Page 71 of Hockey Nanny

He claimed my mouth, drinking in his own taste with a bruising kiss that left me even more breathless.

“Fuuuck…” Boone groaned, his once smooth movements faltering.

“Double fuck.” Dawson bucked his hips hard, thrusting totally out of sync with his brother, but rushing toward the same destination.

Gage’s tongue in my mouth, Boone and Dawson fucking me hard, there was no hope left. My second climax crashed into me with all the force of a wrecking ball, shattering me into a thousand pieces as I came undone.

Dawson’s growl became a reverberating cry as my pussy clenched tight, walls fluttering around his cock. That tightness wasn’t saved for just that hole, though, and Boone soon followed, his body succumbing to a violent spasm as his orgasm barrelled through him. Both of them. At pretty much the same time. Jerking and bucking into me, spilling everything, neither pulling out. I was a heaving, shaking mess, come streaming down my thighs, down my crack, beautiful dicks fucking me senseless until there was nothing left.

The kiss broke, but only because my body caved in and I collapsed on top of Dawson, the pool table shaking. Stray balls that hadn’t yet been sent to random pockets now went rolling as Boone flopped over beside me, out of breath and glistening with sweat. Gage leaned over, smoothing my hair back with tender strokes.

“That was perfect,” he said.

24

~

Carissa

I woke up humming.

Not consciously at first. It was something my body was doing before my brain caught up, a low, contented sound that surprised me when I realized it was coming from my own throat. The ceiling above me felt different this morning. So did the air. So did I. There was a buoyancy in my chest, a warmth that sat just under my ribs and refused to go anywhere else, like it had decided to live there permanently.

I padded into the kitchen barefoot, still wrapped in that feeling, and pulled out the mixing bowl. Pancakes. Henry’s favorite. Butter out, pan, and something in me softened even more, like my life had quietly aligned itself overnight without asking permission.

I cracked eggs with a little more flourish than necessary, whisked milk and flour together, my hips swaying faintly to the cartoon jingle drifting in from the living room. Henry was sprawled on the rug, cereal bowl abandoned, eyes glued to the screen. Safe. Happy. Exactly where he belonged.

And me?

I’d slept with three men the night before.

The thought still made my pulse skip, heat blooming low in my belly as I stirred the batter. Boone’s playful charm, Gage with his secret soft heart, and Dawson’s steady presence. It should havefelt like too much. Like chaos. Like something I’d regret in the harsh light of morning. Instead, it sat in me like a secret source of power, a truth I hadn’t known I was allowed to claim.

I’d never done anything like that before. Never even let myself imagine it. And yet, standing there in an oversized t-shirt with pancake batter on my fingers, it felt… right. Not reckless or desperate, but honest.

Boone came in like a breeze, already talking, already smiling, already reaching. His arms slid around my waist from behind, his mouth finding the curve of my neck, and my laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. His lips sent a warm shiver down my spine, my shoulders lifting instinctively as my body leaned back into him.

“Good morning to you too,” I said, breathless, swatting at his hands when they dipped dangerously close to the bowl.

“Mmm,” he murmured against my skin. “Smells good. You need help?”

I turned in his arms, narrowing my eyes at him. “You are a liability in any kitchen. Step away from the pancakes.”

He gasped, hand to chest as though he were mortally wounded. “I’ll have you know I make a mean batter.”

“I know a liar when I see one.”

He grinned anyway and nudged me aside with his hip, grabbing the whisk before I could protest. Flour puffed up in a small white cloud as he stirred too enthusiastically, and I squealed, batting at his arm, trying and failing to reclaim my spot.

“Boone,” I laughed, “you’re going to ruin them.”

“Trust the process.”

“I do not trust the process when you are the process.”

I twisted away from him and called out toward the hallway. “Gage! Get your ass in here before he kills breakfast!”

Footsteps followed, slow and unhurried, and Gage appeared in the doorway looking like he’d just rolled out of a very good dream. Bedhead in every direction, stubble shadowing his jaw, eyes warm. The sight of him sent a small, private thrill through me, something tender and pleased unfurling in my chest.