to, and I believe that means something.”
After Jake, I wasn’t sure if I could let myself believe that wanting someone doesn’t automatically mean losing everything else I’ve built. That maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to choose between being loved and being enough.
Jefferson isn’t Jake.
I have to remember that.
The roar of the crowd is deafening, and I walk off the stage buzzing, that jittery after-high that comes from after a show. Jefferson waits for me just off stage, leaning against a speaker, his thick arms crossed over his chest, grinning at me.
I don’t even think. Not about who can see me, not about what it looks like. I run straight into his arms. He catches me effortlessly, lifting me up and spinning me around. I squeal, half laughing, half delirious from the adrenaline.
“You were amazing,” he whispers in my ear, his voice warm and rough, the kind that makes me melt no matter how many times I hear it.
“You weren’t bored?” I ask, pulling back to search his face. “Coming two nights in a row?”
He presses a kiss to my mouth. “Nothing about you bores me.”
Swoon. Literal swoon. My knees would’ve buckled if he wasn’t already holding me up.
“Well, the next part is boring,” I tease as he lowers me to the ground. “I have to peel this costume off and scrub a pound of makeup off my face.”
“I like it,” he says, keeping me close. His big hand trails slowly down my back. “Warrior mode. It reminds me of the locker room. Post-game. Especially after a win.”
I grin, catching that glint in his eyes.
“I can see that. The energy’s elevated. My team killed it tonight.
The show went off flawlessly–for the audience, at least. We always see the little crises, the mix-ups, the missteps.
But as long as we smooth it over and make it the best night of their lives, then we’ve done our job. ”
“Fuck,” he says, dropping his mouth to mine again. “You’re smart and sexy.”
By the time we make it to the dressing area, I’m starting to come down.
Jefferson makes himself at home, sprawling on the couch, long legs stretched out, scrolling on his phone like he’s completely at ease in my world.
It doesn’t hurt that he looks like a fashion model, his face angled lines of perfection.
Meanwhile, my team gets to work on me–pulling pins from my hair, carefully noting missing sequins, peeling off my lashes.
Bit by bit, Ingrid Flockton fades away, until I’m just Ingrid again.
I’m in a new outfit when the door opens and Marv steps inside. His face is blank, too blank, and instantly my stomach tightens. He leans down to whisper something to Madison. Her brows flick up, and a ripple of unease runs through me.
“What?” I blurt. My voice is sharper than I intend. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Madison says too quickly. “There’s just someone outside who would like to come back.”
That’s not unusual. After almost every show, there’s someone–celebs, local personalities, politicians. I’m used to smiling, shaking hands, playing the gracious host. But the energy between Marv and Madison is off. Too still. Too careful.
“Why are you being weird?” I press, my chest starting to buzz with that telltale anxiety.
Madison sighs, her eyes flicking to Jefferson on the couch. He hasn’t noticed, still focused on whatever’s on his screen. Finally, she meets my gaze.
“It’s Jake,” she says softly, “he’s here and he wants to see you.”