Chapter 41
THEO
Bradley Airport isn’t much to look at—a utilitarian cluster of low buildings with exposed ceilings and scuffed tile floors. It’s small enough that Theo doesn’t need to check the arrivals board. One glance at the slow-moving crowd from the baggage claim tells him Mila’s flight has landed.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other on the sidewalk, tension crawling through his shoulders.
His calf still aches from the slapshot, but it’s background noise now, eclipsed by the pressure building in his chest, like his body’s bracing for a storm he wants to run toward.
Any second now, Mila’s going to appear around that corner, and the dull, dragging stretch of the days without her might finally crack open into something that feels like peace.
He sees her before she sees him, in a cream knit sweater and loose jeans with her hair twisted up in a messy top knot. Oversized sunglasses slip down her nose as she wheels a tiny suitcase through the arrivals hall.
She spots him leaning against the passenger door of his matte-black Audi and grins.
“You’re ridiculous,” she calls out, dragging her bag faster now.
He smirks, pushing off the car to meet her halfway. “My girl doesn’t Uber.”
“I wanted to Uber because I figured you’d be in practice or hiding in your bat cave.” She gestures to the sleek car. “I feel like I just stepped into a mafia movie. Where’s my champagne and threats of violence?”
He lifts an eyebrow, mouth twitching. “You—you want violence?”
“Only if you’re the one delivering it.”
Her voice is light, teasing, but Theo’s fingers itch where they clasp her waist. Goddamn, he missed her.
He missed her touches and her breathless giggles, the way she'd rib him without mercy.
He missed the sound of her voice washing over him, the way her laughter could unravel every knot in his chest just by existing.
He needs her under him, sprawled across his mattress, her lips swollen from his kisses, his signature written all over her in teeth and fingertips.
He wants to drag her cries out until she’s hoarse, until she forgets her own name and can only whimper his. Wants to fuck the breath from her lungs while she claws at his back and sobs broken little pleads for more.
He wants her bent over the kitchen counter, dress rucked up, begging as he grips her hair and drives into her hard enough to make the glasses rattle in the cupboards.
He steps closer, pressing in with his full body, his breath hot against her cheek. He needs to restrain himself from taking her right here, bent over the hood of his car.
“Oh, Daisy,” he murmurs, voice thick and low, “be careful what you wish for.”
Mila holds his gaze like she’s daring him to break her in half. Her lips curl into something wicked as she leans in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“Let’s go.”
The moment they’re back at the house, she’s his. No holding back.
The car ride is only twenty minutes, but every red light feels like an eternity. Mila kicks off her shoes, tucks her feet up in the seat like she owns the space, and asks him about his roadtrip.
She laughs, full and unfiltered, at his story about Carter’s latest antics on the team bus.
This time the victim had been JP, the rookie still so green he asked permission to use the bathroom.
Carter had swapped JP’s protein shake with one spiked full of hot sauce—three enthusiastic chugs before JP realized his throat was on fire.
The entire bus was howling while JP made sounds like a dying walrus until Jake finally threw him a mercy ice water.
She fills him in on her meeting with Jaryd and the praise she received when she ran the Whaler’s meeting. Theo’s so proud of her for standing up for herself he could burst. He never doubted her. He just didn’t trust Richard.
They pull into the driveway and step over the threshold into the quiet hum of his home. Her bag thumps to the floor, and he’s already turning to her, reaching—
“Mila?”
Theo freezes.
No. No. No.
“Holy shit, Mila!”
Jesse’s voice is unmistakable—gravel and sunshine and the energy of a man who’s been called up to the NHL and scored twice in six games.
Mila lights up. “Jesse! Oh my god—you’re here?”
She’s already rounding the corner, launching into a hug, and Theo’s left standing in the entryway with a full-blown hard-on and murder in his eyes.
Jesse beams at them both, cheeks pink, damp hair curling at his temples. He’s in sweats and socks and holding a protein shake like he lives here again. Which, apparently, he does.
“Surprise,” Jesse grins. “Got sent back down for a few days between call-ups. You know. Rest, rehab, recovery.”
Theo wants to recover her—wants Mila back in his arms, out of her clothes, tangled in his sheets.
Instead, Jesse claps him on the back like they’re on the same team as they make their way to the living room. “About time you two got your shit together,” he says, grinning. “Jesus. I was starting to think I’d have to lock you both in a supply closet.”
Theo’s jaw ticks. He doesn’t bother answering. There’s still heat coiled low in his spine from Mila’s mouth, her breath, her body pressed against his half an hour ago. Now Jesse’s dropped into the middle of it like a brick through glass, all loud cheer and zero self-awareness.
Mila snorts, tossing a throw pillow at Jesse’s head. “Please. If we were locked in a supply closet, you’d have found a way to interrupt that, too.”
Jesse catches the pillow with one hand and bows. “You wound me. I’d give you at least fifteen minutes.”
“You’d barge in asking where the scissors were,” she says, rolling her eyes.
They settle in, Mila curled into the corner of the couch with her legs tucked under her.
Theo takes the edge of the armchair. Jesse scrolls on his phone, rattling off food orders like it’s any other night.
They agree on sushi for her and tacos for the guys, though Mila groans dramatically at Jesse’s usual order.
“Do you ever eat a vegetable if it’s not prepared by Nat?” she asks, mock-disgusted. “I swear your palate stopped evolving at age four.”
Jesse only smirks. “Vegetables are crunchy sadness.”
Mila rolls her eyes.
And Theo—he sits there, dark and simmering and possessive, his hands itching to close the space between them and make her his.
After the most painful two and a half hours of Theo’s life, Jesse’s gone. He made sure of it, sending him off with a casual, “Why don’t you go catch up with Carter and Tristan.” The look Jesse shot him said he knew exactly what was about to happen the moment the door shut behind him.
Now, Theo leans back against the wall, watching Mila tidy up packets of soy sauce and taco wrappers like she doesn’t feel his eyes crawling over her skin.
“You’ve been driving me insane since the second you got here,” he says, voice a low burn.
She looks over her shoulder slowly. “And?”
“And I’m done waiting.”
He moves toward her as if the pull is magnetic.
When he kisses her, it’s with a hunger that makes time irrelevant, his hands tangling in her hair, gripping tight as his mouth claims hers.
She melts against him with a whimpering sound that goes straight to his spine, and he drinks it in like it’s the only thing that could keep him alive.
Theo spins her, guiding her back until her back meets the wall. His body crowds hers, arms bracketing her in so there’s nowhere else to go. His mouth finds her throat, lips dragging slowly over her skin.
“You’re so fucking soft,” he whispers, biting gently at her pulse point. “I’ve been thinking about how you’ll sound when you come. Wondering if you’ll fall apart easy for me, or if I’ll have to make you beg.”
She gasps as his hands slide beneath her shirt, palms rough against the curve of her waist. “What do you want?” she breathes.
“Everything,” he says, and means it. “Want you spread out on my bed, looking up at me like I’m the only thing in the world that exists. I want to make you feel so good you forget how to speak. Want to hear you say my name until your voice breaks.”
She draws him in with a kiss that is slower this time, deeper, drenched in heat and aching want, her mouth exploring his like she intends to taste every secret he has ever kept.
With a tug of her hand, Mila pulls him towards the stairs.
Their bodies press together as they stumble toward the bedroom, tripping over shoes and shedding layers in frantic, clumsy movements.
Her fingers fist his shirt, pulling it over his head while his hands find the waist of her jeans and yank them down with unrestrained urgency.
Breathless laughter spills between them, soft and gasping, and when they finally hit the bed, he’s above her, staring down, memorizing her.
“God, Mila,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You’re perfect. Fucking beautiful. I want to touch every inch of you, learn every sound you make.”
“I don’t want condoms,” she says softly, fingers reaching up to brush his jaw. “I got tested after Richard. I’m clean.”
The name slams into him like being struck with cold steel, and something uncoils in Theo’s chest. He needs to erase the knowledge that Richard ever touched her.
“Don’t say his name.” He leans down, growling in her ear. “Not when I’m about to fuck you so good you forget he ever existed.”
Mila squeals as Theo grabs her thigh, dragging her leg up around his waist as he leans in.
“I get tested every year. I’m clean too,” he murmurs, forehead resting against hers. “And I’ve never wanted anything more than to feel you. Just you.”
When he pushes into her, it’s slow, careful—but the sound she makes, the way her eyes flutter, the way her lips part in stunned pleasure—it breaks something in him.
“Fuck, Mila…” he groans, pressing deeper. “You feel unreal. Like you were made for me.”
She clutches at him, nails raking down his back. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He sets a rhythm—deep, controlled, relentless. He talks her through every second, every thrust laced with words that drip like molten heat.
“You’re so tight around me. So wet. You want it, don’t you? Want to be ruined slow.”
Her moans rise, hands pulling him closer, and Theo’s control frays with every sound that leaves her mouth. He kisses her—sloppy, needy—pressing his forehead to hers as their bodies rock together.
“You’re mine now,” he says, voice breaking, eyes locked on hers. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she gasps. “God, Theo—I’m yours.”
He groans as her words undo him. His pace stutters, deeper now, slower—grinding into her in a way that makes her legs shake around him.
“I’ll never get enough of this. Never get enough of you.”
When she comes, it’s with a cry that echoes through the room, her whole body arching under him. Theo holds her there, riding it out, whispering her name like a mantra.
And when he finally lets go—buried deep inside her, moaning into her neck—it’s not just pleasure that consumes him. It’s something older. Deeper. Territorial.
Mila. His. Completely.