Come over, his message reads. Wear something I can rip off of you.
Ryan drops her head back to her couch. He won’t be home for hours and she has to teach in the morning. Kindergarten doesn’t stop because a hockey superstar wants someone to warm his bed and let him fuck her through his actually sinfully comfortable mattress.
There’s a beautiful blue lingerie set she’d bought on a whim last weekend, Connor snapping her shirtless from a California beach.
Has your meal service been in?
She’s already standing, checking her teacher’s bag, pulling her waterbottle from the fridge. Maybe she needs him too. She’s not thinking about it.
I’ll make sure you have lunch .
Her heart warms. The sex between them is scorching and she’s done things with Connor McDavid she’d never expected to try, let alone live out, but it’s these moments where he says the little things that show he’s thoughtful.
That doesn’t mean she doesn’t giggle when her modest Toyota ends up parked beside his Range Rover in his extra spot. She tries not to focus on the fact that she’s the one with the spare fob to his garage, or the key to his condo. He always feels so big, from the moment he steps into her apartment to when he slides inside her and while she doesn’t hate feeling small in those environments the way the penthouse echoes when she steps inside always takes her off guard.
This always gives her the heebee jeebees. The echo of even her socked feet, the way even setting her bag down echoes in the hallway. She cannot imagine living here full time, what it’s like when he’s by himself. He needs more carpets or a dog or-
And that’s the other thing being alone in his penthouse sparks in her. She’s not stupid nor naive. They haven’t talked about exclusivity and he’s a hockey superstar. She’s enough of a fan to know about some of the stories floating around some of the hockey players. Who else he brings home is not her place to judge and she hasn’t brought up The Exclusivity Conversation anyway.
Her teacher bag gets tucked into the front hall closet’ her iPad gets tossed to the couch. Her things have their place in his place and this flip flop between warmth at the way she has her habits and place in his life and all the ways she wonders if others do too. When she opens the fridge to toss her waterbottle in, it’s packed full, complete with a handful of pre-labelled bags.
Which one is mine? she sends, complete with a picture.
Whatever you want. Fuck, Ryan. I can’t wait to get home .
She makes an embarrassing sound. See you soon .
It’s been like this for months, since he showed up in her classroom for the second time, laughing softly as he sat at a tiny kids’ table, teaching a handful of students how to tie a bow.
“Gotta tie your own skates,” he’d told one of her SKs. “My mom lives in Toronto. She can’t tie my skates for games.”
It is that image that she will always credit as the reason she said yes when he offered her a game ticket, when he’d invited her out after. It’s a completely different image, full of determination and heat, that had her agreeing to follow him home.
She showers in his massive ensuite, throws the lingerie on and covers it with comfy pajamas. He’d told her once the juxtaposition turned him on, prim and proper kindergarten teacher with sexy lingerie underneath. It’s also entirely possible that she falls asleep before he gets home and she is not doing that in only a bra and panties. Still, she snaps him, curled up on his couch.
This plane cannot fly fast enough .
She wakes slowly, clenches her hands when she feels the weight of her iPad leave her lap.
Connor’s there when her eyes flutter open, tired, even as he strokes her hair from her face. She offers him a sleepy smile as her eyes slide shut again. “Hi. You’re home.”
The air rushes out of his mouth in a heavy sigh before she feels him brush his mouth over her forehead. “Finally.”
She stretches then rolls onto her side. “You were in California. You won in California.”
He laughs, and the cockiness is back in the sound, the hockey superstar there in the spark of his eyes. “Fuck yeah we did.”
She smiles and hums. He chuckles and cups his huge hand over her cheek to stroke her cheekbone. “You should have come. Taken a vacation.”
“Can’t abandon Jordan to the cubs,” she replies. His fingers feel good, scratching at her scalp. “Bedtime?”
“Soon,” he replies, mouth quirking up.
She barks out a laugh. “You’re insatiable.”
“I missed you.” His eyes follow her as she sits up. His hands land on her legs and slide up her thighs.
He sighs like he knew she wouldn’t wholly believe him, kisses the palm she lays on his cheek. “I did.”
She makes a noise she can’t categorize and leans forward, kisses him slow and sweet. His hands slide to rest just above her hips, anchoring them both as he melts into her kiss. “Come on.”
He follows her up the stairs, crowds her in the hallway. She lets him take a kiss, laughing when he uses his definitely superior strength to press her hips into the wall. The desperation rises in his hands and his mouth, slipping easily beneath her pajama shirt to find skin. His hands trail over her sides and stomach in a feather-soft tease. She almost laughs when he starts dragging the shirt up her body, but raises her hands above her head and leaves him there when he tosses the shirt aside. His eyes are hot as he takes in the lace encasing her breasts.
“Fuck.” Connor leans in to brush his mouth over the curve. “Is this new?”
She shivers at the thought that he knows her lingerie now, that they’ve done this enough for him to know what’s in her collection. She wonders if it will ever stop being surreal that he remembers little things about her. She wonders if it will ever mean something. “Someone was snapping me from the beach.”
His hands slip to her hips, slide under the elastic of her pants, pushing them down too so he can take in the whole set. “Is this revenge?”
“You were shirtless.”
That is so far from the whole of it.
“Can I rip it off? If I promise to buy you new ones?”
She rolls her eyes, even as her breath catches. Whether it’s from the idea of him tearing off her clothes or the fact that he wants to buy her more, she’ll never know. Her hands fall to his lapels, stroke over the jacket he still wears. “You’re not desperate enough.”
“Not true.” And sure, the kiss he presses to her mouth is more urgent this time around. His hands move with more purpose, slipping under the band of her bra. He could absolutely rip it and they both know it.
“You’re not ripping my bra to prove a point,” she manages, has to tilt her head back to get the whole sentence out. His mouth gravitates to her neck almost immediately, growling even as his hands trail back down her ribs.
She laughs and can’t help the way she reaches for him, pulls his mouth to hers. He lets her kiss him for a few beats before pulling back. “I don’t know where to start with you.”
She locks her knees to keep herself upright. “Wherever you want.”
“I want everything.”
She breathes out, weighted, her eyes flitting over his face. “You’re a superstar.”
“So are you.”
She laughs. “I teach kindergarten.”
“Why do you say that like it’s not important?”
It carves her wide open, leaves her shaking from more than just the way his hands trail over her skin. “Connor.”
“I’ve seen you in a classroom,” he reminds her, mouth against her ear. His thumbs are stroking just beneath the wire of her bra and it keeps her both distracted and weirdly focused. “I’ve seen you teach. I see the way your kids respond to you.” Her hands clench in his jacket and when had she started to shove it down his arms. “How can you put what you do beneath what I do?”
And this is what she conveniently forgets about Connor McDavid: he doesn’t just play hockey. He pays attention, he observes, he learns. He knows she loves teaching. He knows she is living her dream. He knows what it means to do it.
“It’s not that,” she says, her breath catching when his teeth come out to play against her collarbone. She hopes to hell he remembers not to mark her there, cannot remember for the life of her if her dress for tomorrow is high enough to cover it. “We live different lives, Connor.”
His head pops up. She mourns the loss. “What the hell does that mean?”
She blinks at the sharpness of his tone. “Everything you do is in the media,” she begins slowly. “Your wife has to be ready for that, for interviews and cameras.”
He’s silent for almost too long, before he croaks out. “Wife?”
She flushes. He kisses her, hard and long and thoroughly.
“You have thought about it.”
There’s no denying. Ryan knows it. And of course she’s thought about it, coming home to the way he can’t help but reach for her, cuddles into her on the couch even as he murmurs about hockey plays into his head.
“You want this too.”
She sags into him, thunks her head to his chest. He smells so good. “Of course I do. Who wouldn’t?”
He doesn’t let her hide, cups her face to kiss her sweetly. “I want you, so much, all the fucking time, Ryan. When you’re here in my bed, wearing my jersey at a game, or teaching letters. I always fucking want you.”
“More than anyone else?” God she sounds so pathetic. She cannot believe herself.
She swallows. “You want me now.”
“Did you not hear me?” he asks, gentle considering the words themselves. “I always want you. I wanted you in California with me.” He pauses, tilts his head to the side then says so, so carefully. “You know there’s been no one else, right?”
Her breath catches.
“Ryan.” He drops his forehead to hers. “Of course there’s no one else.”
She hates that she didn’t trust it and hates that she didn’t address it before now, half naked in his hallway while he’s still fully dressed. She hates that it turns her on too, standing here with him looking put together. God, she’s a hot mess. “It’s not my-”
“It is your place.” And now he sounds like he wants to shake her.
She swallows, resets. “Since when?”
“Since the beginning.”
“Oh.” His laugh sounds less tense now, even as he shakes his head and takes her hand. He tugs on it, watches carefully as she steps out of her pajama pants. “Can I have you now?”
It’s so, so layered. Ryan can feel it, even as she meets his gaze. “Yes.”
He will rip her apart, here and now, crack her open so he can see what’s inside. “Yes.”
He pins her to the wall again to take her mouth. There’s no other way to describe the force with which he kisses her. This is the desperation she’d teased him about, the rough drag of his palms over her back. She arches into him as he gets his hands under her ass. She can’t help the embarrassing sound she makes when he lifts her into his arms, presses her into the wall until her legs are around his back. She can feel where he’s hard again in his slacks.
He hums. “I smell like plane.”
“You smell like you,” she replies and ducks her head into his neck. She lets her mouth brush against his pulsepoint, feels the way he shivers beneath her. Her arms tighten around his neck as he pushes off the wall, actually carries her into the ensuite again. He drops her to the counter, kisses her again, hard and long and maybe a little possessive. It thrills her to think about, the idea that she’s his, that he’s chosen her.
The shower turns on a moment later, the heat of the water already curling over the glass, through the open door. When he turns back to her he looks like he could eat her, eyes dragging over her body. “Ryan.”
She hums, eyes following him as he stalks closer. She shivers when his hands brush against the bare skin of her thighs.
“Can I eat you out?”
She whimpers, hands pressing against the marble behind her. He makes it look so smooth and easy as he moves with her, slides her panties over her hips and past her knees. She takes the initiative to kick them off, and gasps when he spreads her wide open, right there on the counter. “Connor.”
He’s already falling to his knees, nosing up the inside of her thigh. His mouth is soft on her skin until it’s very not, biting a mark into the skin there where they both know no one will ever see. But she’ll know and he’ll know and tomorrow he’ll ask her about it just before the end of the school day and-
She whimpers when he swipes his tongue up the length of her. He’s good at this, someone has trained him at this, and he knows exactly when to pin her hips down so he can really open her up. Her hips rock of their own accord, and her hands slide into his hair, long and grown out. His beard rubs against her thighs too and she moans and groans as he rediscovers all the places that send her shooting into her first orgasm.
First, because it’s rare he lets her have just one.
Sure enough, he shucks off his suit while she’s still catching her breath, unhooks her bra and tugs it roughly from her body. She can barely coordinate her limbs, even as he tugs her from the counter and spins her to face the wall. She’s not a short woman, but he has an inch on her, and a build she knows he still has to grow into. He keeps a hand on her stomach as he reaches into a nearby drawer, tugs a condom from its contents. She knows what comes next and her eyes flutter shut as he drags his cock along her folds, soaked from her orgasm.
“Fuck, Ryan,” he says as he finally slides inside.
She shifts onto her toes and braces herself on the counter, pressing back into him even as he wraps his arm around her, palm splaying between her breasts. “Oh my god.”
It’s all she gets out before he starts to fuck her, pressing in so deep and grinding while he’s there, supporting her almost solely through the hand on her sternum. It’s so good, and if she hadn’t all but eliminated swearing from her normal vocabulary - the last thing she needs is a four year old telling mom and dad their teacher swore - she knows it would come spilling out of her now. Instead, she encourages him with her moans, keening whimpers when he hits her just right, and what might be a wail when he slips his hand back down to her clit.
“Ryan,” he says and it takes every piece of consciousness she has left to pay attention. “Look, Ryan.”
She does, fixes her gaze on the mirror. She takes in the way he’s curled around her, the thick arm across her body and the pleasure on his face and comes.
“Shit,” he breathes. “Shit, fuck, Ryan, just like that, seriously?”
She laughs, and it turns into a moan as he speeds up, fucks her through her own orgasm while he chases his. He clings tighter when he comes, mouth pressed to the back of her shoulder. She’ll have a mark there too, she knows, can feel the sting of it already. She shakes with it, thinking about all the ways he’d mark her up if he had the chance.
He laughs. She gets the sense that it’s not easy for him to stand, to slide from inside her. She whimpers with the loss, still bracing herself against the counter. Her knees feel like jelly. “I hate you.”
He hums as he returns from tossing the condom, slides his thumbs up her spine in something that under different circumstances would approximate a massage. “You really don’t.”
“My legs hate you.” But she lets him tug her into the shower, lets him soap her down and kiss her and slides her hands into her hair. She returns the favour, smiles a little as she scrubs her fingers through his beard. “You probably gave me beard burn.”
He glances down her body, a smirk on his face and what she can reliably call possession in his eyes. “Good.”
Someday soon she’s going to let him mark her up as much as he wants. “Come on, superstar,” she says, and kisses him again, lets herself linger in it a little longer. “I need to go to sleep. My kids aren’t going to care that my-” She pauses out of reflex. “That you wanted to eat me out on your bathroom counter.”
Her breath backs up in her lungs. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he breathes back, cups a hand around the back of her neck. “You’re mine. I’m yours.” Then after kissing her again, he says, “Did you bring clothes?”
“Good,” he says. “You should bring more. You should stay here more often. You should stay here all the time.”
“Oh my god, Connor,” she says and laughs, clings to his elbows. “Let’s just… can we settle into this first?”
He looks a little petulant about it, enough to make her laugh and stroke at his pout. “I want you to be here all the time.”
God, they’re never going to make it to bed. Ryan’s going to hate herself in the morning. But looking up at him, at the way he can’t seem to stop reaching for her, even as they step out of the shower and dry off, even as she pulls on a t-shirt he’d left at the end of the bed, even as they curl up in his California king, she knows it is absolutely worth it.