Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Riggs

I knew, I fucking knew, when I got the notification of movement in my bedroom, I should ignore it.

Who else would be in my room?

I knew. I did.

I told myself to ignore it.

I even clicked off the notification.

But then I went to the app for the live feed.

Like a complete fucking glutton for punishment.

There in my bedroom, in my fucking bed, lies Clara. She's wearing her workout gear from earlier, her ass eating her shorts as she rubs her face in my pillows. I should say I'm watching to make sure the dogs don't get on the bed, but I know I'm not. Hell, if she knew, she'd know I wasn't watching for the dogs. But before I can feel like the creep I am, a beautiful, ethereal groan comes from my phone. A loud one, one that rattles the device in my hand as I watch her. Or maybe I'm shaking. Yup, I'm shaking. Fuck. She clenches her ass cheeks, her body almost vibrating as she continues to rub her face in the pillows.

One thing is for sure—I'm never washing those pillowcases.

All of a sudden, she rolls onto her back, and her pink-painted toes curl as she groans louder. Her breasts move with each breath she heaves in and out. Her face is flushed, her body vibrating as she clenches and unclenches her fists.

My mouth goes dry.

I know I should close this app. I am well aware I need to stop watching, but…I fucking can't.

My eyes are wide as I watch her chest move up and down. My body is tight, my cock straining against my slacks as I drink her in. I almost can't take it. I almost throw my phone.

But then her hand travels down her body, running over the exposed flesh along her belly, before sliding into her shorts. And even though I've been breathing since birth, I forget how to perform the action in mere seconds.

My jaw goes slack as she moves her fingers against her center. The sounds of her arousal fill my phone, making it really hard for me to stay standing. My legs lock, and I fall back into the chair that is thankfully behind me. Heat gathers at my spine; my stomach clenches, and I can't believe I'm allowing myself to watch this. I shouldn't invade her privacy, but I'm unable to look away.

I don't want to look away.

I'm not even myself as I unzip my slacks before pulling out my heavy cock. I give myself a tug as my body burns with desire. I spit on my hand, taking my length in my palm as I start to stroke myself with a vengeance. I want to be there. I want to be the one touching her sweet cunt. I want to taste her. Lick her from clit to ass and repeat it until she's screaming my name and creaming all over my face. I wish she were naked, but then, it doesn't matter. Her moans are so fucking sexy, I'm burning from head to toe. The flesh I can see is beet red.

Then her lips part, and the throatiest, most gorgeous moan I've ever heard in my life leaves her sweet lips as she bucks against her hand. I move my hand up and down my length faster, squeezing myself, and when a cute little giggle escapes her, I blow my load. I drop my phone, come spurting everywhere and making a mess as my head falls back. My own grunt fills the space as white dots appear in my vision, and I jerk my hips up. I can't breathe. I'm gasping as I squeeze my eyes shut.

Clara just came in my bed.

My bed.

Yup, I'm never washing those sheets.

But I sure as shit need to change my pants and…fuck, my tie.

Just like I knew from the moment I saw her, this girl has made a mess of me.

Alex is my golden goose.

And if that means I'm Veruca Salt dancing around in a little red dress, singing and chasing Alex's golden eggs down a chute, then that's who I am.

Fuck, I love this guy.

He's zoned in, his eyes on everything as he moves in front of the goal like a goddamn ninja. The defense has been slacking and letting players get to the house, but Alex keeps slamming the door. The dude gets on my nerves, but I could kiss him for keeping us in the game. When he gloves a shot that shouldn't have gotten through, I glare at the line that skates toward the bench for a change.

"So, is this the Alex Cruz Bears? Or the Knoxville fucking Bears? Get it together, everyone! Fucking protect Cruz so he can protect the house!"

Everyone grunts in agreement, and my glare deepens. I don't give a fuck that they're tired. We're all fucking tired. "I get that you're fucking tired. I get it—I do. But we haven't worked for over eighty games to get here and lose! I want the W, and you should want it too. Do you?"

Everyone yells in agreement.

"Then protect the fucking house, would ya?"

I know I'm aiming too high. It's only my second year as a head coach, but I've got the team to get me the Cup.

And I want the fucking Cup. I'm tired, too, and strung so damn tightly, I can't stand it. I almost called in a woman to take the edge off, but it didn't feel right. Makes no sense, and my cock and I are going to have to discuss this later since I really don't like what that could mean.

That I only want Clara.

And I can't want her.

I can't have her.

She is young, vibrant. I'm a freaking fool, damaged goods, and all I could do is fuck her good. I couldn't give her a good life. Hell, the only good in my life are my boys and my team. I don't even know… Fuck, I gotta stop thinking this shit.

But once more, my damn phone vibrates with a notification of movement in my bedroom, and my body twitches with the need to look. I know I can't look. I'm feeling tons of guilt from seeing Clara in her private moment. I know I should come clean, but I don't want to embarrass her—or myself, because I'm sure I'd admit that I came at the sight of her giving herself pleasure to smooth over the fact that I watched her get off.

The problem is, I want to watch her come undone again.

But from the pleasure I give her.

Which is bad and is why I'm ready to strangle everyone around me.

The crowd is crazy and loud, cheering on their Griffins. The score is tied at zero, and as we're in the third, I need us to score. I don't want to go to overtime, not when my boys need the rest. I pace along the bench behind the boys, ignoring my phone that's vibrating, probably with notifications about Clara that I need to turn off. Or I need to leave my phone in the fucking locker room because each vibration torments me.

When it buzzes again, I take it out and hand it to my assistant, Willy. He gives me a weird look. "What's up?"

"Keep that for me." He doesn't question me and puts it in his suit jacket. "But don't look at it."

"I won't, Coach," he vows.

I nod a thanks and try to focus on what is going on before me. The Griffins are in our zone, and it pisses me off that they're still there. We should be in their zone by now, and thankfully, Markson gets possession and halls ass up the ice before passing it off to Jennings, who shoots quickly, going top shelf. His shot is blocked away, but the sweetest fucking rebound pops back and lands on Markson's blade. He doesn't even have to try hard; he taps the puck in, and the light goes off.

I fist-pump my hand at my side as the bench explodes with excitement and cheers.

"About bloody time," I mutter, and Willy smirks at me.

"Gotta believe, Coach," he throws at me, and then he makes a face. "So, no wonder you gave me your phone. It won't stop going off."

I whip my gaze to him. Is she getting off again? It doesn't matter, you eejit! You've got work to do!

This girl is a problem.

One I shouldn't be enjoying, but I am.

"A wee little lass, wanting all your attention?"

I glare at my friend, who came with me to the team. "Shut it."

He snorts but doesn't push me. He's not a dick like Cruz. Probably because he was around when my marriage ended. Great. Now, I'm thinking of the past.

I hate thinking.

I force myself to look out at center ice. I'm jittery and not feeling like myself. I don't like this feeling at all. I reach into my pocket and bring out my Bubble Yum gum. I open two pieces and stuff them into my mouth. The flavor is disgusting and sweet, but it distracts me from wanting to tackle Willy for my phone. I gotta turn that camera off. I can't allow myself to be tempted like this. While I feel guilty about what I saw, I can't help but think she did it on purpose. Not that she knew the camera was in there, but to leave her scent in my room. I have absolutely no clue what the hell to do with that, but fuck, if I don't want to do something.

Something that starts with me between her legs and my name being screamed from her gorgeous lips.

This is bad. So fucking bad.

When one of the Griffins passes up to a fucking cherry-picking motherfucker at the line, I yell out. "He's offsides!"

But before I can even get the whole sentence out, he scores.

Fuck.

I jump over the bench, using two players' shoulders for balance before I almost launch myself over the fucking boards. I throw my hands up. "Ref! Are you fucking kidding me? Are you blind? He was offsides a fucking mile!"

The ref ignores me as my assistant coach Willy looks at the tape. "Aye! Aye! Ref!"

The ref still ignores me because he knows good and well, he's a fucking eejit!

"Yup, offsides," Willy calls to me, but I already knew that.

"Challenge! Aye! Aye! Challenge, Ref!"

Finally, the bastard stops ignoring me and skates over, annoyed. "I hear you."

"Then fucking acknowledge me, huh?"

Once more, he ignores me as he calls for a coach's challenge, and play stops. Cruz comes skating to the bench, leaning on it beside me. I tap his helmet. "Good job, Cruz."

"Thanks, Coach." He eyes me, that goofy smile on his face, and I glare back at him.

"What, Cruz?"

"You seem a little keyed up."

"I want to fucking win," I sneer, and he grins.

"That's a done deal. What's really wrong?"

I give him a dark look. "Does it look like the time to talk about anything but hockey, Cruz? Why do you always bug the shit out of me?"

He tickles my beard, the freaking eejit. "Because you're so cute to tease." I smack his hand away, and he only grins. "Talk to Clara?"

I glare, unable to control the thoughts swirling in my mind. Does he know? That I like her? That I saw her come? Shit. "What's it to ya?"

His grin widens. "Just curious if she's working well for you. I did knock up her sister, so I do care for her."

My jaw tightens, and I feel my molars starting to crack. I don't know if I'm pissed about the call, pissed that he wants to know about Clara, or pissed that he has the right to care because she's his future sister-in-law. Actually, I'm pissed about everything.

Most of all, that she came in my bed.

Alone.

"Go to your net, Cruz," I bite out, and he shoots me a cheesy grin.

"Aw, it's okay to have feelings. Share them with me."

"Go, Cruz."

His laughter trails behind him to his net, and I swear I crack a tooth.

But the goal is called back because the Griffins were offsides.

And we end up winning the game.

Which is good since I know how to win hockey games. But the game of Clara McDavid?

Yeah, that's another story.