When I finally caught my breath, still trembling from the waves he’d drawn out of me, I saw the way Jaymie looked at me—completely undone. His chest rose and fell hard, his eyes glazed with need. I slid off the bed and knelt between his legs, undoing his jeans with deliberate care, watching his pupils dilate with every second.
“Mal—” he started, but his voice cracked as I pulled him free.
Thick, flushed, already leaking for me.
I wrapped my fingers around him, slow and firm, before I lowered my mouth. The first pass of my tongue made him groan like I’d stolen the air from his lungs. I took him deep, letting him hit the back of my throat, feeling his fingers knot in my hair, his thighs tense beneath my palms.
I didn’t rush. I wanted to memorize the way his hips flexed, the curse words he muttered, the shiver in his voice when I hollowed my cheeks and sucked hard.
“Mallory, I—fuck, I’m close—”
I pulled off with a soft pop, wiped my mouth, and climbed onto his lap without a word. I lined him up and sank down in one slick, steady motion, swallowing him whole.
He gasped, hands flying to my hips, eyes wide and wild. “Jesus.”
I rode him slow, tight and deep, clenching around him until he couldn’t hold back.
“Where—” he panted.
“Inside,” I breathed, pressing my forehead to his.
He exploded with a groan that shook me, his body stiffening beneath mine. But I didn’t stop.
I circled my hips, reached between us, and found my clit with his thumb, guiding him until he took over. He rubbed tight, relentless circles until the pressure cracked wide open and I came again—loud, hard, soaking both of us.
I stayed there, trembling, letting the aftershocks roll through me. I could feel the wet heat between us—his release and mine, warm and sticky as it coated his thighs.
He held me close, one hand stroking down my spine, the other still curled protectively at my waist.
And in the quiet that followed, all I could hear was the beat of his heart beneath my cheek.
No more pretending.
Just this.
Just us.
Part Four
Mallory
The last whistle hadblown an hour ago, but I was still in the trainer’s room, sitting on a rolling stool, staring blankly at the stack of ankle wraps that weren’t going to fold themselves.
Hellblades 4, Tennessee Thunder 1. A solid win. Clean play, no fights, no blood on the ice. My job tonight had been taping, icing, monitoring. The usual. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that should’ve left me this wrecked.
But I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.
I shifted forward, wincing as my belly pushed against the edge of the counter. Thirty-one weeks, and I could feel everysingle day of it tonight. My lower back throbbed. My feet were screaming. The baby had been doing cartwheels during the second period, and now my whole abdomen ached like a stretched-out rubber band.
“You’re still here?”
Jaymie’s voice carried through the door as he stepped into the room. His curls were damp under a knit cap, cheeks red from the cold, Hellblades duffle slung over his shoulder. He looked showered, changed, and ten times more human than I felt.
“Just finishing up,” I said, even though I hadn’t touched a damn thing in fifteen minutes.
He eyed me like he could see straight through that lie. “You look dead on your feet.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. “That’s exactly the look I was going for.”
