29. Brooke

The drive back to Connor"s place was enveloped in a silence that was both comforting and charged with unspoken emotions. Once there, I found myself tending to Connor"s knuckles, a task that seemed to pull us into an intimate bubble away from the chaos that had unfolded earlier. As I carefully iced his swollen joints, each gentle touch was a wordless exchange, a tender acknowledgment of the storm we"d weathered together.

There was something undeniably sensual in the quiet focus of the moment, the way Connor watched me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. His eyes, usually so fierce and guarded, held a softness now, a vulnerability that he allowed only me to see. The air between us was thick with a tension that was not just about the concern for his injuries but about the realization of how deeply entwined our lives had become.

I cleaned his cuts with a steadiness I didn"t feel, my hands trembling slightly under his gaze. The proximity, the warmth of his skin, and the slow, deliberate movements of my fingers across his hand created a slow-building fire, a yearning that seemed to fill the room with an electric charge. It was as if, in caring for his wounds, I was somehow beginning to mend the fractured parts of us both, sealing the silent vows we"d made to each other without words.

Connor"s quiet "thank you" broke the silence, his voice low and filled with an emotion that echoed loudly in the sparse kitchen. There was a weight to his gratitude, a depth that went beyond appreciation for the simple act of tending to his injuries. It was a thank you for staying, for fighting, for existing in his tumultuous world without flinching away from the shadows that lingered at the edges.

The moment lingered, suspended in time, as if the world outside his four walls had ceased to exist. It was a moment of healing, of silent promises, and of unspoken confessions, all converging into the simple acts of icing and cleaning up. In the quiet of Connor"s kitchen, with the night pressing against the windows, we found a sanctuary, a brief respite from the storm, bound together by care, concern, and a connection that seemed to defy explanation.

"Why did you do that?" My voice was quiet, barely a whisper in the dimly lit room, but I knew Connor understood the depth of the question without further explanation.

Connor"s jaw clenched visibly, a storm brewing behind his eyes before he answered with a harshness that was underscored by a palpable tension. "I saw him on top of you, and I lost it," he admitted, his voice a mix of regret and defiance. "I"d do it again. He got off easy, Westwood."

"Yeah, but... why do you care?" The question slipped out, almost involuntarily, as I finally allowed myself to meet his gaze, searching for an answer in the depths of his eyes.

Connor"s stare was piercing, almost as if he was trying to communicate something profound and complex with just a look. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he let out a breath, his posture softening. "I"ve always cared about you," he confessed, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to fill the room. "Ever since that night. You think I could just let you go after one night? Fuck, Westwood. I wanted you then. I want you now."

The admission left me reeling, a flood of emotions washing over me. "I thought you hated me," I admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush, a confession of my own vulnerabilities.

"I did," he replied, his honesty cutting through the air between us. "I thought..." He trailed off, the sentence hanging unfinished, charged with an unspoken acknowledgment of the misunderstandings that had shadowed us.

"I know what you thought," I interjected, wanting to bridge the gap between us, to lay bare the truth of those days. "I didn"t." My voice broke slightly as I continued, "After your wife came in that night...you never texted. I just thought you guys figured it out, or that you were only after that, and then Detroit happened and I didn"t know why."

"I wanted to," he said, his voice laced with a hint of regret. "I would have. But when Detroit fired me, I thought...and I didn"t want to reach out and give you more ammo to use against me. I couldn"t have you making it worse." He paused, his gaze shifting away before returning to mine. "I heard you got back with Hanson after. At least, The Sin Bin Secrets said you did."

I looked away, the pain of those days, the confusion and hurt, suddenly fresh. "I... I was upset with you. I was... stupid." The words felt like a confession, a baring of my soul. "He never wanted me. I was just someone who came before the NHL, someone he felt safe with. I wanted you so bad, Bradley. I thought he"d take my mind off of you, but he didn"t. He couldn"t." The admission hung heavy in the air. "And when I found out you were going to be my professor... I wasn"t sure what to expect."

"I only took this job to get close to you," he admitted. "I wanted...I wanted to make you suffer. I tried. God, I tried...but I couldn"t. Not you. Never you." The raw honesty in his words, the revelation of his initial intentions and the subsequent impossibility of carrying them through, laid bare the complexity of our connection, a tangled web of hurt, desire, and an undeniable pull towards each other.

Before I could process the enormity of his confession, Connor"s hands found my cheeks, gently but with an urgency that left no room for doubt. He pulled me towards him, bridging the gap between intent and action, and captured my lips in a kiss that felt like a culmination of every unsaid word, every shared glance, and every moment of tension that had built between us. The kiss was passionate, yes, but it was also a declaration, a surrender to the emotions we"d tried so desperately to fight.

His lips moved against mine with a desperation that mirrored my own, a search for solace, for understanding, and for forgiveness. The world around us seemed to fall away, leaving only the intensity of the moment, the heat of his lips on mine, and the unspoken promise that, regardless of the past, we were irrevocably entwined in the present. It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of aches long buried, and of the possibility of a future where the pain of our pasts could be transformed into something healing, something whole.

"Why did you tear up the contract?" I found myself asking, the words spilling out in a rush of vulnerability. "Don"t you...don"t you still want me?"

His response was immediate, his voice laced with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. "Of course, Westwood," he said, his gaze piercing into mine. "I want you in a way that would get me fired on a good day. But I didn"t want you to do anything that you felt obligated to do. I want you to want me...not because of a contract. Not for my money or for safety or my reputation. Not because I'm an NHL player or because I'd be a good fuck. I want you to want me."

His words echoed in the silence that followed, a profound declaration of his desires, stripped of any pretense or condition. "You think I don"t?" I asked, the realization of his intentions, his genuine desire for me, unwinding a knot of tension I hadn"t realized I"d been holding. "Connor, I"ve wanted you since that night. I waited for you. I wouldn"t have done what we did if I wasn"t... if I didn"t..."

Before I could finish, before I could fully articulate the depth of my feelings, Connor"s lips were on mine again. This kiss was different from any before; it was charged with a raw urgency, a heat that melted away any remaining barriers between us. His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss until the world around us ceased to exist. In that moment, there was no doubt, no uncertainty—only the undeniable truth of our connection, our mutual desire that burned brighter than any contract or obligation ever could.

"You're mine, Westwood," he said. "You always have been. Ever since that night."

"Show me," I said. There was a plead to my tone, but I didn't care. I couldn't. I needed to know, to feel, that what he said was true. "Please, Connor. Prove it."

He lunged for me again, slamming my back against the wall, the light from the nearby Christmas tree the only thing filling the room. His lips found my mouth, tongue sliding inside of mine with a primal heat that needed to explore and dominate.

As Connor"s body pressed against mine, I could feel the desire that had been simmering between us for so long finally break free. My hands gripped his shirt, feeling the muscles beneath as he continued to kiss me with a passion that left no room for doubt.

My heart raced as our kiss grew more intense, and I could feel his erection against my leg, a testament to the raw need that was overtaking us. I moaned softly into his mouth, my body responding to his in a way I"d never felt before. I wanted him with a desperation that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

His hands roamed my body, gripping my dress and pulling it up, leaving me exposed to his touch. I shivered in anticipation, eager for more. His fingers explored the skin of my stomach, his palms warm against my sensitive skin. I moaned softly, my own hands finding their way to the buttons of his shirt, eager to taste the skin beneath.

Our kiss grew more urgent, tongues wrestling and exploring, hands groping and grabbing, our bodies pressing closer together with every breath. He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at me.

"I"ve wanted you for so long, Westwood," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I knew I had to have you the moment I saw you. You were the one thing that made sense in the chaos of my life. I"ve fantasized about this moment, about being with you again ever since the first time, about feeling your heat against me, about knowing that you want me as much as I want you."

He leaned in once more, his lips brushing against mine. The kiss was different than before, more possessive, more decadent. His tongue plunged into my mouth, exploring the secrets I"d kept hidden for so long. I groaned, my hands tightening in his hair, pulling him closer.

He broke the kiss, his eyes burning with desire, but also something else. Something deeper, something darker. "I need you, Westwood," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I need to feel you, to be inside you. You're mine. Fuck, you're mine."

He took my hand, guiding it down to the bulge in his pants, his erection hard and throbbing against my palm. "Feel this, Westwood," he growled, his eyes never leaving mine. "This is what you do to me, what you make me feel. Every time I see you, I remember what it's like being inside your tight, wet pussy, and my dick gets hard at the sight of you. Your pussy was made for my dick."

I gasped, taken aback by the raw honesty of his words. But before I could say anything, he pulled me closer, his lips devouring mine once again. The kiss was intense, a fusion of passion and need, as his hands roamed my body. I felt naked and vulnerable, but also exhilarated, as I returned his kiss with all the longing and desire I"d kept hidden for so long.

Our bodies were now pressed together, our breath mingling as we kissed, his erection throbbing against my leg. I could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest, matching my own. He pulled back, his eyes intense and hungry, and I knew it was different tonight.

He finished undressing me, his hands trembling slightly with excitement and anticipation. As I stood there before him, I felt a wave of vulnerability wash over me. But Connor"s eyes never left mine, and his touch was gentle and reverent.

He kept me pinned to the wall, his body still hard and pulsing against me. He leaned towards me, boxing me in so I couldn't escape.

I didn't want to.

"No one else is allowed to touch you, Westwood," he whispered, his voice shaking slightly. "You're mine. Only mine."

His lips found mine once again, a gentle kiss that spoke of the depth of his feelings. I wrapped my arms around him, my hands exploring his muscular back as our bodies moved closer together.

As our kiss deepened, our tongues exploring each other"s mouths, I tugged at his shirt, needing him to be as naked as I was.

He complied with my request, pulling his shirt off and revealing his torso, toned from hours out on the ice. I ran my hands over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under my fingers. He responded by pulling me tighter against him, his erection pressing against me in a way that made my heart race.

His hands roamed my body, exploring every curve and valley, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I arched into his touch, moaning softly as his fingers traced a path down my stomach and between my legs.

He stopped at my breasts, taking one in his mouth while his hand palmed the other. I gasped at the sensation, his mouth sending sharp sparks straight to my core as he lapped at my nipple.

I whispered his name, my voice barely more than a hushed plea as my body begged for more. His lips never left my breast, his fingers moving down to tease my core as he continued to explore my body. I could feel the heat building inside me, a fire ignited by his touch that threatened to consume me whole.

His lips moved lower, kissing a path down my stomach, his hands reaching between my legs. I trembled as he teased me, his fingers brushing against my core before pulling away. I whimpered, my hands gripping his shoulders, my body demanding more.

And then, he was there, his erection pressing against me, the head brushing against my entrance. I sucked in a breath, my body arching towards him, needing him inside me.

"Please," I whispered, my plea barely audible over the throbbing in my ears, the pounding of my heart. "Fuck me, please."

He looked down at me, his eyes dark with desire, and whispered, "I want to make you come, Westwood. I want to feel you around me, to watch you convulse as I make you feel something no one else has...and no one else will."

I gasped, my body trembling with anticipation. He picked me up, pushed my back against the wall so his dick was enveloped in my warmth.

He guided his erection to my entrance, his eyes never leaving mine. I felt the tip pressing against me, the heat and the need, and I arched towards him, desperate for the pleasure he promised.

He entered me slowly, inch by inch, his eyes never leaving mine. I cried out, my hands clenching onto his shoulders, my body trembling with each thrust. His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady as he continued to move inside me.

I moaned loudly, my body responding to his in a way I"d never felt before. My nerves were on fire, every sensation amplified by his touch. I felt his erection pulsing inside me, a constant reminder of the desire that was taking over us.

He pulled me closer, his lips devouring mine, our tongues wrestling and exploring. My body responded to his, meeting his every thrust, my core tightening around him.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby," he said.

He thrust harder, his fingers digging into my hips, his breath hot against my neck as he continued to take me. My body was on fire, my nerves tingling with every touch, every kiss, every thrust. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him more than I"d ever needed anything before.

"Mine," he murmured against my skin. "You're mine. You're fucking mine. I'll kill anyone who touches you."

His lips found my neck, and he sucked at the skin, teeth scraping just enough to leave another mark.

"So everyone knows who you belong to," he said.

"Give me another one," I breathed out. "More, Connor, I want more. Mark me. Please."

He groaned, his hips moving faster, his erection sliding in and out of me with a wet sound. "Fuck, baby, look how hard you get me. Look how fucking wet you are."

He moved to the other side of my neck. This time, he was unrelenting, moving up and down my throat, sucking, biting, marking.

"Mine, mine, mine." His words were a chant, a prayer, and every time he spoke it, he thrust inside of me harder and harder.

He traced a path down my chest, his fingers lingering on my breast as he traced the outline of my nipple. I arched towards him, wanting more, needing more.

Without warning, he lowered his head, his mouth enveloping one of my nipples. I gasped, my hands splaying across his back as he sucked and laved at my sensitive flesh. The sensations took me by surprise, shooting straight to my core.

His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently. My heart raced, my breaths ragged as the pleasure built inside me. My body moved against him in time with his thrusts. The pleasure building inside me like a wildfire, threatening to burn me alive. His eyes were dark with hunger as he watched my reactions.

I reached for his face, my hands running through his hair, my nails scratching his scalp. I needed him to know how much I wanted him, how much I needed this. He slowed down, his thrusts becoming slower but deeper, as his eyes searched mine for a response.

I looked into his eyes, my heart pounding with fierce desire. "More, Connor, I need more," I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath.

He took his time, savoring the feeling of our bodies becoming one, the heat and friction building between us. I could feel the tension in my core, the growing need for release.

He looked down at me. "You"re so beautiful, Westwood," he said, his voice ragged with need.

He thrust harder, his hips pounding into me, his erection hitting my sensitive spot over and over again. I cried out, my body arching towards him, needing him.

He increased the pace, his hands gripping my hips, his face contorted with passion. I pulled him even closer, something I hadn't thought was possible."

"Fuck, I"m close, Westwood," he groaned. "I'm going to come. You better fucking come with me because I'm not fucking stopping until I fill your pussy until it fucking overflows with me."

I gasped, my heart pounding in my chest, "Yes, Connor, fuck me, I want your come," I cried, my body shaking with anticipation as the pleasure built up inside me.

His thrusts became even harder, his erection pounding into me, the head brushing against my G-spot with every movement. I could feel the wave of pleasure building up inside me, the heat spreading through my body like wildfire.

He reached down, his fingers brushing against my clit, the touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. I cried out, my body convulsing with the sensation, my core tightening around his erection.

"Fuck, yes, that"s it," he growled, his hips moving faster, his cock sliding in and out of me with an obscene wet sound. "Your pussy knows it belongs to me, doesn't it? Oh, fuck, yeah, it does."

I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart racing as the tension inside me reached its peak. "Connor, please," I urged him, my body craving his release. "Fuck, I want to feel you come inside me."

With a groan, he increased his pace, thrusting harder and deeper. His hips moved in a wild, uncontrollable frenzy, the primal need taking over.

His breaths grew ragged, his muscles tense as he fought to hold back the climax. I wrapped my legs around his waist tighter, pulling him even closer, our bodies moving in perfect sync.

"Fuck, Westwood," he grunted, his voice hoarse with desire. "You"re so fucking tight, so wet, so perfect. Fucking mine."

I gasped, my body responding to his words, my core clenching around his cock, the pleasure increasing by the second.

"Yes, Connor, take me," I panted, begging for the release he promised. "I'm yours, baby. I'm yours."

"Fucking fuck, you are," he snarled.

I cried out, my body trembling with each touch, each thrust.

"That"s it, baby," he growled, his eyes dark with lust.

I felt his dick twitch inside me; the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through my core. "Yes, Connor, do it, fill me with your come," I begged, my body craving his release.

"Fuck, Westwood, I"m coming," he said roughly, his hips moving in a wild, uncontrollable frenzy. He continued to thrust frantically, like an animal too caught up to care about anything but his pleasure, and the sensation sent me over the edge. My body convulsed with the force of my orgasm, my core clenching around his dick, the pressure building inside me until I couldn"t take it anymore.

"Connor, yes, yes, yes," I cried out.

My body shook with the force of the pleasure, my heart racing with desire.

"There you go, baby," he said. "Come all over your cock. Show me I belong to you."

"Fuck, Connor, I"m coming with you," I gasped, my body trembling with the force of the pleasure.

He thrust harder and faster, both of us riding the wave of our climax together. The room was filled with our moans, our bodies lit up with reds, greens, and whites from the Christmas lights.

As the pleasure intensified, I could feel his erection pulsing inside me, the warmth of his release flooding my core. He continued to thrust, his hips moving in a wild, uncontrolled frenzy, as if he couldn"t get close enough to me.

"You're such a good girl," he panted, his voice ragged with desire. "You feel so fucking good, I"m never going to be able to get enough of you."

I felt a warmth spreading inside me, the sensation of his come filling me up, the evidence of our union marking me as his forever.

"Fuck, yes, baby," he growled, his hips moving in a slow, controlled rhythm. "You"re mine. All mine."

"I"m yours," I breathed out, my body still trembling with pleasure.

He slowly pulled out of me, setting me down but keeping a steady hand on my waist. His erection left a trail of come along my thighs. I looked up at him, knowing he could easily see what I felt for him.

I couldn't hide it anymore.

"Fuck," he said, his eyes on my thighs, the color going even darker. "You look so fucking good covered in my come, baby."

He reached between my legs, his fingers sliding through the wetness between my lips. Pulling them away, he brought them to my mouth, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Taste yourself, Westwood," he commanded, his voice rough. "Taste yourself mixed with me."

I opened my mouth, not quite sure what to expect. But as my tongue touched his fingers, I could taste the mix of our fluids, salty and sweet, with a hint of something more. The flavor was intoxicating, and I could feel my arousal returning, the memory of his fingers inside me bringing me back to the intense pleasure we had just experienced.

He watched me, his eyes never leaving mine, as I licked his fingers clean. It was a possession, a claim, a display of ownership.

And I loved it.

I loved him, and I loved being his.

He pulled me closer, his fingers trailing down my body, over my belly and down to the wet spot between my legs. I shivered, my body responding to his touch, yearning for more.

"You taste so good, baby," he said, his voice low and thick with desire. "I"m never going to get enough of you. You belong to me now."

I shivered.

Not with dread, but with anticipation.