Chapter 35 Juliette
JULIETTE
Five goals. In one night. In front of almost twenty thousand people who have no idea what that scoreboard really means for me.
I’ve changed positions on this bed about a hundred times in the last ten minutes.
Sitting cross-legged. Lying on my stomach.
Standing by the window watching the Calgary skyline.
Back to the bed. The jersey keeps riding up and I keep pulling it down even though there’s no one here to see that I’m not wearing anything underneath.
There’s a single knock at the door. Sharp, confident, like he knows exactly what he’s walking into. Like he didn’t just make history. Like this is perfectly normal.
I open it and he’s there wearing that dangerous grin that got me into this situation in the first place.
His eyes start at my face then travel down, stopping at the jersey’s hem hitting mid-thigh.
“What’s under my name?” He’s already crossing toward me, kicking the door shut behind him. His hand lands on my thigh and slides up, expecting resistance, but finding none.
His whole body goes still. “Fuck, Juliette.”
“You scored five goals.”
“I did.” His voice drops to something rough. “And you’re trying to kill me before I can collect.”
“You earned the easy access.”
He laughs, dark and low, backing me to the wall. “Nothing about tonight is going to be easy.”
His hands grip my thighs and lift me against the wall in one motion. I gasp and grab his shoulders for balance.
“Been thinking about this since the second period.” His mouth finds my neck, his teeth grazing across my skin. “Watching you up there in my jersey, when you realized I was going for four. You went completely white. Then red. Then you sat down like your knees gave out.”
“They did give out.”
“Good.” He sets me on my feet and drops to his knees so fast I don’t have time to process the movement. “Let’s see if we can make that happen again.”
He shoves the jersey up and his mouth is on me before I can respond. No buildup, no teasing, just his tongue working me in focused circles that make me grab for the wall behind me.
“Fuck, you’re already soaked.” He doesn’t pull back to say it, just speaks directly against me so I feel every word vibrate through me. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“Since—” I gasp as he adds two fingers without warning. “Since the third goal when you mouthed ‘count them’ at me like a psychopath.”
He laughs against me and the vibration makes my knees buckle. He catches me with his free arm, holds me up while his fingers curl and I’m seeing stars.
His tongue presses harder and I cry out, my hands gripping his hair. “Come on, baby. Let me taste what a whole hockey game of anticipation does to you.”
It’s embarrassing how quickly I fall apart. Maybe thirty seconds of his mouth and fingers working together before the orgasm crashes through me. He holds me up while I shake against the wall, his name broken and desperate on my lips.
He works me through the aftershocks until I’m pushing at his shoulders, oversensitive and trembling.
“That’s one,” he says, rising to his feet and pulling me against him so I can feel how hard he is through his dress pants. “Four to go, Ice Queen. Still think you can handle it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Always.” He kisses me and I taste myself on his tongue. “But you’re not really quitting after one, are you?”
“No, of course not.”
He smirks, and pulls me toward the bathroom. “Come on. I want to see you all wet.”
The hotel shower is massive.
Romeo strips while adjusting the water temperature, completely unselfconscious about being naked while I’m still in his jersey.
“Are you just going to stand there admiring the view?”
“Maybe.”
“Get in here.” He pulls me under the spray, jersey and all. It immediately plasters to my skin, going almost transparent.
“This is your jersey,” I point out.
“I have others.” He peels it off me, tosses it outside the glass door where it lands with a wet splat. “Besides it was driving me crazy. The way every guy in that arena was looking at you tonight.”
“They were looking at you. You scored five goals.”
“They were looking at you in my jersey.” His fingers massage my shoulders and it feels so good I close my eyes.
“Does your team know about our agreement.”
“No, they think I promised you a car.”
“A car!”
“Or a trip to Paris. I’ll let them think that.” His hands trail down to my breasts, circling slowly. “The truth is better.”
“The truth is insane.”
“The truth is I’m obsessed with you.” He backs me against the tile wall, the contrast of cold marble and hot water making me shiver. “Turn around.”
I turn, bracing my hands against the wall. He presses against my back, his erection hard against me, his hands sliding down my stomach.
“That second goal,” he says conversationally, like he’s not currently sliding two fingers inside me from behind. “The power play one—I almost missed Dex’s pass completely.”
“Why?” Though I know why. I remember his face finding mine in the crowd right before.
“Because I was watching you instead of the puck.” His fingers curl and I gasp, pressing back against him. “You were leaning forward, hands clasped. Then you realized what two meant and bit your lip the way you do when you’re turned on.”
“I don’t have different lip bites.”
“You have at least four.” He adds a third finger and I whimper, my back arching, hips rocking with the movement of his hand.
“There’s the concentrating bite. The worried bite.
The trying-not-to-laugh bite. And then there’s this one—” His other hand comes around to find my clit.
“The one where you’re thinking about fucking. ”
“You’re delusional.”
“Maybe.” He works me slowly, deliberately, building it different from the first time. “And right now you’re doing the fifth type.”
“Which is?”
“The trying-not-to-come-too-fast bite.”
Damn him for being right. I am biting my lip, trying to hold back, trying to make this last longer than the embarrassingly quick first one.
“Don’t fight it.” His mouth is at my ear. “We have three more after this. Let go.”
The second orgasm builds slower but hits harder. I cry out and he holds me through it, my legs shaking so badly he’s basically supporting my entire weight.
“Two,” he says, pulling his fingers out slowly. “You’re doing so good, baby.”
“I might die.”
“I won’t let you die until we hit five.”
“How generous.”
He turns off the water and helps me out, then insists on drying me with a towel while I try to remember how my legs work.
“Can we lie down for a minute?”
“Of course.” He scoops me up, carries me to the bed despite my protest that I can walk. “We have all night.”
“Do we? Because at this rate we’ll be done in an hour and then what?”
“Then we start counting to ten.”
“I will actually murder you.”
He grins and stretches out beside me, pulling me against his chest. “Just five. I promise. But we’re pacing ourselves. These next ones are going to last.”
His hand traces slow patterns on my skin while my heartbeat slowly returns to normal. He’s still hard against my thigh, occasionally twitching when I shift.
“Does that hurt?”
“What?”
“Being that worked up without... you know.”
“Coming?” He laughs at my expression. “You can say it, JuJu. We’re adults who just did very adult things in a shower.”
“Fine. Without coming. Does it hurt?”
“It’s uncomfortable. But in a good way.” His hand slides lower. “Besides, watching you fall apart is almost as good.”
“Almost?”
“Okay, like sixty percent as good.”
“Only sixty?”
“Maybe seventy when you make little noises.”
I bite his shoulder. “I do not make noises.”
“You did. Right before the second one hit. Very cute, very desperate.” He rolls on top of me, caging me in with his arms. “Desperate enough to agree to this insane bet.”
“The bet was your idea!”
“You agreed to it awful fast.” He kisses my neck. “Almost like you wanted an excuse.”
“An excuse for what?”
“To let me wreck you.” Another kiss, lower. “To give up control. To let me take care of you.”
He’s not wrong and that’s annoying.
“Ready for three?”
“Do I get input on how three happens?”
“What kind of input?” He’s kissing down my chest now, taking his time.
“I don’t know. Location? Position? Velocity?”
He laughs against my stomach. “Velocity?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. And you can have input.” He looks up at me. “What do you want?”
What I want is to not admit how much I want him to take control, to make these decisions, to push me past what I think I can handle. But that’s hard to say out loud.
“Surprise me.”
His grin is wicked. “Dangerous words.”
He gets up and goes to his bag, and pulls something out. Then turns back toward me and triumphantly waves a small purple vibrator that makes my eyes go wide.
“You brought a sex toy to Calgary?”
“I brought three.”
“THREE?”
“I had ambitions.” He’s completely shameless about it. “Besides, I figured I should be prepared.”
“You’ve been planning this?”
“Hoping.” He settles between my legs. “Preparing. Visualizing.”
“Like game tape?”
“Exactly like game tape.” He turns on the vibrator and the sound makes my whole body tense in anticipation. “Now relax. This one’s going to be different.”
Different is an understatement. The vibrator is precise where his mouth was hungry, intense where his fingers were patient. He takes his time learning what makes me arch, what makes me grab the sheets, what makes me gasp his name.
“This setting?” He adjusts something and the sensation changes, becomes deeper, then he clicks a button and it changes. “Or this one?”
“Two, god, one, I don’t know.”
He laughs and presses it harder against me. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
“Romeo—”
“Not yet.” He slides it lower, teases my entrance without pushing inside. Just lets me feel the vibration. “Want to tell you about goal three.”
“Now?” I’m practically panting. “You want to have a conversation now?”