The Year We Hid Away: A Hockey Romance (The Ivy Years Book 2)

I take deep breaths as I try to ignore the feelings that Tristan Miles arouses in me.

Maybe that’s it—it’s just a bad-boy thing.

Yes, all women experience this at least once in their lives. I’m just doing it a little later than most.

Of course.

That is totally it. Why didn’t I realize this before?

I know I shouldn’t want him, and so therefore I do. Maybe if he were the perfect model citizen, I wouldn’t even want him at all.

I sip my wine in celebration about my epiphany. God . . . and I thought I really liked him. Stupid idiot. This is actually a relief.

My phone vibrates on the table as it receives a text. Tristan. Here we go.

Let me guess,

Gabriel Ferrara is offering to

help you financially?

I frown. What? Angered, I text back.

Gabriel is a good friend.

I’m offended.

Stop texting me before I block you.

A reply bounces back.

If you block me, who’s going to

nail you through the mattress tonight?

I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling. I write back.

I am on a date with another man.

I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you.

An answer bounces back.

You don’t like him,

I know you don’t.

I roll my eyes; the arrogance of this man is next level.

Okay Siri,

if you say so.

I smirk as I hit send.

Siri?

I glance over to see him sitting on a stool, smirking back as he texts me.

Bastard. I like this game, and I really shouldn’t. I reply.

Well you seem to know everything,

so I assume you moonlight as Siri.

I look over to see him smile broadly as he reads my text. I bite the inside of my cheek as I act uninterested.

Lose the prick

and come buy me a drink.

I giggle before I can stop myself. Of all the nerve.

I don’t buy random men drinks.

Jealous?

I glance over to see him smiling as he texts back.

Of him?

You must be joking.

And you will do whatever I say.

Make it Scotch.

My eyes glance over to the bar at Gabriel as he waits. This is insane. I feel so naughty. I write back.

You are delusional and strange.

When I’m delusional I just

imagine I’m in Hawaii

drinking Mimosas.

Scotch is not a dream drink.

Gabriel walks back through the crowd with our two drinks and places them on the table. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

He takes a seat. “Are you serious?”

“Gabriel.” I sigh. Here we go—an hour-long lecture. “Fletcher wanted to work for them.”

“Why wouldn’t he come and work for me?” he snaps. “I’m offended. Ferrara Media is where he should be.”

“He applied without me even knowing. I have to let him choose his path.”

“With him?” he snaps again.

My phone beeps with a text. I glance at the screen.

That’s a great idea,

let’s go to Hawaii for the

weekend.

We can practice tantric sex.

A stupid grin crosses my face before I can cover it up.

Stop it.

I bring my focus back to Gabriel. “Look,” I say guiltily. “It’s only twelve months, and I know that it isn’t ideal, but it will be good for him to get out of his comfort zone. And besides, he’s giving them a run for their money, so he might not even last without being fired.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you would react like this.”

A text bounces in, and I pick up my phone off the table to shield it from Gabriel’s eyes. It’s a cartoon Kama Sutra image of people in a sexual position with the heading ROCK-A-BYE BOOTY.

I glance over and see Tristan’s shoulders bouncing as he laughs and watches me.

Oh hell.

“I’m not impressed at all, Claire. I don’t like him being around them,” Gabriel continues, completely distracted.

“You know as well as I do they are good businesspeople,” I argue. “I wasn’t impressed at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.” My phone beeps with a text, and I open it discreetly on my lap. It’s another cartoon Kama Sutra drawing of a woman crouched between a man’s legs, his dick in her mouth. The heading is THE MOTHERLOAD.

What the hell?

I burst out laughing. I glance up, and Tristan’s eyes are alight with mischief as he chuckles.

“What is so funny?” Gabriel snaps.

“Oh, Marley is having boyfriend trouble. She’s just relaying their latest tiff,” I lie.

“No wonder,” he mutters into his drink. “That woman is a nutjob.”

A waitress arrives at our table. “Here you go—two mimosas.” She carefully puts the two drinks down in front of us.

“What are these?” Gabriel frowns.

“On the house,” the waitress replies. “Enjoy.” She walks off, and I stare at the drinks in front of us.

Don’t look over at him . . . don’t look at him . . . don’t look at him. That’s what he wants.

I cannot believe the gall of this man.

Most men would be rattled seeing a woman out with another man.

Most men aren’t Tristan Miles.

He’s unrattle-able . . . is that even a word? And I hate to admit it, but confidence in a man is very fucking appealing.

Gabriel picks up his mimosa and takes a sip. “Hmm, not bad.” He shrugs.

I smirk as I stare at my clueless friend. If he knew who bought that drink, he would be choking on it. “I’m just going to go to the bathroom,” I say.

I get up and make my way through the bar and into the ladies’ bathroom. I take my time and mentally prepare myself to ignore Tristan for good.

I need to stop this flirty game we have going on.

But he’s so fun.

No . . . enough is enough.

I open the door, and before I know it, someone grabs my hand and pulls me around the corner and pins me to the wall.

“Tristan,” I whisper.

His lips drop to my neck. “Hello, Anderson, fancy meeting you here.” He smiles against my skin as his teeth skim my neck.

“What are you doing?” I whisper as goose bumps scatter up my arms.

“Accosting you in the hallway—what does it look like?” He bites me hard, and I tingle to my toes.

“What if I really was here with Gabriel?” I stammer.

“Then I’m about to steal his girl.” He smiles as he takes my face in his hands.

My God, he’s so naughty.

“Stop it,” I breathe.

“No.” He kisses me, soft and slow. His tongue gently coaxes mine to come out and play. My eyes close in pleasure. Damn it, why does he have to kiss so well?

“Tris,” I breathe as I feel my resistance begin to wane.

“One last time.”

He sucks on my tongue, and I go weak at the knees.

“We shouldn’t,” I whimper as my hands go to his muscular behind.

“We totally fucking should.” He pins me to the wall, and I feel his rock-hard erection up against my stomach.

My insides begin to liquefy . . . fucking hell, he’s so damn hot that I can’t stand it.

Burning inferno.

“Go out there, and tell him you’re going home.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you are going home. With me.”

“Tristan.”

“Or I can come and drag you from the table. It’s your choice.” He shrugs casually. “I need you.” He grabs my hip bones and drags my body over his hardened cock. He does need me; every cell in his body needs me. I can feel it.

His hands are in my hair, and our kisses become frantic. Deep, long, and passionate.

Oh hell . . .

I need you too.

“Last time,” I pant against his open lips.

“For real.” His eyes are closed in pleasure.

What must we look like?

He’s fighting this too. He knows we are wrong for each other, but the physical attraction between us is just too strong.

One time . . . one time won’t hurt . . . will it?

The damage is already done. One more time won’t hurt, surely?

“Go out there, and tell him you’re leaving,” he says as he straightens my skirt and tucks in my blouse.

“I’m finishing my drink, and then I will.”

He kisses me tenderly; his lips linger over mine. “Stay at my house.”

“No, I have a room booked.”

“Where?”

“The Edison at Times Square.”

“Meet you there. Tell the desk that your husband is picking up a key.”

I nod, unable to verbally agree to this lunacy. My voice box must know that this is a bad idea.

He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, smiles, and kisses me once more. He really is a gorgeous man—there’s no denying it.

“It’s good to see you, Anderson,” he whispers.

I smile softly up at the forbidden fruit . . . it’s so good to see you.

His dark eyes hold mine. “I can’t fucking wait to get you naked.”

He turns and, without another word, walks back out into the bar as if nothing has happened.

I stare after him. My hair is messed up, and my body is tingling from head to toe. My chest rises and falls as I try to regain my composure. Jesus, what did I just agree to?

Tristan fucking Miles.

I switch the channel on the television and glance at the clock. Where is he?

It’s been over an hour. I raced back to my hotel room, showered, and got all irresistible, and now he hasn’t even come . . . what if he doesn’t show up?

My eyes widen in horror as a possibility comes to mind. What if he was just pulling a power play to prove that he can have me if he wants me? No . . . he wouldn’t.

Oh my God, he totally would . . . it’s Tristan. What did I expect?

I hear the door click, and I quickly rearrange myself in the bed.

He’s lucky.

The door opens, and he closes it behind him. He turns, and then his eyes float over my naked body. He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Anderson.”

I’m lying on the bed, naked, my legs slightly parted. If I’m going to do this whore-bag thing, I’m going hard core. Don’t mess with me tonight, fucker; you have something I need.

You’re going down . . . literally.

His eyes fix on mine. “Playing hard to get, I see?” He jerks his tie hard as he undoes it.

“I am hard to get.” I tap the bed beside me. “But tonight, I’m easy to fuck.”

He chuckles as he sits beside me. “How convenient. I happen to be in the fucking market myself.” He bends and kisses me, and I smile against his lips.

His hand runs up the inside of my inner thigh and then swipes down and through my wet sex . . . this all feels so natural.

Too natural.

As if he was always meant to touch me . . . as if he always has.

No. Not tonight. I want some power in this exchange. He’s doing what I want. He’s pleasing me.

I arch my back and spread my legs. “Feeling hungry?” I ask.

His eyes flicker with arousal, and he smiles darkly. “Fucking oath I am.” He stands and tears his jacket over his shoulders and throws it to the side with urgency. “Starving, actually.” He grabs a paper bag from the inside pocket and then pulls out a box of condoms. “Do you know how many fucking pharmacies I just went to to find these?”

I chuckle.

“I couldn’t find one. I even contemplated going into the brothel on the corner and offering them a hundred dollars for a box.”

“I’m not going to ask you how you know that there’s a brothel on the corner.” I raise my eyebrow.

He frowns, realizing what he’s just revealed. “Shut up, Siri.” He unzips his trousers and pushes them down, revealing his hard, thick cock.

My stomach flutters, and I giggle in excitement. It’s like Christmas morning, and I’m watching my presents being unwrapped.

This time with him is different. I’m not nervous or scared. I’m excited, because I know how good this night is going to be.

He drops to his knees beside the bed and pulls me over to him and then spreads my legs and studies me there.

My breath catches as I watch him. This is strangely intimate . . . but it’s okay, because it’s him. And I know how much he loves my body.

I don’t have one insecurity when I’m naked with him. He wouldn’t let me even if I did.

“Ohh,” he whispers darkly. “I missed this pretty pussy.” He kisses me there with an open mouth, and I reach down and put my fingers in his hair. His thick tongue swipes through my flesh, and I smile as I watch him.

Tristan Miles doesn’t go down on women for them . . . he does it for himself.

He loves it.

It’s his favorite thing; he could do it for an hour, and I would still have to drag him up to me.

My back arches in pleasure, and I whimper. His licks are hard and slow, measured for the perfect pressure.

We get into a rhythm, and my body begins to shudder. He smiles into me.

He links our fingers on my thigh. Our eyes are locked and . . . oh God.

He’s perfect.

The way he holds my hand as he eats me. The way he looks at me.

The way he enjoys it.

No wonder I’m addicted to this man; he’s the world’s greatest lover.

He begins to flick his tongue in a practiced move, and I convulse.

Shit.

I have no defense against him when he does that. I begin to moan.

He spreads my legs farther apart, his hands on my inner thighs. His entire face is wet with my arousal now, and I begin to writhe under him.

It hits me like a freight train, and I scream out in wonder. He smiles into me as his eyes close in pleasure once more.

The shock waves of the world’s strongest orgasm shudder through me, and then he picks me up and throws me over onto my knees. I hear the telling rip of the condom packet, and then he twists my ponytail around his hand and pulls me back onto his cock.

Oh God . . . he’s in that mood . . . he’s going to ride me home . . . literally.

He hisses as he slides in deep, and my body shakes, still too sensitive from his tongue.

I drop my shoulders into the mattress, unable to hold myself up, and he jerks me back up onto his cock by the hair and slaps my behind. “Up,” he commands in a growl.

I smile. Oh, I love him like this.

He slowly slides in . . . and then slides out. In and then out. He gives his cock a delicious deep circle, taking his time to stretch me. No matter how turned on he is, he’s always careful to prepare my body. He knows he’s a big man, and his experience shows. “You all right?” he breathes.

I nod.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” I whimper. But I’m not all right; sex with Tristan is not all right . . . it’s a blinding light. So much more than all right.

It’s everything.

He slides out, and the sound of my wet arousal sucks in the air. “It’s time for you to learn a lesson, Anderson,” he whispers.

I smile. “Siri to you.”

He chuckles and slams in hard, and I cry out.

Ouch.

He gives me a few hard pumps.

“What’s the lesson?” I whimper, his grip on my hair near painful.

“You don’t get to break up with me.” He pumps me hard, and I nearly bounce headfirst into the wall. “We don’t end . . . until we both decide.” He slams me hard again, and it’s so good that my body begins to ripple around him once more.

He jerks me by the hair, and I smile up at the ceiling, his cock riding me in hard, measured strokes.

“Do you understand me?” he pants.

“No.” I giggle.

Slap. His hand comes down on my behind.

“Ouch,” I whimper.

His hips pick up the pace. “We don’t end . . . until we fucking end.” The bed begins to hit the wall with force. His grip is painful.

“Tell me you fucking understand,” he moans.

Butterflies flutter deep in my stomach. Hearing the arousal in his voice does things to me. “Yes,” I pant.

“Yes what?” he growls.

“I understand.”

He lets go and really lets me have it, and it’s beautiful and blinding, and I’m sure the concierge is going to be knocking on the door any moment because the bed is hitting the wall so hard that I’m positive we’re causing structural damage.

“Fuck,” he moans, his voice deep and guttural. “Anderson . . . fuck me,” he growls, losing control. “Fuck me harder.” His grip tightens, his pumps get harder, and God, this is next-level incredible.

I screw up my face as I try to hold it, and he slaps my behind again. I scream out, and I clench as I come in a rush. He holds himself deep, and I feel his cock jerk hard inside of me.

He lets me go, lays me down, rolls me onto my back, and then slides back into my body. His lips take mine with a tenderness I’ve never known.

We stare at each other for a prolonged moment, and I can feel his cock gently pulsating inside of me as it tries to completely empty itself.

“I missed you, Anderson,” he whispers as he brushes the hair back from my face.

I stare up at him, shocked. An unwelcome emotion overwhelms me, and I blink to stop the tears.

This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

I expected a booty call, but this feels special and intimate.

We kiss, and I feel my heart constrict in my chest. This was a bad idea.

I want to go home.