I’m watching game tape at a bit after midnight when the intercom buzzer sounds.

I roll my eyes, and it stops. Hopefully whoever it is doesn’t bug too many other residents before they find the right one.

A minute later, though, I hear someone fumbling at the door, then a key slides into the lock.

I’m on my feet when it swings open.

But it’s not a drunken neighbour’s friend.

It’s Sasha.

“Hey,” she says on a breathy exhale, grinning at me. She drops her bag on the floor and holds up the spare key I gave her at New Year’s. “Glad I kept this. You didn’t answer the intercom.”

“I never do.” I cross the room in three quick strides and pick her up, spinning her around as she laughs. “My Wednesday just got a fuck-tonne better. What are you doing here?”

“I got your email.”

Set aside absolutely everything else between us—jealousy, distance, fear, still learning how far we can trust each other—when I tell Sasha my blood test has come back clear of infection, she gets on an airplane so I can fuck her.

That means something.

Maybe it means something dirty, but it means something. I will fucking take it.

“You got my email.”

“I did.”

“And you came straight over.”

“I was in the neighbourhood.”

“You were—” I laugh as I twist us in the direction of my room. “You gorgeous little liar. You got on a plane for the D.”

“Not if you’re going to call it that.”

“The bare, just-for-you, unwrapped C.”

“Nobody calls it that.”

“Rock hard, velvet B.”

“B?”

“Boner. Cock. Dick. You want it. You want it bad. You—”

“I want you,” she whispers as we stop in the doorway to my bedroom. “All the fucking time. What have you done to me, Tate Nilsson?”

I hook my fingers under the hem of her shirt, my pulse hammering away. “I don’t know.”

She gives me a tremulous smile as she lifts her arms, and I peel her shirt off. Unwrapping her has never felt quite like this. Like a gift.

I take my time with her jeans. The button first, my knuckles brushing her belly, then the zipper. She’s wearing blue panties, and my dick aches to get inside them.

Bare flesh. Sasha in the raw.

I tug her closer and kiss her, soft pulls of my lips as I bring her hands to my waistband.

I want her to strip me bare as well.

Please let me be a gift to you, too.

Instead of shoving my sweats down my legs, she pulls the waistband back just enough to slip her hand inside. I shudder as her fingers wrap around my heavy cock, lifting off my body in its eagerness.

She strokes me as the scent of my sex rises between us. Clean skin, but beneath that a musky earthiness.

Nothing between us tonight.

My scent on her skin. Her scent on mine.

I play with her hair as she glides her palm up and down my length, as she cups my balls gently before dropping to her knees and swallowing the swollen, glistening head into her mouth.

“Ah…” I drop my chin, gaze glued on hers as she looks up at me. “You like the taste of me? Big cock in a little mouth.”

She bobs her head and I tangle my fingers in the golden brown strands brushing her cheeks.

“Swallow me down. Take as much as you can. Fuck, yeah. That’s going to be inside you soon. You’re all mine, Sasha. And I’m all yours. Every last inch. Yours to do whatever you want with.”

She opens wider and slides her tongue wide against the sensitive spot under the crown, then presses a delicate kiss right to the tip. “I want it all,” she murmurs as she rises.

We tumble onto the bed and roll. I kiss her neck, her tits, the dip of her stomach and the rise of her mound. Then I slide my tongue between her pussy lips and taste the slippery sweetness that promises she’s ready to take my cock inside her.

I push her legs up and out, revealing every inch of her plump, ripe sex. A fucking gift which I appreciate until she’s on the edge of exploding.

When I surge back up her body, she lifts her hips to meet me, and we fit together perfectly.

Wet pussy, hard cock. The body knows what it wants, and my body wants to be inside her like nothing else. My dick swells as she rocks him against her wet slit and up to her clit.

She gasps a ragged, perfect little cry every time her hips roll down and her hard nub makes contact with my erection.

Fuck, I could come like this. Grind against her and blow on her belly.

But I want more, so I set a firm grip on her hip and hold her still. “Shhh,” I urge her as I get up on my knees. I rub the crown of my cock through her folds. The last thing I see before I notch us together is a bead of pre-come forming on the swollen tip.

I press into her, working that drop of my seed inside. She cries out and clutches at me. I thrust again, reeling from the tender, wet warmth of her. Big cock, tight pussy. Base, crude thoughts war with warmer, sweeter realizations as we begin to move together in unison.

It’s sweet, slow, crazy emotional sex, and I never want it to end.

“You feel…” There are no words.

“I know.” She tangles her fingers in my hair as she holds our heads together. Her breath is hot against my face, her eyes squeezed shut as her body works so hard with mine. Her tight nipples brush against my chest and I push up again, wanting her flesh in my palm. I cup a breast and tug on the peak with my fingers. There’s a tightening inside her in response, and I do it again.

Her eyes fly open and she lets out a low keening sound.

Tension mounts deep inside me as I hold her gaze and thrust again. I think of her mouth, her ass, her sweet words and her perfect sass. I chase all the different Sashas twirling through my mind, and the very real one in my arms. I ride her hard until she explodes beneath me, then I thrust one last time as my own orgasm barrels in.

I pull out as the first jolt of come blasts out of me, and I stroke myself hard through the remaining spurts. My jizz paints the crease between her hip and her leg, and up onto her trembling belly.

As I brace myself above her, catching my breath, she reaches down and swipes her finger through the trail of come I’ve marked her with. Slowly, with cat-like grace, she brings it to her mouth and licks her fingertip clean.

Fuck. Me.

The head of my dick is aching and sensitive to the touch, but I keep stroking, because deep inside I feel the unmistakable resurgence of arousal.

“Do that again,” I growl. “Lap up my come.”

She arches beneath me and bites her lip, but she doesn’t move her hands.

“Sasha.”

“Make me,” she whispers.

Oh, sweet mercy. My cock strains as I roll onto my side. I prop myself up on my elbow and with my free hand, I touch the wet smear of my release on her skin. Twenty years of sex, and I’ve never spilled on a woman’s skin.

Twenty years, I’ve never wanted to. I learned early on that you wrap it up. Period, no exception, or you run the risk of having a kid at sixteen instead of being scouted for the NHL.

Easy call.

And then it was the constant threat of a paternity suit, although knock on wood, I’ve never had anyone try. No question, condoms have been my best friend.

But with Sasha, this isn’t scary.

A new and unfamiliar tightness pulls inside my chest, and touching it isn’t enough.

I crawl down the bed, kissing and sucking at her skin as I go. Her nipples, her ribs, her hip.

I settle between her legs and breathe in the familiar scent that’s uniquely hers and wholly addictive.

There's a new layer now. Astringent and bold, a sharp counter to her sweet earthiness.

My come on her skin.

My mark.

My scent.

I never want her to wash it off. I can't tell her that. She'll make me wear a condom for the rest of my life.

For the—

My heart slams against my ribs and I press my mouth into the sweet softness of her inside thigh.

She's wearing my scent. She's mine. Forever.

I suck on her flesh. I love you. God, it's the wrong time to realize that.

I want you forever.

I need you, too.

Her fingers lace into my hair, tugging. "I'm messy," she whispers.

Damn fucking right. My mess. My woman.

I twist my head and cover her mound with my mouth. I'll clean her up. Every last inch.

Mine.

I love you.

What the fuck am I going to do with that stupidly-obvious brand new information?

Lick her up and bury my feelings for another day. That’s what I’m going to do.

I sweep my tongue over her bare skin, and once she’s all clean, I cover her with my body and make her messy all over again.

I can’t tell her I love her, but I can imprint my scent deep in her body. We have another week together. I’ll do this every day. She can fly home with my mark on her skin.

And when the season is over, we’ll talk about what comes next.

She comes to my game the next night, the last before the All Star Break, and she sits closer to the VIP seats this time.

Afterwards, she meets me in the lounge where we meet our guests after games, and Andrushko makes a beeline for her.

“Tate’s friend,” he says, holding out his hand.

Sasha takes it and squeezes tight enough I can see her knuckles turning white. “Tate’s teammate,” she responds.

“You were just here at Christmas. And now again? Tate is a lucky friend.”

“I was in Seattle for work. Popped up to see a game.” She stretches the truth so casually, I almost believe it myself. “You made the All Star team, right? When do you leave?”

I smoothly interject and suggest we get going. “Late dinner,” I say not apologetically at all to Andrushko.

He winks at me.

And as we move away, Sasha rolls her eyes. “Why is he so amused by me?”

“You’re pretty. He thinks it’s funny that you you push back.”

“It’s none of his business why I’m here.”

I frown. “I think he’s just making small talk.” For someone who is so smart in so many ways, and can read strangers in crisis like a book, Sasha has a blind spot when it comes to professional athletes. Like she assumes the worst.

For good reason, I remind myself. She’s been burned before.

“What do you want to do for dinner?”

She gives me a brilliant smile that sweeps everything else from my mind. “You’re the local expert now. You pick.”

We’re in the middle of making breakfast on Saturday when Sasha’s phone rings. She looks at the screen, then excuses herself into my bedroom to take the call.

I slice the avocado and tomato while I wait for her to come back. The eggs will only take a few minutes, and I don’t know how long this conversation will take, so I’ll wait until she’s done to start poaching.

We could do with another pot of coffee. I get that started, then pull the eggs out of the fridge.

I wonder how many she wants. I try to pick up any hint from the other room if she’s wrapping up the conversation. A few words filter through the partially closed door. Honoured and opportunity. West coast. Appeal.

I frown and move closer to the door.

“I wasn’t expecting such a direct conversation at this point,” she continues. “Yes, it was a fascinating discussion. I agree. It would be great to work together. Thank you so much for reaching out to me. I’ll give the position some serious consideration.”

I stand there, in the middle of a living room that didn’t feel lived in until she arrived, in a city that has always felt too damn far from home, but had started to feel like mine when I showed it to her. My thoughts are still reeling when she steps out of the bedroom.

She starts, like she’s surprised to see me standing there. “All done. Sorry.”

“Who was that?”

“Someone I met at the conference in Seattle. A professor at the University of Washington.”

I wait for her to give me anything else.

She doesn’t.

I nod. “Right.”

She glances past me. “Oh, good, more coffee. Did you start the eggs?”

“No.”

“I can do that.”

“No.” My neck is hot, and my back is tight. My throat feels raw.

She stops and gives me a curious look.

Fuck curiosity. Fuck secrets. Fuck love, because this is bullshit. “When were you going to tell me that you could have a job on this side of the continent?”

Her eyes go wide. “I…I wouldn’t say that—”

“When. Were. You. Going. To—”

“Never.” She lifts her chin and gives me a fierce look. “Because I’m not going to take it. Were you eavesdropping?”

“I was going to ask you how many God damn eggs you wanted.”

Her jaw flexes as she glares at me. “I don’t think I want any right now.”

“My appetite’s feeling a bit off, too.” I cross my arms over my body. “It didn’t sound like you weren’t interested.”

“I was being polite to a professional colleague. And how much did you hear?”

“Not enough to understand what the hell is going on.”

“It’s none of your business!”

“I’m picking that up loud and clear. You don’t trust me in the least, do you?”

Her eyes narrow. “Are you turning this into a thing?”

Yeah, I think I am. “You don’t. You haven't trusted me with anything besides your body.”

“That's not true.”

“Then tell me about the job.”

“No.”

In the back of my mind, a little voice reminds me she’s being stubborn because I’m pushing her.

I don’t listen to it. “You love the west coast.”

She throws her hands in the air. “There’s more to a career move than liking the local sushi.”

“Like what?”

“My life is in Ottawa.” She says it like it’s just the most obvious thing in the world.

Except it’s not. I tap my chest, hard. “I’m here. University of Washington is what, three hours away? That’s a day trip. We could be together every single weekend.”

There’s a long stretch of silence. So long it turns sharp. Painful.

Her answer doesn't change. And that's all I need to know. So much for just her and me. Turns out, it was always just her. I was disposable the whole time.

All I can hear is my own ragged breathing. She’s frozen, staring at me in disbelief, like I’m asking her to go to prison for me or something.

I have to try again. I have to fix this. “Sasha, I love—”

“No.” She snaps it out, cutting me off.

“I do.”

“Stop.” She stares at me, and I finally get it. This isn't what we agreed to. This isn't what she wanted.

She only wanted a single afternoon.

She wanted to keep our affair private.

She wanted to be a friend with benefits, not a girlfriend, no matter how intense our feelings.

I fell in love with a woman who never had any intention of loving me back.

“I should…” She trails off and twists around, looking around my apartment.

“Sash—”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I can’t. We always knew we had an end-date.”

“No. That was…” A lifetime ago. “Things have changed between us.”

“Maybe that was where we went wrong.”

“I don’t—”

She holds up her hand, and I fall silent.

I can only protest so much. “Fine. You want to put us on ice? Live on opposite sides of the country and just fuck occasionally? That’s the worst plan ever, Sasha. I can’t—” I can’t think straight. I can’t trust myself to say anything else, either. “I need some air.”

I grab my keys and head out the door.

When I get back an hour later with two lattes, because I’m a dumb stupid fuck who doesn’t know when to shut up, she’s gone.