Chapter 8 Elyse

I wake early enough to tiptoe out of Jack's room and back to the guest room before Sam is awake. I hear my brother moving around a bit later, fixing his breakfast before leaving for a morning run. If he keeps to his usual schedule, he won't be back until after practice later in the afternoon.

I get into the shower and let the hot water wash over me, easing the soreness in my muscles. I'm still a little tender from last night, and I smile to myself as I think about how many times I came. I've never been with a man who could satisfy me like that. The sex was amazing, and I'm already craving more. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I can't afford to fall for my brother's best friend, no matter how good the sex is.

As I get dressed, my stomach growls, and I realize I'm starving. I head to the kitchen and start making a pot of coffee. I'm just pouring my first cup when strong arms wrap around me from behind.

"Good morning," says a deep voice in my ear.

I turn to see Jack, his hair still damp from the shower, and I lean into him, inhaling the clean scent of soap and shampoo. "Morning."

He kisses me softly, and I melt into his embrace. His lips are warm and inviting, and I return the kiss with equal fervor. Our tongues dance together, and my body responds instantly, heat pooling in my belly.

Jack pulls away, and I whimper in protest. He chuckles, and the rumble of his laugh vibrates through my body. "Hungry?"

I nod, cheeks flushing. "Starved."

He grins, and I notice the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Me, too." I raise an eyebrow, and he laughs again, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "For food, Elyse. I'm hungry for food."

I pout, and he leans in to kiss me again. "Don't worry, baby. I'll take care of you."

My heart skips a beat at the term of endearment, and I try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. He's just being playful, I remind myself. It doesn't mean anything.

Jack makes us both a plate of eggs and bacon, and I devour my food, ravenous. We eat in silence, and I steal glances at him from across the table. At some point, my hunger morphs into desire for him, and I drop my fork with a clatter.

He looks up with a start, his pupils dilating. "Fuck," he says with a groan, but it's a sound of appreciation and longing.

The bedroom is too far away, and our movements are frantic as he pushes me back against the counter and lifts me onto it. He slides up my pencil skirt so I can spread my thighs, and I fumble with the zipper of his jeans.

His cock springs free, and I waste no time in wrapping my hand around it. I stroke him slowly, teasing the tip with my thumb. His hips buck, and he groans, burying his face in my neck.

"You're driving me crazy, baby," he says against my skin.

I smile, feeling powerful and sexy. "That's the idea."

He growls and nips at my collarbone, and I gasp, tightening my grip on his cock. I guide him to my entrance, and he thrusts inside me with a grunt.

We move together, our bodies in sync. The friction of his cock against my clit sends waves of pleasure coursing through me, and I cry out, arching my back. It should be too fast and not enough stimulation, but somehow, it's perfect.

He grips my hips, pulling me closer, and I wrap my legs around his waist. I cling to him, digging my fingers into the muscles of his back. "Yes, Jack. Just like that."

He thrusts harder, and my orgasm builds. My body tenses as my inner walls clench around his cock. I'm so close.

"Come for me, baby," he says.

And I do. I explode around him, my vision blurring as my climax crashes over me. I cry out, raking my nails down his back. He thrusts once, twice, and then he's coming too, spilling himself on my thigh to avoid coming inside me without a condom.

We stay like that for a moment, our breathing ragged. I rest my forehead against his, and he kisses me softly.

"Wow," he says, and I laugh.

"Yeah, wow."

After another kiss, we clean ourselves up and get dressed again. We share one last lingering look before I head out the door. I'm already late for my internship, but I don't care. It was worth it.

As I walk to work, I feel like I'm floating on air. I've never felt this way about anyone before. Am I falling for Jack? It feels like it, but I need to be careful. I have a lot riding on this internship, and I can't afford to let anything distract me from my goal.

***

I lean forward in my seat, my gaze trained on the ice as Sam passes the puck to Jack. The crowd erupts into cheers, and I hold my breath in anticipation. Jack weaves through the opposing team's defense with the puck, his movements fluid and graceful. He winds up, taking the shot, but the puck ricochets off the goalie's pads, and the buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game.

"Dammit." Jack slams his stick against the ice in frustration.

The Firebirds lost the charity exhibition match against the Arizona Scorpions, but it was all for a good cause—raising money for the local children's hospital. Still, the competitive fire burns bright in Jack's eyes as he skates off the rink, his jaw clenched tight.

A couple of hours later, the team gathers at their usual haunt, Shooter's Bar & Grill, to unwind after the game. The lively atmosphere does little to lift Jack's sour mood as he nurses a beer, scowling into the depths of his glass.

"Cheer up, man." Sam claps him on the shoulder. "It was just an exhibition match."

Jack shrugs him off, his expression thunderous. "I should've made that shot."

Before I can interject, a raucous shout cuts through the din of the crowded bar. "Hey, Ford! Where's our money, you bum?"

I turn to see two burly men swaggering toward our table, their faces flushed from too many drinks.

"You cost us big time with that missed shot," slurs one of them, jabbing a meaty finger in Jack's direction.

Jack's nostrils flare, and he rises from his seat, towering over the hecklers. "Back off, fellas. It was a charity game, and I'm sure not responsible if you were dumb enough to bet on a hockey game."

The other man snorts derisively. "Tell that to our bookie. We had money riding on you, hotshot."

Tension crackles in the air, and I instinctively reach for Jack's arm, trying to diffuse the situation. "Jack, ignore them. They're just drunk and bitter about losing their bets."

He shrugs me off, his jaw tightening. "Stay out of this, Elyse."

The drunken hecklers take his dismissal as an invitation to continue their taunts.

"What's the matter, Ford? Can't handle a little criticism?"

"Maybe he's getting too old for this game."

Jack's fists clench at his sides, and the muscle in his jaw twitches. Before he can respond, Sam intervenes, stepping between Jack and the hecklers.

"All right, that's enough. Time for you two to leave."

The hecklers grumble but eventually back down and stumble away from our table when the rest of the team stands up. Jack slumps back into his seat, his shoulders tense.

"You okay, man?" asks Sam, his brow furrowed with concern.

Jack waves him off, taking a long pull from his beer. "I'm fine."

His clipped tone says otherwise, and I wonder if there's more to his reaction than just the missed shot and the hecklers' taunts. Leaning closer, I keep my voice low.

"Jack, is everything alright?"

His head whips around, and he fixes me with a glare that could freeze hellfire. "I said I'm fine. Just drop it."

The venom in his words stings, and I flinch as if he's slapped me. Hurt and confusion war within me, but I bite my tongue, unwilling to escalate the situation. The rest of the evening passes in tense silence, the earlier camaraderie evaporating like mist in the morning sun. As we file out of the bar later, he stalks ahead, his broad shoulders hunched, and hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Sam falls into step beside me, his expression apologetic. "Don't take it personally, Els. Jack's just in a foul mood. There's a reason people call him Mr. Grumpy behind his back sometimes." He winks at me, though his gaze still reflects concern.

I force a tight smile, but the sting of his rebuke lingers. "It's fine. I'm just worried about him."

He drapes an arm around my shoulders, giving me a reassuring squeeze. "He'll be all right. Jack's always been a brooder, but he'll snap out of it eventually."

I nod, but a nagging voice in the back of my mind whispers that there's more to Jack's outburst than just a bad game and some drunken hecklers. As we part ways for the night, I wonder what demons Jack is wrestling with—and if he'll ever let me in enough to help him face them.