Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Then her lips part, and the throatiest, most gorgeous moan I’ve ever heard in my life leaves her sweet lips as she bucks against her hand. I move my hand up and down my length faster, squeezing myself, and when a cute little giggle escapes her, I blow my load. I drop my phone, come spurting everywhere and making a mess as my head falls back. My own grunt fills the space as white dots appear in my vision, and I jerk my hips up. I can’t breathe. I’m gasping as I squeeze my eyes shut.
Clara just came in my bed.
My bed.
Yup, I’m never washing those sheets.
But I sure as shit need to change my pants and…fuck, my tie.
Just like I knew from the moment I saw her, this girl has made a mess of me.
Alex is my golden goose.
And if that means I’m Veruca Salt dancing around in a little red dress, singing and chasing Alex’s golden eggs down a chute, then that’s who I am.
Fuck, I love this guy.
He’s zoned in, his eyes on everything as he moves in front of the goal like a goddamn ninja. The defense has been slacking and letting players get to the house, but Alex keeps slamming the door. The dude gets on my nerves, but I could kiss him for keeping us in the game. When he gloves a shot that shouldn’t have gotten through, I glare at the line that skates toward the bench for a change.
“So, is this the Alex Cruz Bears? Or the Knoxville fucking Bears? Get it together, everyone! Fucking protect Cruz so he can protect the house!”
Everyone grunts in agreement, and my glare deepens. I don’t give a fuck that they’re tired. We’re all fucking tired. “I get that you’re fucking tired. I get it—I do. But we haven’t worked for over eighty games to get here and lose! I want the W, and you should want it too. Do you?”
Everyone yells in agreement.
“Then protect the fucking house, would ya?”
I know I’m aiming too high. It’s only my second year as a head coach, but I’ve got the team to get me the Cup.
And I want the fucking Cup. I’m tired, too, and strung so damn tightly, I can’t stand it. I almost called in a woman to take the edge off, but it didn’t feel right. Makes no sense, and my cock and I are going to have to discuss this later since I really don’t like what that could mean.
That I only want Clara.
And I can’t want her.
I can’t have her.
She is young, vibrant. I’m a freaking fool, damaged goods, and all I could do is fuck her good. I couldn’t give her a good life. Hell, the only good in my life are my boys and my team. I don’t even know… Fuck, I gotta stop thinking this shit.
But once more, my damn phone vibrates with a notification of movement in my bedroom, and my body twitches with the need to look. I know I can’t look. I’m feeling tons of guilt from seeing Clara in her private moment. I know I should come clean, but I don’t want to embarrass her—or myself, because I’m sure I’d admit that I came at the sight of her giving herself pleasure to smooth over the fact that I watched her get off.
The problem is, I want to watch her come undone again.
But from the pleasure I give her.
Which is bad and is why I’m ready to strangle everyone around me.
The crowd is crazy and loud, cheering on their Griffins. The score is tied at zero, and as we’re in the third, I need us to score. I don’t want to go to overtime, not when my boys need the rest. I pace along the bench behind the boys, ignoring my phone that’s vibrating, probably with notifications about Clara that I need to turn off. Or I need to leave my phone in the fucking locker room because each vibration torments me.
When it buzzes again, I take it out and hand it to my assistant, Willy. He gives me a weird look. “What’s up?”
“Keep that for me.” He doesn’t question me and puts it in his suit jacket. “But don’t look at it.”
“I won’t, Coach,” he vows.
I nod a thanks and try to focus on what is going on before me. The Griffins are in our zone, and it pisses me off that they’re still there. We should be in their zone by now, and thankfully, Markson gets possession and halls ass up the ice before passing it off to Jennings, who shoots quickly, going top shelf. His shot is blocked away, but the sweetest fucking rebound pops back and lands on Markson’s blade. He doesn’t even have to try hard; he taps the puck in, and the light goes off.