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I grabbed an egg from the carton, cursing when I inadvertently crushed it in my fist. I disposed of it before cracking several others into a bowl then washing my hands.

Most of the time, it was easy to brush off that kind of stuff. Hell, I dealt with some of it myself, though maybe not to the same degree. But then I’d attended the Stanley Cup game, and I’d seen how rabid some of Carson’s fans could be. They were wearing his number, screaming his name. Holding signs saying all sorts of suggestive things. One even had a handmade jacket with his face on the back. It was intense.

I couldn’t—didn’t—want to imagine that Carson was sleeping with anyone else. But I also couldn’t say with certainty that he wasn’t. I placed a hand to my stomach, determined to quell my nausea. I wanted to know that I was the only woman in his life, because he was the only person for me.

I was facing the stove when Carson slid his hands around me, pressing a kiss to the skin where my neck met my shoulder. I jolted then relaxed into his hold.

“Morning.” His voice rumbled over me in the most delicious way.

“Morning.” I soaked in the moment. The feel of him. The possibilities.

“Love the jersey.” He gave my hip a squeeze before pulling back. “And breakfast? Damn. You’re spoiling me.”

I kept an eye on the omelets. “Figured maybe it was time I returned the favor. Plus, you did just win the Stanley Cup.”

“And I am your favorite player,” he teased, but I sensed he wanted confirmation. And I found myself wanting to give that to him.

“That you are,” I admitted in a softer voice.

I turned off the stove and plated the omelets before turning to face him. My mouth went dry at the sight of him—mussed curls, glasses. As if that weren’t tempting enough, he was shirtless, gray sweatpants hanging low on his waist.

He crooked his finger, and I went toward him willingly. When it came to this man and my rules, they were nonexistent. I was pretty sure they always had been, but I’d only recently realized it.

He slid his hand up my thigh, gliding beneath the jersey before settling his hand on my hip. “Fuck me. You, wearing my jersey and nothing else, might be the hottest thing ever.”

He smoothed his hand over my ass, cupping me to him. I groaned when his erection dug into me. And then I wrapped my arms around his neck, needing to be closer still.

“I could say the same thing about you.” I smiled up at him, golden sunlight pouring into the room. In that moment, anything felt possible.

He brushed his lips against mine, and I pressed myself into him. Wanting him. Wanting this. This ease that always seemed to exist between us.

He picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around him as if we’d done this a thousand times. I couldn’t explain it, but whenever we were together, the time, the distance, all of it, faded away. It was as if we were merely picking up where we’d left off in an ongoing conversation.

Maybe it was because we checked in every day, even when we were apart. Maybe it was because we’d spent the last year slowly getting to know each other. Maybe it was just us. I wasn’t sure, but I’d never experienced anything like it.

My phone buzzed, and I pulled back from Carson, panting. His crooked grin was somehow both full of love and longing, and something inside me cracked open.

Talk. We need to talk.

“Breakfast first,” I said, sliding down the front of him, eliciting a groan from both of us. I grabbed his plate and practically shoved it into his chest to keep myself from climbing back into his arms.

“Okay. Okay.” He chuckled, adjusting himself before accepting the plate as well as the one for me.

I grabbed my phone and followed him over to the table. Before I could sit in the chair next to his, he pulled me down onto his lap. He held me close, his cock hard beneath me.

“Much better.”

I laughed, but it quickly turned into a moan when his cock brushed against my clit. He gave my thigh a squeeze, and my eyes closed of their own accord.

“Thank you for breakfast.” He dotted kisses down my neck, taunting me as his free hand toyed with my breast.

I tilted my head, granting him access. “You’re welcome.”

“Mm. Delicious.” But he hadn’t touched the food.

“You’re very…distracting.” My voice was breathy with want as he pulled the jersey to the side, kissing my shoulder.

“Really? And here I was, thinking I helped your focus.”