Chapter 8
The puck slams into the net with enough force to rattle the posts.
"Jesus, Thompson." Coach Evans whistles. "Save some for the game."
I've been running drills since five AM, working out whatever this restless energy is. Definitely not thinking about Kennedy in my lap last night. Or how she felt under my hands. Or the way she ran when things were escalating. I swear to God that’s what she wanted last time, but things change fast.
"Somebody's fired up." Ace skates up beside me, spraying ice. "My sister keeping you up all night?"
My stick creaks in my grip. "Don't start."
"Just saying." He takes a shot, casual as can be. "Dad's not happy about you two."
"Yeah?" I line up another puck. "Rich politician doesn't approve of the working-class enforcer? Shocking."
"It's not about class." But we both know that's bullshit. "He's worried about your reputation."
The puck hits the crossbar with a crack. "My reputation."
"The fighting. The attitude. Not exactly campaign-friendly material." Ace's voice turns serious. "Just be careful with her, okay? Dad can make things difficult when he wants to."
If he only knew.
"Speaking of difficult." Ace checks his phone. "You're coming to the fundraiser tonight, right? Kenny said you agreed."
Fuck. The campaign event. Where I have to play perfect boyfriend for a room full of people who think I'm not good enough for their princess.
"Wouldn't miss it."
Six hours later, I'm in the nicest suit I own (bought for draft interviews), watching Kennedy work the room like she was born for it. Which, I guess, she was.
She looks unreal in a dark blue dress that shows just enough skin to drive me crazy while staying campaign appropriate. Her hair is up, exposing her neck in a way that makes me want to mark it. Wait, didn’t I? I look a little closer. Ah. It’s covered with makeup.
"Knox." Her voice pulls me back to reality. "Come meet the governor."
I let her lead me through the crowd as my heart pounds in my chest. Her hand feels small in mine, but there's nothing fragile about her grip.
"Perfect boyfriend mode activated," she whispers, and I have to resist the urge to bite her exposed shoulder.
The governor is exactly what you'd expect – silver-haired, custom suit, probably worth more than my entire future NHL contract. His handshake is deliberately too firm.
"So," he says, looking me over, "you're the hockey player."
"Yes, sir." Like I'm supposed to be impressed by his title. "Draft eligible this year."
"Hmm." His eyes drift to where my fingers are laced with Kennedy's. "Contact sport, isn't it? Lots of... fighting."
"Only when necessary." I feel Kennedy squeeze my hand in warning. "But I prefer to let my skill speak for itself."
The governor's clearly not buying it, but Kennedy smoothly changes the subject to some policy initiative. I watch her work, amazed at how easily she navigates these sharks.
Then I spot her father watching us from across the room.
Senator Walters' disapproval radiates like a physical force. Every time I touch his daughter – a hand on her back, fingers brushing her arm, lips against her temple – his jaw clenches harder.
Good.
I spend the next hour being extra attentive. Opening doors, pulling out chairs, keeping her wine glass full. But I add edges to it – letting my touches linger too long, whispering in her ear until she blushes, standing just a little too close.
"You're enjoying this," Kennedy accuses when we finally get a moment alone on the balcony.
"Watching your father's blood pressure rise?" I back her against the railing, caging her in. "Obviously."
"Knox..." Her breath catches as I trace the neckline of her dress. "Someone could see."
"Let them." I brush my lips across her jaw. "Isn't that the point? Letting daddy see his perfect daughter with the wrong kind of man?"
She shivers but doesn't pull away. "You're playing the part too well."
"Who says I'm playing?"
Before she can answer, I kiss her – slower than last night, but no less intense. She melts into me immediately, hands fisting in my jacket.
"We have to stop," she whispers against my mouth, even as she pulls me closer.
"Why?" I slide my hand into her hair, carefully preserving her elegant updo while keeping her exactly where I want her.
"Because..." She gasps as I find that spot on her neck that drives her crazy. "Because we're at a campaign event and my father's inside and—"
"And you're wet just thinking about it."
Her whole body trembles. "Knox."
"Tell me I'm wrong." I press closer, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. "Tell me you don't like playing the bad girl. Tell me you don't get off on—"
"Kennedy?" Patricia's sharp voice cuts through the moment. "Your father needs you for photos."
Kennedy practically shoves me away, frantically checking her lipstick in her phone camera.
"Coming!" She starts to leave but I catch her wrist.
"My place. After."
"I can't—"
"Wasn't a question, Princess." I brush my thumb over her racing pulse. "Time for another lesson."
Two hours later, she's sprawled across my bed while I teach her exactly what my mouth can do. Her dress is rucked up around her hips, her perfect hair completely ruined, those expensive shoes somewhere on my floor.
"Knox," she whimpers as I kiss my way up her thigh.
"What do you want, Princess?" I bite down gently, loving how she arches. "Use your words."
"I need..." She’s breathless.
"What do you need?" My breath ghosts over her center, still covered by black lace. "Tell me."
"You." Her hands fist in my sheets. "Your mouth. Anything. Please."
I give her what she wants because I'm not actually made of stone.
My lips land on her pussy as her body shivers under me.
The noise that leaves her mouth makes me wild.
I run my tongue up and down and then suck on the top of her pussy.
Her body jerks under me as she calls out my name.
Her taste, her sounds, the way she falls apart – it's fucking addicting.
I shove my tongue inside of her, loving how she feels.
When she comes down shaking, I have to physically stop myself from taking more. From taking everything.
"That was..." She looks at me through heavy eyes.
"Just the beginning." I press one last kiss to her inner thigh. "But that's enough for tonight."
"But you didn't..."
"Trust me, Princess." I adjust myself pointedly. "It’s not the time. Not yet."
"Okay," she mutters, and I appreciate the trust she has for me.
She leaves soon after, looking thoroughly debauched in her campaign event dress. I immediately grab my phone, needing distraction before I chase after her.
Wilson: Saw the campaign photos. Perfect political girlfriend image. Keep it up – scouts are noticing.
Ace: Thanks for being good with Kennedy tonight. Means a lot, man.
Guilt hits like a physical blow. Here I am, corrupting my best friend's sister while he thanks me for treating her right. Using her for draft stock while pretending it's all for show.
Except... is it pretending anymore? The way she tastes, the sounds she makes, how perfectly she fits in my world – none of that feels fake.
This is an arrangement. Blackmail. A business deal with benefits. Nothing more.
Even if I can still taste her on my tongue.
Even if my sheets smell like her perfume.
Even if every time she leaves, it gets harder not to ask her to stay.
You're so fucked, I tell my reflection as I head for another cold shower.
My reflection doesn't argue.