Sin Bin (Carolina Comets #4)

I’ll be honest, I wasn’t completely surprised to see Emilia when I pulled my door open. I spotted the laptop on my countertop not long after they left…and I admittedly prayed it would be her who came back for it.

It looks like my prayers were answered.

She steps into my apartment, the door making a hushed snick as I close it behind her. She hesitates for only a moment in the foyer before carrying herself farther into the living room, shoulders pressed back like she’s trying to will some confidence into herself. Her red hair is still swept up into a messy bun, and I have the urge to reach over and pull it free, let it tumble down her back the way I like it.

Her steps falter in the middle of the room, eyes going to the puzzle hanging over the fireplace.

I meant what I said to her earlier about it. When I walked back into my apartment all alone on the night she left, that puzzle was sitting on the table taunting me. I didn’t touch it though. I couldn’t for some reason. It didn’t feel right to just get rid of something we’d done together. It felt like I was trying to get rid of her when all I wanted to do was hold on for dear life.

So, it sat there for months unfinished and untouched. My housekeepers were thoroughly annoyed with me, but I didn’t care. I just let it collect dust and soak in all the memories of our weekend together.

Then, we went back to the rink for preseason, and I was introduced to the team’s newest social media manager.

Her.

That night when I got home, I almost threw it away. I had the trash can there, ready to scoop the pieces inside and never look at it again.

But I couldn’t.

So, I finished it. Stayed up way too fucking late doing it and was nearly late to practice the next day, but I completed it.

It’s been hanging in that same spot since. Maybe I’m an idiot for keeping it and being constantly reminded of what happened between us, but I don’t regret it—especially not seeing the look on her face now.

“Would you like something to drink?” I ask, and she jumps at my words.

“Oh…uh…” She gives herself a shake. “I, uh, I’m here for a laptop. Blake forgot to grab it. If I can get it, then I’ll just be on my way.”

I lift a brow, amused by how she’s stumbling over her words and how she’s not even looking at me.

She’s nervous.

I like that she’s nervous.

I step into her, tucking a knuckle under her chin and tipping her head up until her eyes meet mine. “Have a drink with me, Emilia.”

“Okay.”

She says it so easily I’m not even sure she remembered to pretend to resist. I don’t give her time to realize though, pulling the jacket from her shoulders and tossing it onto the couch before making my way to the kitchen.

I try not to think about how I shouldn’t be doing this. How I should just hand her the laptop and send her on her way. How I shouldn’t be tempting fate more than I already am.

But it’s one drink. There’s no harm in that, right?

I work fast, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and pouring her wine, then making my way back out to the living room. She’s still standing in the same spot, staring up at the castle. I hand her the wine, noting the way the liquid shakes as she takes a healthy drink. I do the same, keeping my eyes on hers.

“Did you go?” I ask. She raises her brows, and I nod toward the picture. “The trip you wanted to take to Europe, the one you had all planned—did you make it happen?”

She laughs quietly. “No. I got wrapped up in work.”

I frown, remembering how excited she was, how badly she wanted it, how detailed her plans were. I hate that she never went. I hate that she never got to experience everything she wanted.

I’ll take you.

The words bounce around in my head, but I don’t say them even though I mean every single one…and I don’t know how to feel about that. I don’t know how to feel about the fact that if I didn’t have a game coming up, I’d put our asses on a plane right now and we’d go anywhere she wanted to go.

I shouldn’t want any of that. I have no right to it.

But I do.

She sighs. “Maybe one of these days I can do it. After I get the director job possibly? A celebration trip of sorts.”

Even as she says it, I can tell she knows she’s lying to herself. She won’t take that vacation on her own. She’ll work herself to death first, and while that makes me sad, I understand it. I’ve dedicated my entire life to hockey, so I have no room to talk or judge.

“Yeah, maybe,” I mutter, taking a sip of my whiskey.

“What about you? What’s the biggest or best trip you’ve ever been on?”

“This one.”

She tips her head. “This one?”

“Well, being from Canada, yeah, I consider this whole NHL thing one big trip.”

“NHL thing,” she mutters, shaking her head and taking another sip of her wine. “That’s an interesting way to describe over fifteen years in the league.”

I try not to think too hard about that reality, about how long I’ve been playing. All it does is remind me that pretty soon, this will all be gone, and I’ll truly be alone.

“Uh-oh. Did I say something wrong?”

“Hmm?” I pull myself from my morbid thoughts, looking over at her. Her brows are pinched together in concern. I shake my head. “No, it’s nothing. Just…thinking.”

“About retiring?”

My head snaps back. “We don’t say the R-word.”

“My bad.” She laughs softly. “Is that what you’re thinking about though?”

It’s no secret that my contract with the Comets is up this year, just like the fact that I’m getting up there in age isn’t a secret. Everyone knows after this season, there’s a real possibility of me never playing again.

“You could say it’s been on my mind.” I run my hand over my beard. “Is that why you wanted me for the player profile? Because this could be my last year?”

“It was entirely decided by fan votes,” she says. “I promise that’s the only reason.”

I nod, believing her.

I wondered if this was some sort of pity thing from the team, like a Hey, thanks for giving us your all for your entire career. You’re still getting the boot at the end of the season, but how about we make you feel just a little bit special first type of deal.

I guess it’s really not though.

I down the rest of my whiskey, then hold the empty glass up to her in a silent question. She looks down at her still half-full glass of wine, shrugs, and finishes it in one gulp.

I lead the way to the kitchen, where I set to work refilling both of our drinks.

“Can I ask you something totally off the record?”

“Anything,” I say over my shoulder.

“Is this your last year?”

I swallow. I had a feeling that was what she was going to ask, but it’s the one question I can’t really answer.

I go with something neutral. “It’s not really up to me, is it?”

“No. I guess it’s not,” she says quietly as I pass her a fresh glass of wine. She rolls her lips together, like she is considering asking me something else but is unsure if she can.

“Whatever it is that’s going through your head, just ask.” I stand opposite her, back pressed against the counter. “I’m an open book.”

She laughs and takes a sip of her wine, then sets it aside. “People have called you many things over the years, Smith, but they’ve never called you an open book.”

“With you I am.”

Her laughter fades quickly, and she looks to the side, a faraway gaze in her eyes. I wonder if she’s remembering our weekend together too, how we shared so much with one another without sharing any of the basics. Somehow, leaving out those details, it meant more. Where we work, our names, where we live…those are just things about us. They don’t make us. Our dreams, how we fill our downtime, the things we yearn for…those make us.

That weekend we spent together, that’s exactly what we shared—our real selves with zero expectations and zero preconceived notions.

She clears her throat. “Do you want to keep playing?”

In all my years of being in the NHL, I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before…not even me. It’s a question I’ve been scared to ask because I’m scared of the answer.

Do I want to keep playing? There’s a huge part of me that’s screaming, Yes! Of course! But there’s also that lonely part of me…the one that’s pushed aside everything for hockey…that says no, says it’s time to hang up my skates and move on.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Some days I wake up and crave the game. Others, I wake up and crave something else…something…more.”

She nods like she understands, though I’m not sure she does because I don’t even understand.

I can’t imagine not playing hockey, but I can’t imagine doing anything else either.

Hell, do I even have the skills to do anything else? Hockey is all I’ve ever known, and I have no idea what I’m going to do whenever I am actually done with the game.

“Owen?” I drag my gaze to hers. She’s peering up at me, the green of her eyes catching the setting sun just right as it filters through the big, open windows that make up the west side of my apartment. “You’re allowed to want other things.”

“Am I?”

“Of course.” She gives me a lopsided smile. “You can have whatever you want.”

There’s a charge in the room, and the energy shifts as her words settle around us.

I can’t have whatever I want. She knows that as well as I do.

Her smile falters when I push off the counter and take a step her way. “O-Owen…”

I take another step closer to her, even though I know I shouldn’t. I should be putting distance between us, not closing it, but I can’t stop myself.

“Not you, huh, Emilia?” She swallows when I take another step. “I can’t have you.”

Her tongue slides across her lips, her breaths coming in sharper as I get closer to her.

She doesn’t make a move to stop me, so I don’t. I don’t stop until I’m standing mere inches away, until I can feel her chest brushing against me with every heavy breath she draws in and pushes out. Her green eyes are glassy and filled with so many questions, but even more than that, they’re filled with desire.

She wants this as badly as I do.

With one hand on her waist, I use the other to tug the clip that’s holding her hair up free, watching as her gorgeous red waves tumble down.

“You should wear your hair down more often.”

She nods, looking up at me like she’d do anything I asked her to.

I like that. I like having her at my mercy, like her desire to please me.

I slip my fingers through her hair, letting the strands tangle around my fist. I tug her closer, her lips parting on a small gasp. She’s practically panting now, and I love it because I haven’t even done anything yet, haven’t even really touched her.

But I want to.

I really, really fucking want to.

I know if we cross that line, though, there’s no going back. There’s no stopping. If we start this, we’re finishing it.

I can’t walk away. Not again.

I need her to realize that too.

“Is this what you want?”

She nods.

“What did I tell you before?”

Her brows tighten for only a moment before her eyes spark with the memory. “My words. Use my words.”

“Good girl.”

I feel her knees buckle when I say it, and I catch her, lifting her up and setting her on the countertop. I step between her legs, loving the way I fit there.

“Is this what you want?” I repeat, fingers still tangled in her hair.

“Yes.”

It’s the single greatest word I’ve ever heard.

“Thank fuck,” I mutter, barely getting the words out before sealing my mouth against hers.

She moans the moment our lips touch, and I swallow the sound. I tug on her hair, tipping her head back to get just the right angle as our tongues brush. I slide my hands from her hair and down her sides, tugging her shirt free from that same fucking skirt that has starred in far too many of my fantasies.

I break our kiss only to tug the simple navy-blue blouse over her head, loving the way her red hair spills down her back as she sits there in just her lacy black bra, her tits—which I know fit into my hands perfectly—threatening to spill over the cups.

I admire her for only a beat, then reach behind her and undo her bra, slipping the material down her arms and chucking it across the kitchen. I have no clue where it lands, and I don’t care.

All I care about is getting my mouth on her tits.

Fuck she looks like an angel sitting there, and I’d be a damn liar if I said I didn’t want to do bad, bad things to her. I bury my face against her chest, and she groans when I close my mouth around her nipple, sucking on the rosy bud with fervor, her hands crashing into my hair, holding me close.

I spend so long sucking on her tits that her groans turn into little whimpers, and I know she wants more.

I want more too.

I wrench my shirt off over my head, then drop my fingers to the button on my pants and unsnap them, lifting her off the counter and setting her on her feet. I unzip her skirt, letting it pool at her feet.

“Leave them on,” I say as she goes to toe her heels off.

She looks up at me, almost looking like she wants to argue but thinks better of it. Instead, she steps free of her skirt, leaving the black pumps in place, standing before me in nothing but them and a black lace thong. Her chest is red from my beard scratching against her, and it’s heaving up and down. She looks gorgeous.

But she’d look even better on her knees.

“Do you remember what we did before?” I ask. Her nostrils flare, and she nods. “Good. Get on your knees and take my cock out, Emilia.”

She drops to the floor, her hands flying to my jeans.

The sound of the zipper running along the track is loud, but not as loud as the sharp breath she sucks in when she tugs my jeans and underwear down, my dick finally springing free.

I don’t even have to tell her to drop her jaw, and I fucking love that. She flattens her tongue, eager for me to fill her mouth, to use her.

So, I do.

I wrap her hair around my fist, and I slide my cock into her warmth, loving the guttural moan that leaves her, loving the way she sucks me back, like she’s been waiting for this moment forever. Slowly, I push my cock to the back of her throat until I’m as far in as she can take me.

“Look at me,” I tell her, tugging her hair. I use my other hand to stroke my thumb over her jaw, helping her relax as I try to push in just a little more.

Her eyes are glassy, and her face is turning just the lightest shade of red. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

“You’re doing such a good job,” I say. “Just perfect.”

Any tension she was holding melts away, and I’m able to work my cock in just a few more centimeters before pulling out entirely. She gasps for air, and I let her take it in.

Then, I do it again. Over and over she swallows my cock, taking more and more each time. I can feel my orgasm lurking, and I don’t want to come in her mouth. Not this time.

I tug her to her feet, kissing her hard before spinning her around and laying her face-first on the counter.

“Grip the other side,” I tell her, and she listens without hesitation.

I kick her feet apart and stand back. I don’t need to slip my fingers between her legs to know she’s wet. I can see her arousal shining on the inside of her thighs. But I do it anyway, pulling her thong to the side and plunging two fingers inside of her.

“Fuck!” she cries out, bucking off the counter at the sudden intrusion. “Oh god.”

I can’t help but chuckle at the sounds leaving her, desperate and needy and so fucking hot.

“Please, please, please,” she chants.

“Please what, Emilia?” I twist my fingers, rubbing against that elusive spot I know drives her wild. “What do you want?”

“You!” she begs. “I want you!”

I reach into my back pocket with one hand and pluck my wallet free. I grab the condom I had the forethought to put in there and rip the wrapper open with my teeth, sheathing myself with one hand before pulling my fingers from her greedy cunt.

She whimpers at the loss, but soon her cries turn into pleasured moans as I sink into her. My pace is leisurely, a stark contrast to the way I was fucking her with my fingers. I slowly work my cock in, letting her adjust to my size.

When I’m fully seated, I have to take a breather. I’m so close to coming just from the sheer relief of being inside her again.

Being with her feels like coming home. It feels right.

“Please, Owen. Move.”

I’m more inclined to give directions rather than take them, but I can’t find it in me to argue with her request. So, I fuck her slowly—almost painfully so. I don’t know how long this is going to be mine, so I’m going to savor it.

She holds on to the counter tightly, pushing back to meet my thrusts, letting me worship her at my leisure. I have no idea how long I do it. It feels like seconds and minutes and hours. Somehow, it’s still not long enough. It will never be long enough, because being inside of her will never get old.

My balls tighten, and I know I’m getting close. If the way her breaths are getting sharper and shorter is any indication, I know Emilia is too.

I can’t hold back any longer—I slide my hand around her, pressing fingers against her clit as I slam into her.

“Yes! God, yes!”

“Wrong name, sweetheart,” I say, slamming into her again.

Even with her heels still on, she’s on her tiptoes, pushing back to meet my hard thrusts. I rub tight circles on her clit, pumping my cock in and out of her, and it’s not long before I feel her legs shake, her pussy clenching around me as she falls apart.

She goes limp on the counter, but I don’t stop pounding into her, chasing my own release. Not even a minute later, I find it, emptying myself into the condom, wishing it was her.

I slow my thrusts as I come down from the high, running my hands over her back, soothing her as she catches her breath. Then I gather her in my arms, spinning her around and lifting her. She hooks her legs around my waist, resting her head on my shoulder as I press kisses to her temple.

“You did so good, Emilia.”

She makes a contented sound as I carry her through the apartment to my bathroom. I set her down on the bench in the walk-in shower, drag her underwear down her legs, strip her heels from her feet, then get rid of the condom. I turn the water on, letting it warm up, then pull her to her feet and begin washing her hair.

We alternate between kissing and cleaning, but we don’t speak. When we’re finished, I wrap her in a towel, then carry her to the bed. I bury us beneath the covers, tugging her close to me until she’s practically lying on top of me.

Sleep has nearly claimed me when our silence is finally broken.

“Owen?” she says in the darkness of the room.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I chuckle, then press a kiss to her head. “Sleep, Emilia. You’re going to need it.”

She laughs softly, and I swear I hear her say, “I can’t wait.”