28. Declan

Stoneand I are on the couch in the main area of our apartment with a bunch of our teammates waiting for the skills competition to start. Everyone is making predictions about who will win each event. Everyone is saying I would have been a lock to win the target event. That's nice, but I'm sick of hearing about it. It's bad enough my stupidity ruined this opportunity for me, but I'll be in an entirely different state when, finally, the last remnants of the tea are out of Miranda's system. If I'd not slammed my fist into a wall, if I'd controlled my temper, I'd be there right now, right beside her when she's fully free from any of her mother's remaining influence. I could give her a choice then, and pray she makes the one that will make my heart soar. Part of me would like to go lock myself up in my room and ignore the All-Star Game completely. But I resist showing my bitterness and unsportsmanlike conduct. I need to set a better example than that. What pisses me off is it's my own damn fault I'm not there. It's not like I got injured in a game or anything noble like that. No. I had to lose my temper and punch a wall like a jackass.

My phone vibrates in my pocket to signal an incoming text as I'm taking a swig of my beer. They are announcing the players taking part in the fastest skater competition and have announced Carter's name. He waves to the crowd and points to the stands. The camera pans over, following his gesture, and my breath catches. Sophie and Miranda have prime seats right behind the bench where the players are hanging out between events. They're both wearing jerseys for the Atlantic League team, and they have the Devil Birds patches on them.

"That's cool they have them," Stone says. "They're huge. They must be player jerseys. I guess Carter loaned them his spares."

I'm trying, but failing, to not be bitter I don't get to wear my Mackenzie All-Star jersey. They probably threw them out or took off the nameplate when notified I wasn't able to play. Does Crosby have what should have been my jersey?

Shrugging, I mumble something as I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone.

Daphne: Wish you were here.

Way to rub salt in the wound, I think. There's a photo attachment. I tap to open it. It's a shot from behind of Sophie and Miranda. Sophie is wearing Carter's jersey. But what makes me catch my breath is seeing Mackenzie on the jersey Miranda is wearing. I don't know how she got it, but it does funny things to my insides to see her with my name on her back. It triggers the primitive parts of me that want to claim her before the world as my mate.

My fingers fly over my screen as I quickly make the necessary arrangements. Draining my bottle of beer, I rise from the couch.

"Who wants to fly to Florida with me?" I ask the group in the room. A cheer goes up and Stone, along with another half dozen of my teammates, start getting stuff together for an impromptu trip to the Sunshine State.

* * *

I'm not the type to throw money around, but coming from an obnoxiously wealthy family is handy when you want to charter a plane to take you and some friends to Florida on extremely short notice to watch a hockey game. Being an heir to a hotel chain is an advantage too. We snagged a last-minute cancellation of a suite. Some of us who aren't me are sleeping on air mattresses I had delivered. We're shifters; we can rough it for a night in a luxury hotel.

Hell, I'd sleep on the sidewalk if it got me near Miranda. She's here in this hotel and if it wasn't almost midnight, I'd be trying to find her. Tomorrow morning will have to be soon enough. What's one more night when the possibility of forever exists?

My phone vibrates with an incoming text.

Coach: Hotel bar. Now.

Daphne must have told him of my plan.

Me: On my way.

Some of my crew are already down there when I arrive. My gaze sweeps the bar and I see Coach talking with the coaches of the other teams. Is that why he wants me here? To talk to coaches? Oh crap. Is he going to trade me?

Mallory comes up to me and slips her arm through mine. "I don't know what made you suddenly go as white as a sheet, but don't pass out. You'll put a dent in these lovely floors."

I give a weak smile. "Hi Mallory, Coach texted me to come down here."

She flushes slightly. "Um, that was me. My phone is upstairs drying out. Bubble bath mishap." She tugs on my arm as she walks away. "Come on."

She leads the way through the groups of people gathered and I get some slaps on the shoulders and "Sucks about your hand," and "Heal up soon," comments as we make our way to a side room.

My mopey wolf lifts his head, sniffs, and gives a happy yip. I don't need him to tell me Miranda is here. I can see her sitting across the room on stools at a high table with Carter and Sophie. I don't know how he'll play in the game with one working arm, but if Carter doesn't take it from around the back of Miranda's stool, he's going to have to figure out how.

Maybe Miranda senses my presence because she stops mid-comment and turns to look in the doorway where I'm standing. She blinks twice like she doesn't believe what she's seeing and then the most beautiful smile spreads across her face. I have a moment to savor it before it falls, and she bites her lip, like she's worried or unsure. Oh no, my Daisy has nothing to worry about where I'm concerned.

Unwinding my arm from Mallory's, I stride across the room to reach Miranda's side. Wide gray eyes blink up at me when she whispers my name right before my lips claim hers in the kiss I've been denied for a week. Her arms wrap around my neck, and she kisses me back with the same passion I'm straining hard to hold back. My head clears long enough to realize we can't keep kissing like this, at least not in public.

Miranda must realize the same because she murmurs in my ear, "My room, now."

We don't bother saying goodbye to anyone. I grab her hand with my good one and bulldoze my way through the people milling about, ignoring anyone who tries to stop me for a chat. I guess it's a good thing we don't have the elevator to ourselves, because I don't think I could resist kissing her again. As it is, I'm cursing the fact my family has hotels with over three floors. When we finally reach the tenth floor and step into the hallway, it's Miranda taking the lead and guiding me to a door halfway down the hallway.

She uses the key card to let us into the room. It's the standard room, not a suite.

"Do you have a roommate?" I ask, surprised by how raspy my voice is, but impressed I used my words and didn't grunt and point at the bed.

"You, hopefully."

Hell yes. I want to make love to Miranda all night long, but too much has happened this week. My brain is saying we should talk. Parts further south are insisting we can talk later. We have a lot of time to make up for. The door closes behind me and I turn, engaging every single lock there is. When I turn back around, I discover Miranda has already taken off my jersey and her shirt underneath and is kicking off her black Converse sneakers, leaving her clad in a white bra and jeans.

My mouth goes dry at the sight. Her breasts are jiggling in her plain white cotton bra and when she undoes the button on her jeans and shimmies to slide them down her hips, I almost swallow my tongue. I know she's trying to get naked and is not intentionally doing a striptease, but this is the sexiest dance I've ever seen.

"Whoa, Miranda, do you think we should talk?"

"Nope," she says, popping the p. "You need to undress and get back to kissing me. We can talk later. I need you now."

Okay, I tried. In a flash, we are both undressed and Miranda is pushing me to sit on the bed. She stands between my spread legs with her hands on my shoulders. One bedside lamp is on. The light and shadows play over her skin, highlighting some areas while obscuring others. I wrap my arms around her waist to pull her closer to me. Even though I'm seated, with my height, I'm able to nuzzle her collarbone and the top of her breasts. I press soft kisses and give tiny nips I soothe with gentle lathes of my tongue. Miranda squirms, but I don't release her from my embrace.

"Declan," she moans, my name on her lips the sweetest sound I've ever heard. "I want you. Inside me. Now."

With one hand in the brace, I'm not sure how we are going to manage this.

Miranda pushes on my shoulders.

"Lay back, let me handle everything. Do you have a condom?"

I do as she says and recline on the bed with my uninjured arm under my head. "Aye, in my wallet." But I'm not coordinated enough to put it on one-handed.

"May I?" she asks, holding up my pants.

I nod. She pulls out both condoms and puts my wallet back in my pocket and lets my jeans fall to the floor.

"Two?" she asks.

"I wanted to have a spare." My cheeks flush with something other than desire. I was afraid I'd somehow screw up getting the first one on.

"No, you only brought two? I don't think it's enough."

Oh shit, my shy, sweet Daisy has an insatiable side to her.

"We'll be home tomorrow night. And don't you have a lot of work tomorrow for the game? Two should be enough." I know I can go more than two times, but I'm not sure she can.

She shrugs. "We can do other stuff if necessary."

My eyes almost cross at the thought of what "other stuff" she has in mind.

She puts one foil packet on the nightstand and studies the one she still holds.

"I watched a couple videos on how to do this, but this is the first time I've done it in person, obviously," she murmurs.

With my broken hand, I'm not going to be of any help either.

"We don't have to…" Not sure if I'm saying don't have to use a condom or we don't have to make love.

"No," she says, ripping the foil. "I can do this."

The way the tip of her tongue peeks out between her berry red lips belies her fierce concentration on the task before her. I want her tongue to do other things, but we have the rest of our lives for that.

"Okay, ready?" She holds up the condom in one hand while reaching for my stiff cock with the other.

"Whoa, how about some foreplay? Kissing? Caressing? I'm not a hunk of meat, Miranda."

It's not that I'm not ready to go, I've been ready for so long it's bordering on painful, but I'm worried she isn't ready…physically…even if she's ready and raring to go mentally. I don't want this to hurt or be uncomfortable for her. I always want her to find pleasure and love with me.

She looks up from my cock with wide eyes. "Oh, no, I'm sorry. It's just that…I felt it, Declan. When the last bit of tea left my system, everything became crystal clear. What I want, how to be brave enough to get it. And this is me being brave. This is me taking what I want. You." She shrugs, giving a wicked little grin. "But yeah, kissing is good too. Whatever you need."

"It's not about what I need. It's about both of us finding pleasure. Making love to each other."

Scooting up the bed to lean on the pillow, I motion for Miranda to join me. She crawls up the mattress, and I'm ready to reconsider kissing and foreplay and pounce on her. If she knew I could see her delectable ass in the mirror on the dresser behind her as she crawled toward me, she'd die of mortification. It will be a secret I'll keep to myself. She cuddles up next to me, and I wrap my arm around her. I'm careful not to hit her with my splint. I pluck the condom from her fingers.

"Hi," she whispers. Propping her chin on her hand resting on my chest.

"Hello," I murmur, leaning in to kiss her.

I meant for the kiss to be gentle and languid, but it soon sparks like a wildfire. We are caressing and fondling everywhere we can reach. Since I'm limited to one hand, I make ample use of my lips and tongue. With the three good hands we have between us, we get the condom on and I'm slipping into her slick heat with a moan. We are lying on our sides, face-to-face. Miranda's leg is thrown up over my hip and I'm grateful for the flexibility years as a cheerleader have given her.

The sensations are incredible and I'm determined to last longer than I did our first time together. With my good arm, I gather her close and go back to kissing her, the slow sweep of my tongue against hers matching the slow, steady rhythm of my hips. She's tight and wet. My cock revels in the warm embrace it gets each time it enters her. I love this position. I'm able to squeeze her beautiful ass, look into her eyes, kiss her neck. I'm not worried about crushing her. Even when my hand is healed and other options are available, I'm still going with this at least some of the time. It seems gentler and more intimate. If Miranda's moans and trembles are anything to go by, she likes it too.

However good it feels, it's not giving us the ultimate satisfaction we are both craving. Miranda pushes me to my back and straddles my hips, guiding my length into her until I'm fully sheathed and she's gasping. Leaning forward to rest her hands on my shoulders, she rocks, slowly at first, to find her rhythm and motion. I use the fingertips of my splinted hand to gently push the tendrils escaping from her ponytail away from her face.

"I love you, Declan," she whispers, pressing her lips to mine.

My uninjured hand is on her hip, helping her set the pace she needs to find satisfaction.

"I've always loved you, Miranda. I always will," I promise when we break our kiss to enable Miranda to sit up and change the angle of our lovemaking. She must have found the right spot because her eyes lose focus and close halfway while her breathing turns to gasps. I brush my thumb over her clit a few times and that's all it takes. She tightens around me as she cries out my name. That's what I was waiting for. With a few hard upward thrusts of my hips, I'm tumbling over the edge to my own orgasm.

She collapses on my chest, and I wrap my arms around her. We are both trying to catch our breath. My eyes are closed, but I can feel her trembling and worry she's cold. Then I realize she's laughing. Is that a good sign? She presses a kiss to my jaw and rests her cheek against my shoulder with a sigh.

"I told you the next time would be better," she murmurs.

She was right. And the time after was even better than this.