It takes every ounce of willpower to say: “You’re my player. We cannot have this.”
The fingers plunge in my mouth, choking me on the taste of my own pussy. His other hand tangles in my hair, forcing meto lick his fingers clean. “Fine.” He releases me with a shove. “You’re the coach.”
“Wait—” I mewl.
He turns at the door and gives me a long look—that predatory look, like he’s about to do something crazy on the ice. “It’s a shame. Pussy like that should get fucked by a nice big cock.” The door slams.
I keel over. My head thunks the desk.
My pussy is throbbing. I can still feel his fingers as I try to readjust all my layers of clothing.
I should have just let him finish getting me off. Again. At least. Because as I try to rebutton my clothes, I’m seriously considering finishing it myself, almost let my fingers slip under the waistband of my pants—
Dana strides in. She’s the picture of a refined businesswoman with her blowout and those impossibly high So Kate heels. She immediately commands my office.
A perfect eyebrow raises as she takes in my disheveled appearance. “We had a team outing today,” I squawk. “Christmas-tree farm.”
“I don’t care. How likely is the team to win the next game? I have people coming who are very interested in investing in the team, shall we say.”
“Oh, um, well,” I squeak, “we’re looking good. Cookie’s ready to go. Zayne is going to be in top form.”
“Sober?”
“Er, yeah.” I shrink.
“And Fletcher?”
“And Fletcher is very, um, motivated.”
“Yes, men are simple savages. Put a mildly pretty girl in front of them, and suddenly they’re able to actually complete a task.”
“Right, yes.” I clear my throat.
Dana stares down at me. “I need them to win tomorrow. Make it happen. I saw your grandmother putting up porn. If that’s what did it, you can screencast it to the jumbotron—I don’t care. Just make a win happen.”
24
FLETCHER
Inod to Dana as I pass her office. She seems intrigued, pausing with her hand on the handle of her leather bag. She’s the spider in her web—her massive leather furniture and mahogany desk very different from Ellie’s pink-and-white office that doesn’t look like any NHL or hockey coach’s office I’ve ever seen. To be fair, Ellie has an ass and tits unlike any NHL coach I’ve ever seen.
I shouldn’t have given in, should have stuck to the play, because now Dana’s leaving and taking all her stuff with her. She gives me a piercing look as she passes me, perfectly balanced on her heels like a big cat, an apex predator.
I take the stairs down two at a time. Her car, a huge black Mercedes, sits gleaming in the sun, impeccably detailed—not a speck of salt stain on it. It’s unlocked.
It’s a trap!everything in me screams as I get in the car and sit in the plush leather seats. There’s nothing in the glove compartment or in the center console. I don’t even know what I’m looking for.
“She charges her phone in here,” I murmur. It’s a stroke of genius. I fish in my pocket and find the dongle that will fit rightin the car’s charger port. She’ll plug in her phone to charge, and this thing will, according to Lawrence, let him access it to steal the data right off her phone.
Done. So close to paying off my debt.
This better work. I have to have something to show Hudson. He’s family and all, but that just means he doesn’t feel guilty if he breaks my rib.
Crack!
“Fuck!” I jump as Ren’s palm slams flat on the window.
“Should I tell Dana Holbrook you’re about to jerk off all over her Mercedes?” He wrenches the car door open. The Southern accent is slippery as he leans into the car like a nasty little toad. Ren is wearing a cutoff Rhode Islanders T-shirt, and his armpit almost scrapes my nose as he crawls over me.
