Does it mean I trust that she’s not trying to snag herself a hockey player by getting pregnant?
“Yes,” I answer, not only because she told me she’s not interested in having a family but because this is Rowyn, a girl determined to make it on her own, and doesn’t want anything more than friendship and…lessons.
But right now I’m not going to think about why she wants those lessons, I’m just going to make this night perfect for her. Because right now…it’s just her, and me.
Us.
16
Rowyn
My heart beats harder in my chest as he rips open the condoms. It’s not just anticipation that makes me tremble—it’s the quiet realization that he trusts me. He doesn’t say it, doesn’t need to. The simple, unguarded way he moves, the steadiness in his eyes when he looks at me, says enough.
And maybe that’s what unnerves me most. I haven’t done anything to earn that trust… but I haven’t done anything to break it, either. Still, my job—what I do—would be reason enough for any hockey player to question my motives. To wonder if there’s a camera hidden somewhere, if this is just another game. But not Jaxon. He looks at me like I’m more than the story I tell the world. Like he sees the woman under the armor.
I shift, rising onto my knees, the mattress dipping beneath me. Jaxon’s brow arches in mild curiosity as I reach for the condom, brushing his fingers in the process. The brief contact sends a current through me, and my entire body reacts with a hard quiver. I hold the foil square between us, my decisions made.
He wraps his hand around his cock, slow and unhurried. “You want to put it on me?” he murmurs, half-teasing, half-inviting.
“While I think that would be a good lesson,” I manage, voice unsteady but laced with a smile, “How about no.”
I toss the condom onto the nightstand, and for a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air stretches thin between us, full of questions.
Then he touches my face—just his palm, warm and steady, cupping my cheek like he’s memorizing the shape of me. “Row,” he says softly. “Are you sure?”
The tenderness in his voice nearly undoes me. “I am if you are,” I whisper.
“I am.” His thumb strokes my cheekbone. “I’m clean. And I’m protected.”
The words are simple, but they carry truth. Trust. Something fragile and precious. I sink back against the pillow, heart fluttering wildly. “I know,” I say quietly. “I believe you and I’m clean too.”
He climbs onto the bed, one knee sinking into the mattress, and my breath stumbles. The way he moves—controlled, deliberate—reminds me of a hunter closing in, but there’s no danger here, only desire and a strange kind of safety.
When his mouth touches the inside of my thigh, a tremor ripples through me. He trails slow, reverent kisses up my skin, his breath warm, his lips soft. Each one lands like a promise, like he’s worshipping instead of wanting. By the time he reaches my hips, I’m trembling for more than just release.
His hands brace on either side of me, careful not to crush me beneath his weight. He toys with my nipples, watching my reaction, and I arch into his touch, caught between wanting and feeling. Between lust and something far riskier.
“Need something?” he teases, voice dark and low.
I nod, lifting my hips, the confession tumbling out before I can stop it. “I need you.”
His eyes darken, but not just with hunger. There’s something else—something tender that nearly undoes me. He swallows hard, gaze sweeping over my face like he’s trying to read what I’m not saying.
“You need my cock, babe?” he rasps.
The words snap me back, a sharp reminder of what this is—sex and lessons and nothing more. I force a shaky breath, trying to shove the ache in my chest back where it belongs.
“Yes,” I whisper, finding my composure. “I need your cock. I need you inside me.”
But even as I say it, I know the truth in my chest has already shifted—this isn’t just about needing him inside me. It’s about wanting him close. And that’s a much more dangerous kind of wanting.
He lowers his head, finding the soft hollow of my throat like he’s been there a thousand times before in his imagination. The first brush of his lips is gentle, exploratory, as if he’s memorizing me one breath at a time. When he kisses the tender skin there, I can’t stop the sound that escapes me—a low, trembling moan that gives away everything I’ve tried to keep hidden.
“Have you been thinking about me being inside you?” he murmurs, his voice rough velvet against my skin.
The truth slips out on a shaky breath. “Yes.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, and for a second, the tension softens, turning warm, almost playful. God, I never realized he could tease like this—every word calculated to draw me closer until I’m ready to surrender completely.