I just loved her.
“Baby, please,” she begged, rocking her hips against my mouth.
I got to my feet, then unbuckled my pants and dropped my boxer briefs just low enough for my cock to spring free. The rest could come off later.
She scrambled up me, locking her ankles around my back as I lined up with her entrance. Then I drove home, filling her in one long thrust.
“London,” I groaned as her pussy surrounded me, gripping me tight. This woman was made for me. We fit perfectly. Our chemistry was off the charts. This was it. She was it, the one.
She gasped, then let out the sweetest moan I’d ever heard. “I love the way you feel inside me.” Her hips swiveled, and the friction nearly sent me over the edge.
“I love you,” I said, locking my gaze on hers.
Her eyes flared, and her body tensed. Before I could ask if I’d just made a colossal misstep, she grabbed the sides of my face and pulled me into a hard kiss, and damn, I could feel it with every flick of her tongue—she was just as lost for me as I was for her.
She rocked her hips again, and I snapped, pinning her against the wall as I fucked her with long, hard, deep strokes. Later, I’d take it slowly. I’d make love to her with all the care and consideration we both deserved, but I knew how we both needed it this first time.
Our kiss was all tongues and teeth, her nails sharp across my shoulders as I plunged into her again and again, driving us both toward completion. Something fell to the left. We kept going.
Her cries filled my ears, her body locking around mine like a vise as she came again, and the ripples of her muscles pulled me over with her. I emptied into her with one last, deep thrust, locking my knees so I didn’t pull us both to the floor.
Our breathing was ragged, our bodies sweat-slick as I rested my head against the wall beside hers, trying to get my body back under some form of control.
“So I guess you like the wax?” she asked, running her fingers through my hair gently.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, London. I fucking love the wax.”
The next day, we were just finishing up practice when I saw London against the wall again, but this time, Maxim was hovering over her.
The hallway was crowded and smelled like sweat as we walked off the ice, heading toward the locker room. I saw Maxim’s back first, the Zolotov name standing out against the black jersey like a fucking warning. Then I noted those little black heels with the red bottoms, and spotted London, leaned up against the wall.
I knew it was harmless, that there was at least a good foot of space between them, but it didn’t stop the ugly churn of jealousy in my gut.
“We have an extra seat if you want to join us at dinner,” he offered, reaching to tuck a loose strand of her hair back.
She got there first, thank God, or I would have had to spend my night burying a body instead of making love to London. She stepped away, putting a little more distance between them, but I was still seeing red as I approached.
“I think I’m busy this weekend,” she said, her gaze flickering toward me. The color fell out of her cheeks at whatever she saw on my face, but she quickly recovered and offered Maxim a shaky smile. “It was sweet of you to ask, though.”
He nodded and took off with the rest of the team into the locker room, and I slowed so that only London and I were left in the hallway.
I looked both ways, then tugged her into the nearest office, pads and all. “Seriously?”
“He’s Caspian’s best friend, Jansen. There’s nothing going on.” She sighed, not that I could blame her. We were both tired of the same damned argument.
“He flirts with you at every possible opportunity, London, which he might not do if he knew we were together,” I snapped. Then again, knowing Maxim, he’d just try harder. From what I’d seen, he thrived on a challenge.
“He doesn’t flirt. He’s just so mean to everyone else that it looks like flirting when he’s nice to me.” She set her clipboard on the desk and folded her arms under her breasts.
“This is really starting to get to me.” I put my helmet under my arm. “I know you love this job, and you think that I’m some kind of—”
“We agreed not to tell anyone,” she reminded me, worry consuming her eyes.
“How the hell would you feel if that was another woman out there, asking me to dinner and trying to touch me?”
Her mouth opened and shut a couple of times. “You mean like every single damned meet and greet that I have to coordinate and facilitate? At least you don’t have to smile at Maxim and offer to take a fucking picture. Do you know how many phone numbers women shoved into my hands at the last game, just hoping I’d give them to you? Seventeen, Sterling.”