Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(71)

“Yeah, but it doesn’t work. You talk at me anyway.”

She slaps my chest playfully. “Okay, fine. We’ll go see everyone . . .” Her eyes drop to my chest, fingers moving to land a quick pinch on my nipple. “But not yet.

I hum, taking my hands off of her and putting them behind my head like I’m lying on a beach somewhere. “Definitely not yet.”

Her eyes snap to mine and she searches my face. “Tell me what to do.”

“Yeah?”

She bites her lip, trying to keep from beaming at me. “Yeah.”

“Are you sore?”

“Have you seen your dick?”

“Answer the question, Sloane.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, looking all bratty as she does. “Yeah. I mean, I’m a bit sore—”

“Good. Get up here and sit on my face.”

When I shoot forward and grab her, she squeals.

And when I make her come, she calls out my name.





“This isn’t fair!” Sloane calls from the opposite side of the pond, warm breath puffing out in little clouds in front of her. “You guys have a literal NHL player on your team!”

Vaughn, Billie’s husband, hollers back from our end, “To be fair, his team doesn’t belong in the NHL this year!”

Cole groans and rolls his eyes.

Griffin, Nadia’s husband, who I also recognize as a retired football player, punches him in the shoulder with a grumbled, “Dick.”

“Sorry, man.” Vaughn chuckles. “Lifelong Vancouver Titans fan. Nothing personal.”

I tap my stick against the ice and offer him a smirk. “It’s alright. I get it. There’s no accounting for taste when someone is a Titans fan.”

A chorus of “oooohs” sound around us.

Everyone agreed a day off was in the cards. A game of shinny on the frozen pond is what they decided on doing, and I’m not mad at it.

With the weight of Beau missing off my shoulders, I’m craving getting back on the ice. But instead of to-prate gear, dull skates on bumpy ice and work gloves with an old, heavy stick and antique pads are what I’ve got.

“Okay, enough shit talking.” Stefan, the most refined looking of the bunch, skates over and gestures all the men toward him.

“What are you? The captain now? Just because you’re the evil mastermind of the group?” Vaughn rolls his eyes, clearly the playful one.

“It’s the turtleneck.” Griffin points at the perfectly polished man’s sweater. “Only a man with big enough balls to be a captain would be caught dead wearing one.”

“You guys!” Stefan laughs. “My neck is warm so leave me alone. Worry about Mira.” He angles his chin over my shoulder to where the woman with long black hair flowing out from under a cream hat is grinning at him. “She’s got that crazy, competitive look on her face. We know these women. They are insane.”

“Here, here!” Vaughn nods enthusiastically.

“They can’t be trusted.”

Cole straightens. “Watch your fucking mouth, Dalca.”

“Whatever, G.I. Joe.” He waves him off and continues, “We need to win. Or risk the women completely emasculating us.” Stefan can’t even get that last part of his ridiculous pep talk out without chuckling.

“You’re already wearing a turtleneck.” Griffin shakes his head.

“You little bitch babies ready?” Billie calls from the other end of the pond. “Or are you all just gonna stand around in a circle talking about your feelings while we wait?”

“Baby, you’re dead!” Vaughn shouts back at her.

She smiles and gives him a wink.

The shit-talking continues as they make their way to center ice to drop the puck. But I’m not watching that.

I’m watching Sloane.

Sloane who just took her coat off and is wearing my jersey. The gold highlights on the maroon base match her hair, and the big grizzly on the front makes her appear more vicious than she is.

Somehow she takes an oversize jersey and makes it look so damn good. Too damn good.

And when she turns around with Gervais written across her back? I smile behind the cage of my helmet.

My name looks good on her too.

The game is amateur enough that I could stop everyone’s shots in my sleep, but I let some in . . . just to keep things exciting.

It’s the joking and camaraderie that I enjoy the most.

It’s watching Sloane dart around on the ice wearing my jersey that gives me a semi the entire game.

And it’s when she skates up to me and whispers in my ear, “Jas, when we get back in that cottage, I want you to shove me on my knees and show me exactly how you like your cock sucked,” that Mira slips around me and my one-track mind to score the game winning goal.

“Got yaaaaaaaa!” Sloane’s hands fly up over her head as she cheers with the other women, celebrating their win of what Billie coined “The Kindergarten Cup” because “only a bunch of man-children could come up with a game that’s boys against girls”.

Sloane laughs. She’s light and bright. She’s Sunny. She makes me smile so hard my cheeks hurt.

I can’t take my eyes off of her.





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