Dirty Score (Rough Riders Hockey 3)

The first orgasm blasted through her like lightning, so sharp it bordered on painful. “Ah…”

It ripped through her body, leaving her shaking. And on the heels, another surged like waves on the shore. She held tight as another orgasm crashed. “Oh my God.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Rafe rasped, his voice wickedly pleased. “Don’t stop, Mia. So wet. So hot. Never been this good. Come, Mia. Come again.”

But she no longer had a choice. Her body wasn’t her own anymore. It belonged to Rafe. She let her head fall against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around his neck to hold on while his hips lunged, his cock plunged, and thrill after thrill hammered her. And instead of hearing her own voice begging for more, Rafe’s lips murmured at her ear, “Don’t stop, baby. Goddamn, Mia. So good. So fucking good. Give me more. Give. Me. More.”

Layer upon layer upon layer of ecstasy swamped Mia. Her vision blurred. Her body shook and shivered and broke. Each orgasm different from the last. And Rafe whispering, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.” in her ear.

By the time Rafe’s climax broke, Mia’s body was coiled tight. He drove deep on a guttural growl, and his hips pulsed through the orgasm. His warmth exploded inside her, spilling through her pelvis, and tipped her over the last ledge.

Shaking with fatigue, Mia floated slowly back to reality. Basking in the experience of finally completely giving herself over to a man she loved with everything she had. Everything she was.

As the present seeped back into her brain, Rafe stroked rough fingertips along her spine. His heavy, quick breaths sounded in her ear. His heart pounded hard against hers.

Then his breathless voice, thick with residual desire, murmured, “Fuck. I never knew…it could be like this…”

His revelation choked a sound from her—part laugh, part sob.

She’d never known she could love like this. This was what all her exes had been looking for. Waiting for. This was what she’d never been able to give.

Only to finally find The One, knowing that keeping him meant alienating everyone truly important in her life. In Rafe’s life. In their life, together.

10

Sweat drenched Rafe’s body. His thighs ached. Lungs burned. But his goal was within sight. So close he could taste it. Taste the salty, coppery tang on his tongue.

Score. Score. Score.

Rafe swung into the turn at the corner of the rink with a Bruin headed on a trajectory to intercept. But as the other player rushed to meet Rafe, Rafe leaned back, slowing at the last second and collecting the puck to protect it. The Bruin’s skates cut across Rafe’s path, just inches from his blades. Inches that gave Rafe the space he needed to pass to Andre.

Andre swooshed a circle around another Bruin and passed to Tate.

And Tate hammered the puck deep into the net.

Score.

Adrenaline surged through Rafe, the game now three-two with the Rough Riders in the lead at the beginning of the third period.

All five players punched a triumphant fist in the air and skated to each other for congratulatory hugs. After tapping gloves with their teammates on the bench and getting kudos from their coach, Tremblay traded Rafe, Tate, and Isaac out of the line.

This was game four in the battle for the East Coast conference title. They had to win to play for The Cup.

“You are killin’ it tonight,” Tate told him, following Rafe to the bench. “You’ve touched every fucking goal.”

Two goals and one assist out of the three total. Yes, Rafe was on motherfucking fire. Again. Thanks to Mia.

He couldn’t have killed the grin on his face even if he’d gotten jammed into the boards headfirst—like he had in the first period, which had earned Rafe eight stitches underneath one eye.

Even with sweat stinging the cut, he turned his smile on Mia where she sat in the stands nearby. She was sitting with Joe, just three rows up from the ice tonight. Rafe loved knowing she was watching him kill it. Loved having her eyes on him.

He picked up a bottle, squirted water into his mouth, and glanced at Tate. When Rafe found him talking to Hendrix, he cut another look toward Mia.

She was already looking at him, and the second their gazes collided, all sorts of tugs and twists tortured his guts. Sitting on the edge of her seat, leaning forward, she had her elbows on her knees and her chin in her palm. And she was smiling. Right at him. The kind of smile that made his insides tighten and sing. And while her smile grew to show perfectly straight, white teeth—courtesy of Joe—Rafe was already wondering how and where he could maneuver a situation to get her alone tonight. He’d sure love to expend all his adrenaline on Mia.

But if they won, everyone would be headed to owner’s home after the game to celebrate their victory.

Cheers from the stands pulled Mia’s gaze back to the ice. Rafe glanced that direction and found Kilbourne fighting to get the puck around the goalie. When the puck started down the ice again, he returned his gaze to Mia, but she was talking to Joe.