Page 6 of The Enforcer’s Obssession

“Clearly, I’m not a project to you.” He chews slowly, his gaze locked on mine. There’s no sarcasm in his expression, no defensive edge. Only a calculating respect that makes me think maybe we’ll be on the same page after all. “I’m just the latest fire you’re setting out to extinguish,” he muses, propping his forearms on the counter, which brings his thick arm closer to mine.

“You’re a high-stakes client, Rowdy,” I correct, holding my ground despite the reckless desire crackling between us. “And I don’t fail my clients.”

“Is that right?” It seems Bouchard has a favorite phrase when it comes to me. He leans in a fraction of an inch closer, his eyes dropping briefly to my lips before rising back to meet my gaze. “And what happens when the project gets complicated, sunshine?”

“I handle the complications. I always do,” I whisper, licking my lips, and he watches as I do so. Rowdy stares at me for a long, silent beat, the quiet hum of the fridge and air conditioner the only sound in the kitchen. For a second, I think he’s going to close the remaining few inches between us. Every instinct in my body screams at me to pull back, to remember my rules, to maintaining the professional boundary I’ve never broken.

Instead, I hold my breath, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Rowdy lets out a rough breath, a slow grin spreading across his sharp jaw, and pulls back just enough to break the spell.

“Alright, Jett.” He picks up his fork again. “Hit me with those interview questions. Let’s see what we’re working with and what the fans want.” I blink, taking a moment as I tap on my laptop screen to open the list.

“Question one.” My fingers tremble slightly, but my voice remains steady. “How do you feel about telling the world that Rowdy Bouchard has a soft side?” I begin, my eyes darting up to meet his.

“Tell them whatever you want, Jett. As long as it makes me sound and look good.” When he chuckles, the sound vibrates through the room.

“Every side is your good side, Bouchard,” I murmur under my breath before I can stop myself. Rowdy freezes. His eyes go molten-lava hot as they snap back to mine, ablaze with an intensity that makes me realize I’m already way too far down a slippery slope. And as I sit here in his kitchen, watching him eat, I know one thing for certain: keeping this purely business is going to be the hardest fight of my life.

FIVE

ROWDY

The hum of the engine is the only sound filling the cab of my SUV as we drive back to the arena. But inside my chest? Fuck, everything is roaring. My skin feels too damn tight, my muscles won’t relax for shit, and my body has been thrumming with a relentless craving for the last six hours.

I grip the leather of the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white, and right beside me in the passenger seat is the woman who’s the cause of it: Jett. She’s leaning into the glow of her laptop, dark hair framing her face, small gold chains swaying, and every time she fidgets in her seat, my blood surges south, straight to my cock.

I’ve gone through more questions today than I have my entire hockey career, high school, college, and pro combined. Jett drilled me on everything: my pre-game routines, my favorite meals, my childhood, my rehab progression. Every question was calculated and aimed at peeling back another layer of the armor I’ve spent years holding up. And every time her chocolate eyes locked on mine to gauge my reaction, my cock hardened another notch. I’d chosen the wrong shorts to wear—the thin fabric did nothing to hide the strain beneath them. That’s when I excused myself, went back upstairs, and changed into jeans. Though, it didn’t help my cock any. Now I’m paying the price with the heavy denim pressing against my length.

She’s driving me completely out of my mind.

I pull into the private players’ parking lot at the Lonestars facility, bringing the engine to a low, idling purr, and pull in beside what is safe to assume her rental car. There’s no other vehicle in the area, and she’s not even parked beneath a light. I put my SUV in Park. Jett gathers her things, sliding her laptop into her backpack with a precision that tells me she’s done this more times than I can count.

“Thanks for the ride back to my car.” She looks up at me, unbuckles the seatbelt, and then I spur into action, doing the same thing and exiting the cool interior to help her out. I round the hood, watching as she opens her door. She has one long leg out, toe barely scrapping the asphalt.

“Not a problem. Here, let me help you,” I offer, extending my hand. She slips hers in mine, and I’m able to take her bag with my other.

“Oh, thanks. Again, I mean.” She lets my hand go to unlock her car. I keep my eyes above her shoulders, refusing to let her see how badly she has me worked up, and it’s damn hard.

“No problem.” I hand off her bag once she’s ready, and of course, that puts me in clear view of her ass when she bends inside the car to put it inside. Heart-shaped, soft, and tapering inward before spilling into what I’m sure would fill my palms to perfection. I can’t stop looking, and I damn sure can’t stop from thinking of all the ways I want to watch it bounce—my hand in her hair, tugging on it while my cock tunnels in and out of her while she’s on her knees, chest pressed to the bed, or Jett sucking my cock, a mirror behind us, so I get to watch every curve of her body while she swallows my length. Christ, the possibilities are endless, and now I know what I’m going to have to do once I’m home. Alone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She steps back, nearly colliding with my hard cock, and I move just in time. “Therapy is at seven?”

“Yep.” My eyes drop.

“See you then. Don’t be late,” she teases, pulling her bottom lip into her sexy-as-fuck mouth.

“I’m never late, sunshine.” The palms of my hands itch to pull her closer. “Sweet dreams.” A sudden, unmistakable shiver skates through her body, her breath catches, and her cool and calm composure cracks for a split second. Christ, it’s a thing of beauty.

“I don’t dream, Rowdy. I sleep soundly,” she counters, attempting to regain her footing.

“That’s a shame. Because if you were in my bed, Jett, you wouldn’t be getting any sleep at all,” I rasp, my lips curling into a smirk. Hers part slightly. She doesn’t have a comeback for my response. Without another word, she settles in her car, closes the door, starts the engine, and leaves me standing alone in the warm Texas night.

I stay where I am, watching as she navigates the parking lot and heads out onto the main road. Only when her taillights disappear do I walk back to my own car and head home.

--

Iwalk through the door of my place less than fifteen minutes later, tossing my keys to the island as I kick off my shoes, then pull my shirt off. My main goal is to get upstairs. Fast. My body is vibrating with a deep, restless ache, my cock is done holding back, and I need a second shower desperately, a cold one, ideally, except as I round the corner from the second-floor landing into the master bedroom, I know water isn’t going to fix what Jett started.

My jeans come off, along with my boxer briefs and socks. I walk into the bathroom completely naked. My shoulder that tugged at me early after the intense session no longer bothers me, probably because all of my blood is drained further south.