Wild.
Electric.
Explosive.
Every sense heightened to a new degree with the lack of my hands, as if binding me had unlocked some primal portion of my soul that both submitted and awoke only for him.
I lost all coherent thought as he took me beyond the edge, through an orgasm and straight into another, so fast my head swam and spun and bubbles popped under every inch of my skin.
And only when he’d licked my flavor clean did he rise up and slip those briefs off, his beautifully hard cock springing free of its cage.
Limp, my body was limp.
A wolfish smirk shaped the lips that had just devoured me.
“Do you feel submissive or worshiped?” He asked as he pressed his palms against my knees, spreading me as wide as I could possibly go.
“Worshiped,” I said, breathless, my mind traveling back to our conversation all those months ago when he’d assured me there was nothing submissive about allowing yourself to be handcuffed. “You were right,” I continued. “I was having sex with the wrong people. Nothing compares to this. To you.”
“Oh,” he said, smirking. “I’m just getting started. He took his time eyeing me, trailing the length of my body with the look of a man who knew he owned me wholly. It made me come alive with heat and want and love.
He nudged my entrance with the tip of his cock, his eyes on fire as he watched the spot where we joined. A glance at me, and I nodded.
Then he sheathed himself inside me, so deep I moaned without thinking.
But he was there, folding himself over me, kissing me, swallowing the sound like he wanted to drink me in. He pumped harder, both of us struggling to keep our sounds inside so we didn’t wake the sleeping child across the hall.
I yanked against my bonds as I felt him harden more within my walls, and bit his lip to force him to look at me.
“You’re mine, too,” I whispered.
“Completely,” he growled.
And I clenched around him, the throes of my orgasm so intense and strong it drew his from him too. His final thrusts were hard and sweet with a bite of pain that made my eyes roll back in my head. Until he collapsed on top of my breasts, his deliciously sweaty body rock hard above me.
Nothing but the sound of our heated breaths filled the room. He gently cleaned us up, unfastened my handcuffs, and tucked my back against his chest before locking one arm around my hip and the other under my neck, his hand between my breasts.
Sleep claimed me, heavy and blissful and utterly lovely.
Chapter 16
Connor
“If you skate like that tomorrow, Crosby, Boston is going to destroy our defense!” Coach yelled down the hallway as we got off the ice.
“If Davis over here was doing his job, we wouldn’t have an issue!” he snapped back.
Damn.
“Or you could not be fifty shades of hungover,” Lukas added, throwing a grin my way. “See what I did there? I’m getting pop culture down,” he added quietly.
“No, man. Not in this case. Just...no.” The last thing I wanted to think about was Crosby tied up in handcuffs.
Ivy, on the other hand? That had been a sight to behold. Her silky skin spread out on my gray sheets, writhing against the handcuffs, waiting for me to please her, to fill her.
Fuck, I had to simmer those thoughts down or I was going to pop one in the fucking locker room.
There was a quietness in the locker room as we got out of our gear and hit the showers. Tomorrow we would fly to Boston. The day after it was time to go to war. The seven game series. The Stanley Cup Finals.
For a couple of the guys the locker room, it would be the last series they played in a Shark jersey. If I had to guess, Crosby and Davis were both going, but that didn’t matter. Not yet.
All that mattered was keeping my head in the game.
I finished dressing, threw my bag over my shoulder and headed out, walking next to Porter, who was on his phone.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Of course, I care about the team’s image. Yes, I know you take your job seriously.”
I glanced over at his scowling face, and he mouthed, “Langley,” at me.
Ah, yes. Langley Pierce, our head of PR and Porter’s constant pain in the ass. I slapped him on the back. “Good luck!”
He flipped me the middle finger. “I haven’t done shit since I got here. Not one thing,” he growled into the phone. “Hell no, I don’t want to do that. Would you want to do that?”
I walked out into slight drizzle to the flashes of photographers and screaming paparazzi. It was usually busy at this entrance, but since the finals were this close? It was madness.
But, if I took a few seconds now and answered their questions, they were more likely to leave me alone when I was doing things like taking Hannah to the park or kissing Ivy on the pier.
“Connor!” One called out, and I turned, plastering a smile on my face.
Three. I could do three.
“Do you feel prepared to take on the Boston defense?”
“I think they have a solid line that’s definitely going to be tough, but I’m up for the challenge.” One down.
“How have you adjusted to having Hudson Porter as a Shark? It can’t be easy since he comes from Ontario.”
I glanced behind me to see Hudson tilt his head at the pap. He was notorious for not answering questions. He’d rather take a fine than deal with press after games, let alone practice.
“Porter has been nothing but an asset to the Sharks. He’s a terrific defenseman and a consummate professional both on and off the ice.” There’s two.
“Can you answer to the reports that you’re raising your niece? Our sources within the county say that you’re listed as her guardian while awaiting court dates.”
It had only been a matter of time before it came out.
“My niece is off limits.” Fuck the third. I glared at the pap who’d thrown the question out and then left the small area the paps were allowed to wait like vultures.
“Damn, they go after kids, here?” Porter asked as we walked into the parking lot.
“They go after anything that gets them a story. Paparazzi are fucking relentless.” I hit the unlock button on my SUV as my cell phone rang in my pocket.
“Bridgerton,” I answered.
“You’re not going to believe where I found your sister.” The investigator’s voice sounded excited and incredulous all at the same time.
Jessica. Holy shit.
“Where?”
“Your old apartment. Super said she showed up about a week ago. Said he didn’t think anything about it since she had a key, but there has been some pretty shady shit walking in and out of there.”
r />
“Headed there now. Thank you.” I hung up the phone and rested my forehead against the frame of my car. What if she was sober and wanted Hannah? What if she wasn’t and didn’t? Fuck, there was no right answer.
“What do you need?” Porter asked quietly, leaning against my car.
“Someone strong enough to wrestle my sister into rehab.” Sarcasm dripped from my voice.
“Well, that’s illegal, but if you need back up, I’m here.”
I looked at him, debating. I’d only known him for a few months, but he already knew what was going on with Hannah. Hell, he’d installed her damn butterfly lights.
“You mean that?” Because damn, would he come in handy if Jess had any of those drugged-out ass hats hanging around.
“Lead the way.”
We walked into my old building and then waited in awkward silence as the elevator lifted us to my floor.
It was a nice building. Not top of the line, but not exactly the bottom, either. And if Jess was in there, doing what I thought she was, well, that stuff wasn’t done here.
I tried the door handle and then unlocked it with my key. Thank God I hadn’t put it on the market, or this would have been a nasty surprise for my realtor.
“Damn,” Porter commented after a low whistle. “And I thought you kept the place messy.”
Take out containers littered the kitchen counters, and there were piles of trash, clothing, and a couple of sleeping bags in the living room. I couldn’t wait to see what was in the bedrooms.
The drizzle had burned off, and without curtains, sun streamed in through the windows.
“Connor!” Jess laughed, high off her ass as she climbed over two guys in my bedroom. On my bed.
Score one for Ivy picking out a new one.
“Jesus, Jess. What are you doing?” I seethed.
“Living! What does it look like?” She tripped over her bag, and I barely caught her before she could hit the floor. At least she was dressed. Her jeans and shirt hung off her frame—she’d lost weight. God, I hadn’t seen her this bad since her early twenties. Right before she’d gotten pregnant with Hannah.