Chapter 16 Mira
The championship playoffs came with a two-week road trip that involved more hotel rooms than I'd seen in my entire life and a schedule that made my head spin just looking at it.
I was assigned my own hotel room for the first time—apparently the athletic department had decided that housing their performance specialist with the team was inappropriate for extended trips. Which was probably good policy, even if it felt isolating after weeks of living in the hockey house.
I lay in my hotel bed at midnight, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
The room was too quiet. Too empty. Too devoid of the sounds I'd gotten used to: Logan's music bleeding through the walls, Blake's midnight cooking sessions, Nolan's early morning alarms.
I'd become dependent on their presence in ways I hadn't realized.
At 12:30, I gave up on sleep and ventured into the hallway, thinking maybe a vending machine run would tire me out enough to actually rest.
I made it approximately five steps before I encountered Logan, standing outside his door in sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking as wide awake and frustrated as I felt.
"Can't sleep?" I asked.
"Never can before big games," he admitted. "You?"
"Too quiet."
We stood there in the hotel hallway, an awkward silence stretching between us, both clearly wanting to suggest something but not sure if it was appropriate.
"I have snacks in my room," Logan offered finally. "We could hang out? Watch bad TV?"
Before I could answer, another door opened. Nolan emerged, looking equally awake, taking in the sight of Logan and me standing in the hallway.
"Can't sleep," Logan and I said simultaneously.
"Me neither," Nolan admitted.
A third door opened. Blake appeared, his hair messy from lying down but his eyes fully alert.
"Blake too?" I asked.
"I heard voices," he said, which explained nothing and everything.
The four of us stood in the hotel hallway at nearly 1 AM, all suffering from insomnia, all clearly wanting the same thing but unsure how to ask for it given the complicated nature.
"My room," Nolan said finally, taking charge in that captain way. "We'll review game footage. Totally professional."
"Right," Logan said, not even trying to hide his smile. "Professional game footage review at 1 AM."
"Completely normal," Blake added.
We filed into Nolan's room—which was identical to mine except for the scattered hockey gear and the laptop already open to game footage. The four of us settled onto the bed and surrounding chairs, ostensibly to watch video but really just to be near each other.
The proximity in the small hotel room created unbearable tension. We were trying to maintain professional distance while our bodies naturally gravitated together—shoulders touching, legs pressed against each other, the space between us shrinking with each passing minute.
The pretense of reviewing footage lasted approximately twenty minutes before a particularly violent hit on Logan during the replayed game made me unconsciously grab both Nolan and Blake's hands for comfort.
The physical contact broke our restraint.
Nolan turned to me, his eyes dark with want and something deeper. "Mira."
"Yes?"
"Can I kiss you?"
I was still holding Blake's hand on one side and Nolan was inches from my face and Logan was sitting at my feet watching us with an expression of fascination and desire.
"Yes," I whispered.
Nolan kissed me while I still held the others' hands, creating a moment of shared intimacy that felt natural rather than awkward. Blake's grip tightened on my fingers. Logan's hand found my ankle, his thumb stroking my skin through my socks.
When Nolan pulled back, Logan was already moving, settling beside me on the bed, his hands finding my face with familiar confidence.
"My turn," he said, and kissed me with the kind of intensity that made my toes curl.
Blake waited patiently, but when he finally kissed me, it was with a reverence that made my chest tight. His large hands cradled my face like I was something precious.
The four of us created a unit on that hotel bed—touching, kissing, exploring with hands and mouths and whispered confessions.
"I love how strong you are," Nolan murmured against my neck. "How you disguise steel as delicacy."
"I love your brain," Logan said, his fingers tracing patterns on my arm. "How you analyze everything but also care so deeply about people."
"I love how you protect everyone," Blake added quietly. "How fierce you are when someone threatens your people."
I was overwhelmed by their words, their touch, their presence surrounding me like a living shield.
"I feel complete with all three of you," I admitted.
"Each of you fulfills different needs I never knew existed.
Nolan challenges me intellectually and pushes me to be stronger.
Logan understands my anxiety and makes me laugh when I'm spiraling.
Blake makes me feel safe and seen in ways I've never experienced. "
The exploration remained relatively innocent by some standards—kissing, touching over clothes, whispered confessions that felt more intimate than physical acts. But the emotional honesty exceeded anything I'd experienced before.
Eventually, though, innocent touching wasn't enough.
"I want more," I whispered against Nolan's mouth. "I want all of you. Please."
They exchanged looks—some silent communication passing between them that spoke to years of trust and partnership.
"Are you sure?" Nolan asked.
"Completely sure."
I was in the middle, the eye of this glorious storm. Logan sprawled on my left, his arm slung possessively over my hip, fingers already tracing lazy circles on my exposed midriff where my tank top had ridden up.
Blake mirrored him on my right, his touch lighter, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the thin fabric. Nolan knelt at the foot of the bed, watching us with that intense, hooded gaze, his hands flexing like he was mapping out plays on the ice.
"What now?" I whispered, my voice breathy even to my own ears. Heart hammering, skin prickling with anticipation.
Logan grinned, that cocky tilt to his lips that always made my stomach flip. "Now? We learn you, Mira. All of us. Together."
He leaned in, capturing my mouth in a kiss that was all heat and tease—tongue flicking against mine before pulling back just enough to nip my lower lip. "Tell us what feels good. No holding back."
Blake's hand slid under my tank, cupping my breast fully now, his palm warm and steady. "Yeah," he murmured against my ear, voice a low rumble. "We want this right. For you."
His thumb circled my nipple, coaxing it to a tight peak, and I arched into it with a gasp that dissolved into a giggle when Nolan—ever the perfectionist—chimed in from below.
"Communication is key," he said, deadpan, but his eyes sparkled with amusement as he crawled up, settling between my spread thighs. His hands gripped my knees, parting them wider with gentle insistence. "Scale of one to ten: how's this?"
His fingers trailed up my inner thigh, stopping just short of where I ached most, the heat of him seeping through my leggings.
"Eight," I lied, squirming. "Make it a ten."
He did. Hooking his fingers in the waistband, he peeled the leggings down—slow, deliberate—exposing the damp patch on my panties. Logan whistled low, and Blake's breath hitched, but they didn't rush.
Nolan's mouth followed the path of my clothes, lips brushing my calf, knee, thigh in open-mouthed kisses that left me shivering. When he reached the edge of my panties, he nuzzled there, inhaling deeply.
"Fuck, you smell like heaven," he growled, and then his tongue pressed flat against the fabric, right over my clit.
I bucked, a startled laugh bubbling up as the sensation zinged through me—wet heat muffled but insistent.
"Oh fuck, that's—" Words failed when Logan joined in, shoving my tank up to expose both breasts. He latched onto one nipple, sucking with playful suction that bordered on silly, popping off to blow cool air over the wet peak.
"Too much? Or just right?" he asked, grinning around the question.
"Right," I panted, threading fingers through his hair. "Don't stop."
But then Blake's hand dipped lower, over Nolan's shoulder, his fingers joining Nolan's at my core.
There was a fumble—Nolan's hand bumping Blake's, a shared chuckle that vibrated against my skin—and we all paused, dissolving into laughter.
Me, red-faced and breathless. Them, eyes crinkling with that easy camaraderie that came from years on the ice.
"Teamwork makes the dream work," Logan quipped, and Blake snorted, adjusting so Blake's fingers could slip under the crotch of my panties while Nolan tugged them aside.
It was awkward at first—them figuring out space, me wriggling to help, a pillow tumbling off the bed in the shuffle. But God, it was perfect. They anticipated each other like they did on the rink: Logan passing the puck to Blake's waiting hand, Blake deferring to Nolan's precise angle.
Blake's touch was gentle, always—fingertip circling my clit in soft, reverent loops that built pressure like a slow tide.
"Like this?" he whispered, watching my face with those soulful eyes.
I nodded, whimpering as he pressed just a little firmer, his other hand kneading my breast like dough, thumb flicking the nipple in time.
Logan's confidence shone through in his mouth—alternating between breasts, sucking one while pinching the other, his free hand roaming my side, tickling ribs until I laughed again, the sound turning to a moan when he ground his hard cock against my thigh through his sweats.
"Feel that? That's what you do to me," he murmured, nipping the swell of my breast.
And Nolan’s fingers delved deeper, one sliding inside me with a slick ease that made my toes curl. He curled it immediately, stroking that spot inside with methodical precision, learning the hitch in my breath, the flutter of my walls.