Power Play: A Second Chance Hockey Romance (Sinners on the Ice) -
Power Play: A Second Chance Hockey Romance: Chapter 21
LAYLA
Now, September
I close the door to Maya’s bedroom and gingerly tiptoe down the hallway. She fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, exhausted from the eventful day. I still waited for twenty minutes to make sure she was asleep and wouldn’t wake up the second I tried to open the door.
Nervous, I run my hands down my hips as I head to the kitchen, where Clay is waiting for me. The tangle of emotions twists tighter in my chest, making it hard to concentrate on what I’m doing and how right it all is. With how I couldn’t stop thinking about our kiss, I’m not sure I can trust my judgment. The feelings I still have for him mess with the rational side of my brain so fucking bad—I barely held myself back from reaching out to him today in Monterey. I’m desperate in my desire to feel his hands on my body, and that’s not a good sign, considering it’s late and Maya is asleep.
Sex with him was always fantastic, and I’m starving for it. Oh my God, I shouldn’t have asked him to stay.
My goal for tonight is to not jump Clay Rodgers’s bones no matter how tempted I get.
I can do that.
I hope I can.
“Want some coffee?” I ask as I walk into the kitchen and replace him sitting at the table. He’s playing a game on his phone, but the moment he hears my question, he locks the screen and puts it down.
“Yeah, I’d love some.”
“Black, no milk, no sugar?” I move toward the coffeemaker Drake and Angie bought me when I first moved in.
“Yes and yes. I’m impressed that you remember.”
“Well, with how many cups of coffee we drank together, it’s hard to forget,” I tell him, starting the coffeemaker. When I turn around, I catch his gaze on my ass, and my cheeks gradually become warm. “Do you want something else? A sandwich? Cookies?”
“No, I’m good. I’m still full after that wholewheat pasta with tuna.” We stopped for dinner at this little restaurant in Monterey—delicious. He chuckles, threading his fingers through his hair. The auburn color that I used to love so much makes his skin stand out, his freckles a bit more pronounced under the bright light of my kitchen. “Take a picture, Mama, it will last longer.”
If my cheeks were warm before, now they’re blazing hot. Instead of answering, I busy myself with getting out mugs. Once the coffeemaker dings, I pour us some and go sit down on the stool across from Clay. His eyes are on me the whole time, and he’s not even trying to mask it.
“Why is Maya wearing glasses?” he asks after he takes a sip of his coffee.
I stiffen, wrapping my palm around the mug. The warmth it radiates sinks under my skin, fueling me with the courage and determination to get through this evening without making a fool of myself.
“Remember she mentioned we were at the doctor’s?”
Clay nods, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Throughout the past couple months, I noticed she kept rubbing her eyes, and some really weird thing was happening with her right eye when she was tired. So I took her to the doctor, and she told us that Maya probably has strabismus.”
I divert my attention to the fridge, my eyes glossing over the magnets and pictures I put there. His gaze is on me. I can practically feel it, a featherlight caress on my skin. I don’t look at him as I keep talking.
“It was that day you picked us up from the coffee shop. I was so stupidly distressed after the appointment, I was scared to drive. It’s one thing if it’s just me, but with Maya in the car? I couldn’t risk it.”
Clay’s warm palm covers mine, and my eyes prickle with tears. A deep, shaky breath rambles out of my mouth as I start talking again.
“Dr. Hernandez is great. She’s not an ophthalmologist, but she still explained what it could be, and she landed me an appointment with her colleague whose opinion she trusts. Well, Dr. Silver confirmed the diagnosis. Maya indeed has strabismus—intermittent exotropia.”
“What does that mean?” Clay asks quietly, and I turn to him with tear-filled eyes. He gives my hand a squeeze, his features softening. “If you don’t want to talk about it—”
“No, no, it’s fine.” I smile weakly despite my tears. “Sometimes her right eye deviates outward. Like, away from her nose, while her left eye remains aligned properly. It might happen when she’s sleepy, or tired, or feeling unwell. There are so many reasons why, it’s hard to narrow them down to one or two.”
“And glasses can help?”
I nod. “Yes. They’re prism glasses, actually. They help to align both eyes for ‘proper binocular vision.’ She’s not a fan, but she’s accepted it—that’s why they are pink. But she also needs to wear an eye patch on her left eye. It encourages her right eye to work normally. It trains it.” I blow out a harsh breath. “It’s the hardest part because she hates it. The first time I tried to convince her to wear it, she was hysterical. Crying and screaming and looking so scared of me that it broke my heart.” I sniff, tears lacing my face. “We made a deal, though. She only wears it at home, when it’s just us, and for a few hours at a time. Hopefully, all that will help her, and we won’t need surgery and she will avoid significant vision loss. She was diagnosed pretty early because I noticed what was happening to her eye, so we have a chance.”
“You’re a great mom,” he says in a soothing voice.
The smile that blooms on my face has no reason to be this big, but I can’t help myself. “Thank you. I’m trying my best.”
I think it’s the only thing I’m good at…and maybe floristry. In other areas? I suck big time.
“Is there anything else that can help?”
“I let her play games on my phone while she wears the eye patch. It pushes the right eye to be more focused.”
Clay crooks a smile. “I still love playing games.” His words make me snort as I lift my mug to my lips and take a sip. “How about you two come over to my place sometime? I can download some games for kids her age.”
Even the thought of going to his place brings warmth to my cheeks and neck. An easily recognizable heat develops in my lower abdomen, forcing me to shut my legs. It’s not what he means, but my brain has little to no control over my body when it comes to Clay.
“The regular season starts in a week. You’ll be busy,” I mumble, suddenly replaceing my mug so interesting that I prefer to look at it instead of at him.
“I told you, I’ll always replace time for you. Please, Layla. I promise it’ll be fun.”
“Okay, let’s try.” I give him a hesitant smile. “Though I’m not sure Maya will agree to wear her eye patch in front of you.”
“She will,” he counters with a confidence that, for whatever reason, makes me believe him. “I know how to convince her.”
“We’ll see, Mr. Baby Whisperer.”
Clay’s head lolls back as he starts laughing silently, his palm covering his eyes. His whole body shudders, and his tee rides up a bit. My gaze falls on a sliver of his abs, making my mouth water. He felt incredible yesterday. All those hard lines and toned muscles. The man oozes sexual energy, and I’m ready to bet my monthly income that I’d say the same thing if I weren’t desperate for a good fuck.
Because I am. I’m fucking hungry for an orgasm, one I haven’t given myself.
“I thought only Colt calls me that,” he finally says, his eyes still twinkling with laughter.
“Everyone calls you that,” I correct him, lifting the mug to my mouth again. “You’re good with kids.”
He shrugs. “Maybe.” Then he sets his elbow on the table and leans his head onto his knuckles, squinting at me the whole time. “Does Maya’s father know about her eyes?”
The coffee feels slick and nauseous in my mouth. I force myself to swallow it, and then I tell him, “No. I don’t think he needs to.”
“Why not?” Clay frowns.
“Because I have sole custody. He isn’t interested in anything to do with her.”
“Wait…what?” He rears back. Both of his hands land on the table.
“We broke up, but I still tried to keep him in the loop about Maya. Once, she got a very high fever, and I was out of my mind with worry. So I sent him a text to let him know what was going on. He didn’t reply.” I duck my head, staring at my coffee, which is as black as my memories about that time of my life. “When she got better, I sent him another text to let him know she was fine.” Struggling to get the next words out, I start rapping my fingers on the table, a nervous staccato fueled by the anger that simmers in my veins. “That time, he did reply.” I look up, meeting Clay’s unwavering gaze. “I got a thumbs-up emoji. After that, I knew I needed to file for sole custody. Not surprisingly, Eli had nothing against it. So it’s been just Maya and me for a while now.”
“I’m sorry, Layla. I-I had no idea.”
I snicker. The sound is full of bitterness. “Why? You did warn me about him. You told me to leave him because you saw right through him, while I was completely blindsided. Why is this so surprising to you now?”
“Because I saw Maya.” He says it so simply, while my heart is ready to dance a fucking rumba, with butterflies joining the madhouse, fluttering their wings, flipping and flopping inside my belly. “I don’t know how it’s possible not to love someone like her. She’s precious. Your little Princess.”
I’m feeling so conflicted now, I don’t even know what to do with myself. I love him. I want everything with him. But I don’t deserve his love, nor I deserve happiness. I’m a terrible human being.
Standing up, I glance around the kitchen. The darkness outside the window catches my attention. I grab my mug from the table, and, choosing the negative energy brewing inside me, I say, “It’s getting late.”
As I slide to the dishwasher, I try to ignore what he’s doing. But it’s useless because everything about him puts me on high alert. The sound of the stool scraping the floor, followed by his steps—and then he’s behind me, his hands sneaking around my body to put his mug into the dishwasher. Once he’s done, he doesn’t move away, just stays rooted behind me.
His gentle fingertips on the bare skin of my shoulder are what I feel first when he brushes my hair away from my ear. My whole body tingles, spreading shivers down my spine. His hot breath hits my skin, making my breath hitch in my throat. His beard tickles my cheek when he bends his head down.
“I’m sorry for ruining your good mood,” Clay whispers. “I’m sorry for bringing him up.”
The sick reality is…we need to talk about Eli. I need to explain so many things to Clay. And, more than that, I should be the one saying sorry. Not him.
“It’s not your fault. Any mention of him does that to me,” I murmur and close my eyes because his body heat tempers my body and causes a light throbbing between my legs. Sighing deeply, I relax into his embrace. “Clay, what are we doing?”
“Getting to know each other again.” His soft lips press to my neck, and my eyes instantly shut. “Talking.” He shifts, his hand resting on my belly. That sends all my coherent thoughts into a purgatory. I’m worried he will understand what I’m hiding under all these loose T-shirts and dresses, but also, a part of me wants to let go and say fuck it. Because damn, I want him. “Coming,” Clay murmurs in my ear, sucking my earlobe into his mouth. “Can I touch you?”
Yes, please. Instead, I say, “I think we should wait.”
“I’m not going to fuck you. Not yet.” He hides his nose in my hair and inhales deeply. “But I want to make you come. You’re way too tense. Can I?”
I should say no. I should say we need to wait. It will be better to wait.
But that’s…fucking impossible.
“Yes, you can,” I whisper, pressing my butt into his groin. The outline of his hard dick sends me spiraling. I want to protest, to beg him to fuck me. To drop to my knees and take him into my mouth. I don’t want to wait. Not with him.
But I’m going to play by his rules.
Because that’s what I always do where Clay Rodgers is concerned.
Clay slips his hand under my leggings, moving slowly until his fingers brush over my clit through my panties. I part my legs wider, and he slides his palm deeper, cupping me and releasing me again and again. My panties become wetter as he continues moving two fingers up and down my folds. It feels so good, my mind drifts to all the times we slept together. The memories are so fucking satisfying.
“So wet for me,” he praises in a low voice, finally dragging my panties aside and trapping my clit between his fingers. His movements are slow as if he’s testing me at first. A few circles over my clit, and then his fingers slip down to my center, teasing my opening. “So fucking wet.”
“I won’t last…” I move my hips in time with his fingers. Desperate for more. Hungry for the orgasm he so generously wants to gift me with. “I won’t last long, Clay…”
“Then don’t hold yourself back, Layla.” A loud moan skitters from my lips as he starts rubbing my clit faster. “Come for me.”
He massages my clit between his fingers, my release approaching with each brush. His other hand slides up my chest, and he cups my breast from behind, squeezing it roughly. He runs his knuckles over my nipple through my sports bra, once, then twice, never slowing his assault on my clit.
I cover his hand with mine as my orgasm slams into me. My hips jerk forward, and I dig my fingers into his skin. The trembling of my body is violent and only his hand, securely wrapped around my waist, holds me up.
When I feel like I can breathe normally again, I turn around and replace myself face-to-face with him. Clay smiles; it’s smug and unapologetic, but I love it even more. Right in front of my eyes, he lifts his hand and cleans his fingers, sucking each one of them into his mouth.
“As delicious as I remember,” he murmurs, winding his hand around my waist and pulling me against his chest. Clay gazes down at me, his eyes holding mine. “Will you come to our first game of the regular season?”
I nod. “I try to go to all the home games.”
“With Maya?”
“Yes.”
“Great. That means I’ll have something to look forward to whether I play or sit on the bench.” Clay tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But, even more than that, I’m looking forward to the moment when I can bury my cock deep inside your pussy.”
“Me too,” I say breathlessly, and he covers my lips with his, kissing me hard. It feels like it lasts forever until I feel him reluctantly move away. “Where are you going?” I ask.
Clay smiles and tips his chin at something behind my back. “It’s getting late. I better get going. I’m going to the gym with the guys tomorrow morning.”
“Okay. I’ll walk you out.” I start to pull away, but he scoops me into his arms again, his lips hovering over mine.
“Sure,” he coos. “But only after one more kiss.”
And our mouths mold together once again.
If you replace any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.
Report