Page 118 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

As I settle into position, I try to hear Calvin, but everything seems to be silent.

Maybe he’s already left to get whatever he needs from his apartment.

Closing my eyes, I tell my mind to shut off and just enjoy. But that’s easier said than done when my body is buzzing with desire.

Absently, my hand lifts toward my face, my fingers brushing my lips.

I’ve kissed my fair share of guys in the past. But I can honestly say that not a single one has elicited this kind of reaction from me. My lips are still tingling, just like somewhere else in my body.

I squeeze my thighs together. But it doesn’t help. In fact, it makes it worse.

Goddamn it, Calvin.

As if he knows I’m thinking about being a bad girl, my cell vibrates on the counter, and when I reach for it, I discover that he hasn’t just sent me a message; he’s sent a voice note.

Oh Jesus.

“Hey, darlin’. Just checking to make sure you’ve remembered the rules. No touching that pretty little pussy. I know you want to, I could see it in your eyes before I left you.” I whimper as the deep timbre of his voice rumbles through the room. “The next time you come, it’s going to be me making it happen. I don’t care how; you could grind up on my thigh if you want. Or I can use my fingers. My mouth. My tongue. If you don’t want me to touch you, I could use that sexy, not-so-little vibrator you left on your counter. Don’t think I missed that. I get so fucking hot thinking about you lying in bed at night using it on yourself as you think about me. Just remember, you set the pace here. All I want to do is make you feel better than you ever have before. Watching you come is my new favorite thing to do, and I need to see it again as much as I need my next breath.”

I’m fucking panting.

“Good girls get rewarded, darlin’. Just remember that. See you soon.”

“Ho-ly. Fuck,” I breathe, sinking deeper into the water, my fingers curling into fists as I fight the carnal need to touch myself while listening to that message on repeat.

34

CALVIN

The second I step into my apartment, the scent of garlic, tomatoes, and cheese hits my nose, and my stomach growls.

I love cooking. I always have. My grandmother used to spend hours in the kitchen with my sisters and me when we were little. And it continued as we grew until we were able to put meals on the table. It’s always been a form of escape for me. I love putting some music on, opening a recipe book and losing myself as I create something hopefully tasty.

I’ve had my fair share of fuck-ups over the years, but today, I’m confident. I’ve perfected my lasagna recipe, and I have every hope that Sienna will appreciate my efforts. Not to mention that it’s loaded with veggies and extra protein to ensure we both hit our targets for the day.

I gather everything up that I prepared earlier and quickly realize that unless I can find some kind of trolley, I’m going to have to take multiple trips.

Fifteen minutes pass in a flash as I go up and down the elevator, taking everything to Sienna’s apartment. It would have been so much easier to prepare everything there, but I prefer using my own equipment and top of the line range oven I had installed before moving in.

I’m sweating by the time I get the lasagna into Sienna’s preheated oven. With time quickly running out, I set about getting our sides ready and setting the table.

While cooking might be familiar, the rest of what I’m doing really isn’t. As I stand back and look at her small dining table with a huge bouquet of flowers in the middle, flickering candles, a chilled bottle of wine and two glasses, I can’t help but wonder who the fuck I am.

Killer doesn’t cook for women or set up romantic dates. And that’s the man I’ve been since I moved to LA. It’s all anyone has known. It’s all I’ve allowed them to know. But everything is different now. Since the moment Sienna stepped back into my life, I’ve remembered that there’s another version hiding in the shadows.

I’d almost forgotten that boy—the one who rode horses with the girl who couldn’t stop smiling, whose laughter lit him up inside. The boy who spent hours lying in fields pretending to watch the sunset while he watched the prettiest girl he’d ever seen instead. The boy who could see his future playing out before his eyes. Sure, hockey was there, but that wasn’t all there was. There was a family. There was love. There was purpose.

He’s the man standing here now, freaking the fuck out. What if she hates it? What if she doesn’t like lasagna? No, that’s not possible. Everyone likes lasagna, right?

“Fuck,” I hiss, shaking my hands out at my sides.

It’s going to be okay.

You’ve got this.

I glance at the clock.

She’s got ten minutes left of the time I gave her. The lasagna won’t be ready because of how long it took me to get everything down here and⁠—