He tips his head to the side and seems to be fighting a smile. “Would you like to be tied to my bed?”

“Not if I have to sign an NDA.”

“And if you don’t have to sign an NDA?”

The answer to that question is still no, I think, but I shrug, because even him asking makes things happen in my panties.

“I’m a very private person, Charlene.”

“So am I. Doesn’t mean I make all the people in my life sign an NDA because of it. If you want to have lunch with me, you can do it without asking me to sign away my rights.”

He regards me for several long, intense moments in which I have to fight to hold eye contact. Jesus, I’m nervous.

“Okay, no NDA,” he finally concedes. “But I have rules for dating, Charlene.”

“So do I, and we can discuss them over lunch.”DARREN

Two years laterWe arrive at my house, two huge vehicles filling up the driveway. Normally, we’d go to Alex’s house after practice (my best friend and teammate), but his wife, Violet, is working from home today, and he doesn’t want us to pose a distraction. My place is the second closest to the rink, and I don’t live with anyone, so I’m the default.

My house is a modern build with solar panels and floor-to-ceiling soundproof windows you can see out of but not into, because I like my privacy. I also like having sex with my girlfriend against the ones that overlook the front lawn.

Our teammates, Lance, Randy, Miller, and Rookie, pile out of Lance’s Hummer while I grab my stuff from the trunk of Alex’s muscle car. I key in the code, and they follow me into the foyer, where I dump my hockey bag.

“I’ll grab some beers, and we can head out back.”

It’s early April, but the weather has been unusually warm, so at least we can get some fresh air while we discuss the impending expansion draft. Vegas is starting a new team, which means they’ll be cherry picking a player from every established team in the league. So far, only Alex and Randy are safe from the draft with their no-trade clauses.

I stop short and breathe a curse when I reach the living room. My erection is nearly instantaneous. It’s also very confused because I shouldn’t be seeing what I’m seeing.

“Holy shit,” Alex says from my right.

“What the fuck?” Randy bumps into me from behind.

“I knew you were into some kinky shit!” Lance’s thick Scottish accent makes me acutely aware that what’s supposed to be for my eyes only is not. I consider, very briefly, the ramifications of scooping out my teammates’ eyes with a melon baller. I decide it’s in my best interest not to act on that impulse. I don’t think prison suits me, and it’s hard to play hockey without eyeballs.

A low whistle comes from my right. I glance over to find Rookie blinking rapidly, his bewilderment apparent. “Dude, are you having some kind of fucked-up party? ’Cause if you are, I might want to get back on the bunny train for a night.”

Randy smacks him across the back of the head. “That’s not a bunny, asshole.”

He’s referring to puck bunnies, the groupies of the hockey world.

“Ow! Fuck!” Rookie rubs the spot.

In the middle of the room, halfway between kneeling and standing, is Charlene. My girlfriend. Naked. Well, apart from her pearl necklace and a pair of fuck-me heels. Her gorgeous hazel eyes are deer-in-the-headlights wide as they meet mine, and then they dart down to her naked form. Seeming uncertain how to proceed, she stumbles a few steps and drops back to her knees on the pillow. She bars one arm across her chest, the other moving to shield the apex of her thighs.

Rookie seems unable to process the scene with anything but stupidity. “Is that a ball gag? Who the fuck wears that mask? How do you even breathe with that on?”

“Shut it, Rook,” Miller says.

I hadn’t even noticed everything else. But I pull my gaze from Charlene and look at the items littering my living room. This is pretty damn far from ideal.

“Everybody out,” I snap as I cross the room, nab the throw from the reading chair—Charlene’s reading chair—and step over the dragon dick dildo Charlene purchased when she was in her Game of Thrones phase. I drape the blanket around her, which sends some of the light, lacy pieces of lingerie fluttering across the floor. But the blanket does the job, hiding every inch of bare skin covered in goose bumps.

That my teammates have now seen.

I grit my teeth against the possessive anger and exhale a slow breath, trying to find some calm.

Here’s the thing, finding Charlene mostly naked in any given room in my house is not necessarily out of the ordinary.

Even the selection of lingerie arranged in a very neat circle around her—everything from virginal satin to a studded leather corset—isn’t particularly unusual. Charlene enjoys dressing up, and her choices often tell me a lot about what she’d like to have happen in the bedroom—or whichever room we’re having sex in—and prove helpful in allowing me to gauge her expectations. Leather often indicates she’s feeling feisty. It’s cute when she thinks she wants to be in charge.