Sterling (Carolina Reapers 6)

“Never.” She shook her head slowly.

“Seriously?” It had to be asked. I couldn’t imagine anyone getting London under their hands and not spending hours figuring out exactly what made her body purr.

“I’ve dated—I’m not a nun or anything, but I’ve never wanted like that.” She looped her arms around my neck. “You, however, I wanted in the elevator. You probably could have pushed me against the wall, and I would have climbed you like a ladder.” Her eyebrows rose.

A slow smile spread across my face. “Then we would have been in perfect agreement. Not sure it would have looked too good once the guys got the doors open, though.”

She huffed a laugh and stroked her fingers through the ends of my hair.

My mind started tripping all over itself at the thought of feeling her come again and again. Next time I’d do it with my tongue and lips, and if it freaked her out too much to feel restrained, she could ride my fucking face all night long. My dick screamed in agreement.

“What?” she asked softly, looking at me with a slight wrinkle of confusion.

“Oh, nothing. I’m just planning all the different ways I’m going to make you come.” After my mouth, I’d use my cock when she was ready. How many times could I get her there if I had all night with her?

Before she could react, the credits rolled, and the lights came up in the theater.

“Um. How did you like the movie?” she asked, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.

“Best show of my life.”

It was.

The next night we took on Anaheim at home and squeaked out a four-to-three win. I’d spent the majority of the game in net, and sweat poured down my body in rivulets as we made our way to the locker room.

The sound of the cheering crowd faded when I passed through the door, but the guys were just as loud in their celebration.

“You were on fire!” Briggs slapped my back as we sank to the bench in front of our lockers.

“You saved my ass in the third period. I lost sight of the puck for a good two seconds,” I admitted. The guy was a defense god.

“Just doing my job.” He shook it off like he always did. He may have gone third pick in the first round of the draft, but he was humble as they came.

Foster, on the other hand, had a shit-eating grin as he took his seat across the room from us. Between his speed and Maxim’s accuracy, they’d put two of the points on the board. Brogan, who was silently ripping off his gear like it had personally offended him, had brought in the third.

“You don’t think I know that?” Maxim growled, his voice standing out in a moment of quiet. “Well, we won, so it’s going to have to be good enough,” he said into his cell phone, switching into Russian as his voice escalated. He finished up his conversation just as I headed for the shower, sending me off with a glare as he threw his phone into his bag so hard I would have taken bets that it didn’t survive the trip.

Whatever.

I showered off and got dressed, hanging my gear to dry.

“You want to head to Scythe?” Briggs asked, yanking a shirt over his head. “I think some of the guys are headed that way.”

“Some of us have dates,” Maxim intruded, his bag slung over his shoulder. “I’ll personally be at dinner with London, but I asked Caz to join us, too.” His mouth quirked up in a smirk that made me want to punch it off his fucking face.

He’s her brother’s best friend, I reminded myself.

“Have a good time,” I managed to say, sliding my wallet into my back pocket.

“Look at you getting all mature,” Briggs joked under his breath.

“Oh, I will.” Maxim smiled, but it sure as fuck wasn’t friendly. “Have you given up chasing after her yet? I’d hate to think I won her by default.”

My blood boiled, and I had to lock my jaw to keep from running my mouth. London and I weren’t official. Hell, she hadn’t even given me the okay to go public about us yet. What we had—whatever we called it—was ours.

“You won’t win her at all.” I shrugged. “She’s out of both of our leagues.” Wasn’t that the honest truth?

Maxim scoffed and walked out of the locker room.

“He wouldn’t have said that shit if Foster was still in here,” Briggs muttered. “I still can’t understand how you’re genetically linked.”

“You see,” Greene said, throwing his arm around Brigg’s shoulder. “When a man loves a woman—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped. “He never loved her.” Love had never been the word Mom used. I grabbed my keys and walked out of the locker room with Briggs by my side, taking a deep breath in the hallway and making my way past the outstretched microphones from reporters and grasping hands of puck bunnies who just wanted a piece.