Mypussyknows this man. It gives a traitorous, unmistakable throb, a memory of being stretched, filled,ruined.
No. No no no no no.
Time doesn’t just slow. It fucking stops.
“Declan,” Colin says, oblivious to the nuclear bomb that just detonated across the table. “This is Josie Whitfield, our new PR lead. Josie, meet your captain. Declan Morrison.”
Declan Morrison’s eyes sweep the room, a captain assessing his territory. They pass over Colin, over Coach, over his brothers…
And land on me.
I watch his face do a horrifying, slow-motion collapse.
Shock. Pure, unguardedwhat the fuck.
The silence is so thick you could skate on it.
Darcy looks up from her tablet. Pete stops picking at his cuticle. Beck’s grin turns razor-sharp, his eyes darting between his frozen brother and my probably-pale face.
Declan doesn’t move for a full three seconds. Then, with a stiffness that screams internal screaming, he takes the final steps to the table.
I stand, my legs only slightly shaky.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, and my voice sounds almost normal. Almost.
He stares at my hand, then his gaze lifts to mine as he takes it.
His palm is warm. Rough with calluses I know intimately. Electricity jolts up my arm, straight to my core. I feel the strength in his grip, the power he’s holding back.
I feeleverything.
“Likewise,” he says, and his voice is flat. But I hear the gravel underneath. The same gravel that growled filthy praise against my neck.
He’s the captain. I fucked the CAPTAIN.
The man I’m supposed to make the face of this franchise is the man who had his face between my thighs.
Oh, fuck.
Chapter 2
Declan
No. No. Fuck. No.
The woman whose taste I can still remember is standing in a conference room. In a Bears polo. And my General Manager is introducing her as my newboss.
This isn't happening.
Her skin is soft. Her palm is warm. I can feel the delicate bones of her fingers under mine, the same fingers that dug into my shoulders while I fucked her into the mattress.
I drop her hand like it's on fire.
"Likewise," I manage, my voice flat as a dead puck.
I turn and take my seat at the table without looking at her. My skin feels too tight. My cock is throbbing against my zipper, a traitorous, painful reminder that my body doesn't give a single fuck about professional boundaries.
Goddammit! What have I done?!
