The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  He withdrew, slowly, dragging his cock through clenching muscles. He gritted his teeth against the ecstasy roaring through his body.

  “You’re beautiful,” she said.

  He surged forward harder, eliciting a squeak of ecstasy. He did it again.

  “Perfection. All that definition. Muscle. Strength.” She panted out the words in time with his increasingly rapid thrusts. “I could stare. At your. Hip dip. All. Damn. Day.”

  What the hell is a hip dip? He pulled her ass higher and pushed harder.

  “God, you’re pretty,” she groaned.

  He faltered, growing self-consciousness throwing him off.

  Pretty?

  Sweat trickled down his back as he lifted her to meet his next thrust. She lit up in his arms. Her embarrassing praise forgotten as each plunge made his knees wobble. His ears rang with his own name, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest.

  At some point, she became incapable of articulation. Or maybe he became incapable of understanding anything but the long, low moans rumbling from his chest and the startled whimpers he punched from hers.

  The fire in his veins coalesced in his balls. Tension gathered at the base of his spine. She arched above the table, her head thrown back, her moans reaching a crescendo as her body clamped down around him.

  Jesus Fucking Christ.

  Rhian exploded, his mind nothing but perfect, screaming pleasure as shudder after shudder tore up out of his soul.

  Garrick sat in Rupert’s office, staring out the window carved into the cinderblock wall above the desk. He’d been going through the motions for days, trying to focus on the mountain of work ahead and not obsess about what the hell was going on in Boston.

  He was doing a damn poor job of the not-obsessing part.

  He was haunted by the image of Rhian’s pale face and startled eyes. He hadn’t spoken to either of them since that night, but had received daily good morning greetings and good night wishes by text. And they’d sent their love. Even Rhian.

  He told himself to take comfort from that, if nothing else. Rhian was fine. Safe. Savannah was looking after him. If anything happened—another panic attack or news from the doctors—he would hear.

  Goddamn it, he was too far away.

  His stomach had turned to acid, worry eating him from the inside out. When he wasn’t anxious about Rhian’s mental and physical health, he was worried about Savannah’s. She had taken on a lot. His gratitude was enormous, but of little help to any of them.

  A loud knock on the door jolted him. He’d been so far off in space, Rupert had gone back to work with him sitting there gazing out the window like a love-sick idiot.

  Rupert met Garrick’s eyes and they both shrugged but before he could get up to answer the door, it was thrown open hard enough to ricochet off the wall.

  Garrick’s jaw dropped as Callum Morrison stormed into the room. He pinned Garrick with a fierce scowl and narrow-eyed stare in a familiar shade of green.

  “Don’t you answer your fucking phone?”

  Garrick and Rupert both shot out of their chairs. Garrick tried not to look guilty. He’d intended to call Callum back, but he’d also assumed the damn man was in Denver where he belonged.

  “Callum,” Garrick managed, extending his hand. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m saving your bacon, buddy.” Callum sounded decidedly grim. He took Garrick’s hand in a firm grip and kicked the door closed behind him.

  Between the two of them, they filled Rupert’s little space.

  Rupert did a decent job of hiding his nerves, but Garrick knew him well enough to see them. For one thing, he didn’t come out from behind his desk.

  Garrick suppressed a sigh. “Callum, you’ve met Rupert over Skype a time or two, I believe.”

  Callum barely gave the man a nod before glaring to Garrick. “You’re going to Boston.”

  “What?” Rupert asked before Garrick could snap his gaping mouth shut.

  Callum pinned Rupert with the full weight of his stare. “I’m here to help. Garrick has to go.”

  Garrick steadied himself with a hand on the back of his chair. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  “Garrick can’t just leave,” Rupert exclaimed. “He has a lot of work to do here.”

  Callum’s grunt dismissed Rupert completely.

  Garrick’s patience snapped. “Goddamn it, Callum, what the hell is going on?”

  “Nothing. I don’t think. I don’t know.” He threw up his hands. “All I know is my sister is up to her eyeballs in her new job and taking care of Rhian, and you need to get your ass to Boston and help her.”

  Garrick grabbed Callum’s arm. “But what—”

  “Get your house in order,” Callum barked, yanking his arm free. “I have no idea what the hell that will look like, and I don’t give a shit. Just go!”

  Rupert slammed his hand down on the desk, his pale cheeks burning with two bright red spots. “Just who the hell do you think you are, barging in here and telling him what he has to do?” Rupert’s British accent became increasingly clipped, his volume soaring with his anger. “We are in the middle of draft negotiations and a major construction project. He can’t just hie off to Boston because you demand it.”

  “Who the hell am I? Who the fuck says hie?” Callum’s face was almost as red as Rupert’s now. “I’ll tell you who the fuck I am. I’m his future brother-in-law, if he doesn’t fuck it up, and I’m part owner of this team. That’s who!”

  “Well, I don’t give a rat’s arse. You don’t get to throw this organization into chaos because you’ve unilaterally decided to be a bloody-minded arsehole!”

  Garrick stared at Rupert in shock. Then at Callum, who appeared wholly underwhelmed with Rupert’s show of temper.

  Callum sneered at Rupert. “You’re going to have to get over it, duchess, because I’m staying and he’s going.”

  Duchess? Garrick inhaled so fast he started to cough. No one paid him any attention.

  Rupert blinked, his back poker-straight as his eyes narrowed on Callum. “Listen, Daniel Boone, maybe you think your brash new-world style is charming, but I’m bloody well not impressed. We can call a meeting of the owners and decide this like the civilized businessmen some of us are. Until then, we need Garrick here.”

  Goddamn, Rupert was showing a hell of a lot more mettle than usual. Garrick couldn’t have been happier. Why couldn’t the guy be like this all the fucking time?

  He swung his head to look at Callum—beginning to feel like he was sitting court side at a tennis match— and saw Callum’s lips twitch before he arranged his expression back into a furious scowl.

  “How about this? We send Garrick to Boston,” Callum suggested, as if Garrick wasn’t standing right there, “and hold off on the meeting until you’ve had a chance to decide if I can actually help around here, instead of assuming I’m just some dumb hockey player with a big bank account and pucks for brains.”

  Rupert somehow managed to look down his nose at Callum, though they were about the same height. “You couldn’t possibly jump into the draft at this stage. You have no idea what’s needed.”

  “Screw you, too, Smythe. I’ve read every report and I know a good hockey player when I see one, on ice or on paper. I’ve studied this team for months. I know the Hamilton kid will fill out our defensive line and why. I know Belov is thinking about retiring and we need to sign strong goal talent who will last past a few seasons. I know every damn thing you know, and I have the advantage of actually having played hockey, which I would bet my last fucking dollar you’ve never done in your damn life.”

  Garrick had never seen Rupert’s jaw bulge like that.

  “Fine,” Rupert growled through clenched teeth. “Let’s see how we do. You stay, Garrick goes. And when next season you’re not pleased with the results, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself and your monstrous ego.”

  Callum took a fast step toward Rupert and in the blink of an eye Rupert’s bravery deserte
d him. He stumbled back, barely managing to stay on his feet when his back slammed into the filing cabinets.

  “Callum!” Garrick barked, not sure what to say, who to defend, or where the hell to insert himself in this mess.

  Garrick couldn’t say who looked more horrified by the sudden shift in the room. Rupert regrouped first, standing tall once more, though noticeably further away from Callum. He turned to Garrick. “Go.”

  “What?

  “Go. Go to Boston. Your mind has been there for months anyway.”

  “But Rupert—”

  “Shut up before I change my mind,” Rupert snapped. “As much as it galls me to admit it, Callum is right.” He eyed the man in question as if he was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “Savannah and Rhian need you. You can work your ass off from there. I doubt we could prevent it if we tried, which, frankly, I won’t.”

  Garrick hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  Rupert tore his eyes from Callum. “Yes. Go. Send my love to Savannah and Rhian. Tell them I’m sorry you’ve had to stay here as long as you have.”

  “What about—”

  “I assure you,” Rupert said with another dubious glance at Callum, “if he’s not up for the task, I’ll call you back. Let’s hope he’s capable of more than high-handed douchebaggery and can pull his weight.”

  Callum’s eyes widened, but he held his tongue, his glare hot enough to set Rupert on fire.

  “But—”

  “GO!” They shouted in unison, their eyes locked on each other.

  Garrick went.

  Hell, he ran like the building was under attack, his feet barely touching the ground as he burst from the arena.

  For the first time in days, Garrick smiled a big, huge, happy grin.

  He was going home.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Savannah trudged up the stairs to her apartment, her laptop bag heavy on her shoulder. She’d spent the entire day wishing she was home with Rhian while suffering through endless meetings to plan for the coming season.

  The day could be tallied as a success, but she was glad it was over.

  She dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes in the front hall, then called out to Rhian.

  He stepped around the corner just as both their phones chimed.

  It was a text message from Garrick. Truck packed and ready to go. Leaving first thing tomorrow. I’ll be there soon.

  For one glorious moment, Rhian looked truly, perfectly happy. It hit her like a punch in the chest.

  Then his eyes darkened, his brows drew together and he turned away.

  Shit.

  She leaned back against the door. “It’s going to be great.”

  He shook his head. “I should clear out. At least until you’ve had a chance to talk to him. I don’t want to be in the way.”

  He’d have to get through her first.

  She choked back her desire to yell and spoke calmly. “Rhian, you’re not going to be in the way. Why would you say that? I want you here. He will, too.”

  Of course, Garrick still had no idea what he was about to walk into. She didn’t feel even the slightest need to warn him. No, the issue was going to be convincing Rhian.

  She considered asking him if she should clear out. Why wouldn’t she be the one in the way? She didn’t bother, though. He still thought of himself as the outsider, in spite of the fact that both she and Garrick were now his lovers.

  Then she considered telling him the truth. That she, too, was in love with him. It might help.

  It might also send him running faster than ever.

  “Come on,” she said, holding out her hand. When he took it, she towed him into the living room and pushed him down on the couch, then knelt on the floor between his knees.

  She smiled at his curious, slightly alarmed expression.

  She took his hands in hers and rubbed her thumbs over his skin. “We’re just figuring things out. Don’t skip out on us now.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, Rhian.”

  The fear in his eyes dug at her. She crawled up over him, hiking her skirt until she could straddle his lap, cradling the rising bulge in his sweats between her thighs.

  “Think about it.” She cupped his face and kissed the worry lines between his soft blond eyebrows. “What it will be like…”

  The images flashing through her mind were too hot. Too delicious. She squirmed, rubbing her rapidly swelling bits against his.

  His lips parted, and the deep blue of his eyes was lost to dilated pupils and heavy eyelids. Jesus, he was beautiful.

  He blinked slowly. His hips started kicking in little jerks against her.

  The long day fell away. The comfort she’d tried to offer Rhian, given back to her ten-fold. She wriggled against him, her breath catching. “Think about adding Garrick to this. To have him here, too. His hands, his tongue. His cock. His imagination.”

  Rhian’s groan was pure agony and ecstasy all rolled into one.

  Their hips caught a rhythm. She arched her back, grinding down on top of him. “I want to see you suck his cock. Take it into your throat and…”

  Rhian’s hands clenched her hips and shoved her down on his cock. She lost the thread of her explicit ramblings.

  “Tell me more,” he gasped.

  Someone likes dirty talk.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair and held on as their gyrations became more forceful. “I want you to watch him fuck me. Want him to watch how you manhandle me. God, I love how you manhandle me.” She paused to suck in a deep breath. Then the words fell from her mouth. All her desires. A litany of naughty fantasies and desperate wishes. Everything she wanted to try. Do. Watch. His grip was almost painful now, the thrust of his hips more powerful with every picture she painted. She told him how she wanted to fuck them both at once. And watch his face when Garrick’s huge cock stretched him open. She told him, in exacting detail, how she knew how good that felt. “Then I want to watch you fuck Garrick. Watch his face as you plow into him with all that power and—”

  Rhian arched beneath her, his head thrown back against the couch. “Oh god, now. Now!”

  She rode his bucking legs, his cock grinding up against her clit. She sobbed as pleasure welled up and spilled over, her thighs quivering and pussy clenching.

  He shook as hard as she did. Clung as tightly.

  They collapsed back against the couch and she caught his mouth in a long, messy kiss, desperately trying to convey her love. For minutes, maybe hours. And still she hadn’t said enough.

  Maybe it was time she said it out loud.

  His hand stroked down her back, and she lamented the fact she was still wearing her damn suit.

  God, and he’d just come in his pants. She started to giggle.

  “I haven’t, you know,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  She choked back her laughter. “Huh?”

  “Fucked him. I haven’t fucked Garrick.”

  She leaned back and cocked her head. “I don’t understand.”

  A blush rose on his cheeks. “He’s fucked me, but never…the reverse.”

  Her brows drew down. “Really?”

  He shrugged.

  “But he loves it.”

  “He does?”

  “He certainly said as much to me. I haven’t had a chance to try it yet myself. But plugs and stuff, yeah.”

  “Wow. Thanks for those images.” Rhian blinked, looking a bit dazed.

  She grinned. “You’re welcome. But tell me, why not?”

  He shrugged again. “We haven’t gotten around to it?”

  She sent him an arch stare.

  “Okay, I don’t know. It’s never come up, honestly. I was so freaked out by what was happening, and what I was feeling, that I never really…asserted myself when it came to sex.”

  Savannah wasn’t at all surprised that Garrick had overwhelmed Rhian with his lovemaking. God knew she’d been there. “He has a way of taking control, doesn’t he?” she asked w
ith a little smile.

  Rhian laughed, a wonderful sound. “Yeah, he does.”

  “You’re pretty good at it, too.”

  His cheeks went from pink to red.

  She laughed. She loved that he still blushed, in spite of all they’d done together. “In fact, I seem to be having the same trouble with you that you’ve had with him. I can’t quite seem to assert myself.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Please,” she said dryly, “do not apologize.”

  He almost smiled. “Okay.”

  “All I’m saying is that I see how it can happen. And just like I’m going to take control from you and do as I please someday, you can do the same with Garrick. I’ll even help you wrestle him to the bed, if that’s what you want.”

  Rhian’s face went slack as he stared off into space, his cheeks flushed. “Yes, please.”

  Someone really had a thing for dirty talk. Rhian shifted beneath her and they both grimaced. Her rapidly cooling panties were a little gross. His sweats had to be as bad or worse.

  She slid back on his legs and his hands tightened around her waist. She smiled and patted his hands. “How about a shower?”

  His face scrunched up and he plucked at his sweats. “Yeah, I think that’s a must.”

  With matching groans, they hauled themselves up off the couch. Savannah smiled at the easy way they moved around the apartment together. When she stripped, Rhian took her clothes and sorted them with his into the laundry hampers. She wandered down the hall to the bathroom and started the shower, pleased when he climbed in with her a few minutes later.

  He belonged there. And not just in the shower.

  Now how the hell she was going to get him to believe that?

  Rhian lay in bed that night with Savannah’s head on his shoulder, their heartbeats in sync and slowly returning to normal.

  They’d gone slow this time, nothing fancy. As vanilla as it got. Missionary position. No toys, no unusual positions, places, or orifices. Simple sex. Lovemaking.

  He shoved that last thought aside and watched as Savannah crawled out of bed and got them a washcloth. He should have done it, but she always beat him to it. He might be younger, but she recovered faster. Or maybe she wasn’t struggling as damn hard as he was to wrap his head around what was happening between them.