Charging (Gold Hockey Book 10)

by Elise Faber

  Twenty-Nine

  Logan

  She still had her heels on.

  They were pressed into his back, sharp bites against over-sensitized skin.

  Her eyes were heavy, her lips turned up at the edges. “God, I’ve missed that,” she whispered.

  He chuckled, kissed her thigh, and gently dislodged her legs before crawling up her body and taking her into his arms. Fuck, it felt incredible to be able to hold her, even if his cock was threatening to break in half.

  The bedroom lights were on, gilding her in golden light. Which meant he didn’t miss her frown when he’d gathered her close.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Fingers in her hair, sweet scent in his nose, warm, lush curves against him. “Holding you.”

  “I see that.”

  He waited.

  She pushed up on an elbow, glared down at him. “The problem here is that that’s all you’re doing.”

  “Starlight.” Yes, he wanted her. Of course, he wanted her. But this was all fairly new, and she needed time, and patience was working so far. “We should pause here. I don’t want you to have regrets.”

  “Regrets?” An annoyed jerk of her head that shook her curls. “Regrets?”

  “Char—”

  “You say you love me,” she snapped, poking him in the chest. “You say you’ve never stopped.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So, why would I have regrets?” she asked, tossing up her hands. “I’m trying to be with a man who cares about me, who says I own his heart. Why wouldn’t I want to—” She stopped. “Or is it you? Do you have regrets? About this now? Am I pushing you—?”

  “No.” He reached up, hauled her down against his chest. “God, no, sweetheart. I just—”

  Words cutting off, he shook his head.

  How did he begin to explain everything in his mind, his heart? The constant war between his instinct to push, to consume, to devour, and the need to do right by her. The way the past and present were all tangled. How he felt he knew her deep down, even though they’d spent all those years apart.

  Tonight, it was as though they’d picked up right from where they’d left off. As if nothing had happened and he’d never hurt her.

  It felt . . . like perfection.

  And that terrified him because perfection never lasted.

  “You’re scared.”

  His eyes flew to hers, mouth falling open. If magic were real, he would have thought she’d cherry-picked the thought from his mind. But it wasn’t the paranormal that had Char seeing into his soul, Logan knew. It was just Char.

  She knew him like no one else.

  “And the stakes feel really high, especially after all this time.”

  Breath catching, he nodded.

  “But the thing is, neither of us can promise the other everything. The world gets in the way. Bad things happen, and nothing is ever really certain.” The ghost of a smile. “Why do I feel like I just stated every single cliché saying about things ending?”

  Amused instead of terrified and all the more thankful for this woman, he tugged one of her curls. “You squeezed quite a few in there.”

  Her fingers were gentle on his cheek. “But do you understand why I said them?” she asked. “I want to be with you. If I’m being completely honest, no other man has ever compared. Ugh”—a shake of her head, her eyes narrowing when he felt smug creep into his expression—“don’t get cocky now.”

  He grinned. “You trying to throw softballs my way?”

  “I’m trying to make you understand that it feels like my heart was on pause for all these years, and now we’ve hit play.”

  “Starlight,” he murmured.

  “We’ve jabbed the button, the movie’s going, and . . . I don’t want to stop, Log. I want to see where things go. I want to be with you—in every way.”

  “Is this you telling me to buck up and stop being scared?” he asked.

  Soft brown eyes. “I can say it in those words if you need me to.”

  He thrust a hand through his hair. “I know I rush into things. I know I push,” he said. “I’m just . . . I know it’s a lot, that I’m a lot, and I’m trying to give you space and time to process everything.”

  “And if I needed that time, I’d tell you.” A nip to his bottom lip before she gripped his chin tightly between thumb and forefinger. “And also, I don’t want you to be anyone but you. I like you just as you are. I can handle your pushiness, can easily shove you back if I need to. But”—her hand slid down, smoothed over his bare chest—“I trust you to take care of me, Logan.” A shrug. “Plus, if you don’t, I’ll just steal your skates and dull the edges.”

  Laughter bubbled up in him. “Devious.”

  Pride in her gaze. “As needed.” A beat. “Let’s just focus on now, on building something that’s good for both of us.”

  “God, I love you.”

  Her shoulders rose and fell on a long inhale, her lips parting. Then she laid back on the mattress, spread her legs and lifted her arms toward him. “Then come here and love me.”

  Which was when Logan forgot about patience and slow and steady.

  He shoved the tangled knot of fear aside and just went for it.

  His mouth met hers before his next heartbeat, his tongue slipping inside her mouth, coaxing hers out to play. One hand stroked down her side, shaping the heavy globe of her breasts, the slightly rounded plane of her stomach . . . lower.

  Her waist, one hip. Her thigh and in between.

  She was all liquid heat and swollen folds, and when his thumb brushed her clit, she groaned, hips canting up.

  But just as he was touching her, she was all over him.

  Her palms running over his chest, nails dragging over his nipples. He hissed out a breath, pleasure shooting down his spine, his cock hardening, throbbing in his slacks, reminding him that while Char was very, very naked—gloriously naked—he had too many damned clothes on.

  Thankfully, she seemed to have the same thought.

  Her fingers flicked open the button on his jeans, tugged down the zipper.

  Before his next breath, those nimble digits slipped beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs and gripped him tightly.

  No hesitation. No delay.

  Just wrapped her hand around him and began pumping.

  Red hazing the edges of his vision, he thrust into that tight grip, lost in how good it felt for her to be touching him. His nerves were on fire, and he felt himself growing in her hand, getting impossibly harder.

  Once. Twice. Okay . . . maybe five or ten more.

  But then he had to tug her fingers free or else this reunion would be a lot less fulfilling for both of them.

  Her mouth pulled into a pout, but she let go, reaching over her head to pull out a condom from the nightstand when he pushed out of bed and stepped out of his pants. “Thanks, Starlight,” he murmured, taking it and infinitely glad he didn’t have to search through his wallet for the condom he’d stashed there earlier that evening—slow and steady plan, or not, it paid to be prepared.

  “What put that gleam in your eyes?” she whispered.

  “Only that I’m glad to use your condom because I plan on using mine later,” he said, tearing open the wrapper and rolling it on.

  Laughter and a shake of her head. Then she crooked her finger at him, placed her lips to his ear. “I have a whole box,” she murmured, the heat of her words sending waves of need through him. “How fast do you think we can use them?”

  Those waves of desire spiked into a tsunami, tearing through him as images ripped through his mind. Him on top. Her playing cowboy. From behind. Against the wall. In a chair. On the kitchen counter and the lounger on the back deck and the hood of his car—

  “Fast,” he growled, running his teeth over her throat, tracing the fluttering point of her pulse with his tongue. His hands were shaking. His mind had stopped thinking about the past and the future.

  He’d focused on now.
r />   On her beautiful breasts and how they felt in his mouth.

  On the way she moaned when he sucked her nipples deep.

  The gasp as he nibbled the spot just below her bottom rib.

  The slight burn of pain when she tried to grip his hair and pull him up. But he was on the edge. He knew he wouldn’t last long. So, he was going to whip out every last skill he possessed in order to have her riding that edge along with him.

  He tasted her again, avoiding the sensitive bud of nerves, licking and stroking her, watching her breaths come more rapidly, feeling the sting of her grip in his hair— only this time it was pushing him more firmly against her pussy instead of tugging him off.

  “Log,” she groaned, hips bucking against his mouth, seeking more purchase. “That’s—” Her head thrashed on the pillow. “I—”

  He released her.

  “What—?” Eyes flashing open, she glared. “I—”

  “I’ve got you, Starlight,” he murmured, wiping his chin on his arm and rising over her, positioning himself between her thighs.

  This time, he didn’t stop and confirm if she was one hundred percent absolutely sure. He didn’t strive for patience, grip tight to ironclad control. Instead, he braced himself over her and let their bodies meld together.

  Heaven and hell all at once.

  Tight, wet heat. A soft, feminine body surrounding him.

  “Now,” she whispered. “Please move, baby.”

  He couldn’t resist her, couldn’t deny her anything.

  A slow slide out. A gentle push in until he bottomed out. Feeling her muscles tightening, wrapping around his cock had him groaning and moving faster.

  Thankfully, she was with him.

  And fuck but she was beautiful.

  Perspiration making her skin gleam, her hair a riot of curls in brown and orange and red, all spread out on her pillow. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, tempting him until he found himself unable to stop from bending down and sucking one nipple into his mouth.

  Abs burning, back contorted like a pipe cleaner under a toddler’s watchful eye, he kept thrusting, continued moving.

  There weren’t those moments of learning each other, of trying to find a rhythm.

  They’d already done that eight years ago.

  Tonight was solely about coming together again, about bringing his woman as much pleasure as possible. He had plans for that box of condoms in her nightstand drawer, nearly a decade of need and fantasies and wanting this woman.

  But . . . she had plans for him.

  Plans that unhinged his thoughts of bringing her to the edge so many times it would take the barest touch to catapult her over.

  “Fuck!” he groaned.

  Her legs had wrapped tightly around him as she did something with her hips that had any hope of drawing this out disappearing like so much smoke. Heat coiled at the base of his spine, every muscle in his body locking tight, and he was suddenly very dangerously at the very edge he wanted to dance with her on.

  “More, baby,” she said. “I need more.”

  Fuck slow. He gave her more. He gave her everything.

  Teasing her breasts with his free hand as he pounded into her. He slanted his mouth across hers, kissing her in time to his thrusts, ratcheting his own need and desire to dangerous levels, until he was the one at risk of flying over.

  But then she stiffened beneath him, mouth torn from his, her legs clenching on his hips, her hands finding their way to his hair again.

  They pulled the strands. Hard.

  He kept moving.

  She groaned, thrust against him.

  He didn’t stop, just angled himself so he could go deeper, harder, faster.

  “Logan!”

  And then she was convulsing around him. Not a moment too soon, either, because his own orgasm was upon him, flaring out from his cock, burning through him from head to toe, until he was sucked down into oblivion as they moved and moved and moved against each other, wringing every last drop of pleasure from their bodies.

  Afterward, he collapsed to the side, unable to hold himself up, finding it impossible to give her any pretty words.

  All he could do was hold her tight, press a kiss to the top of her head, and wait for his heart to stop thundering.

  Her arms came around him, holding him just as tightly.

  And there were no words from her either, just a slowly descending pulse, just gentle fingers tracing circles on his spine, just a head on his chest and warm breath on his skin.

  But it was enough.

  Because he was here, with Char.

  Because they had this moment when he’d hardly dared to hope they would ever get here again.

  But they were there. Together, they’d found a way back.

  So, when sleep came up to embrace him in blackness, he welcomed it with open arms.

  Thirty

  Char

  Fingers in her hair.

  Not her own.

  Smiling, she watched the hulking hockey player carefully smooth oil into the ends of her hair. It had been a bear that morning, since she’d been too limp last night to bother wrapping her curly locks in the silk scarf she usually wore.

  Rookie mistake that.

  Her mom had taught her better. She knew better.

  But they’d dozed off for a little while then Logan had woken her in the most delicious fashion.

  The man had the best tongue.

  And she hadn’t been thinking much about proper hair care when she’d all but passed out.

  Four orgasms the night before.

  That must be a record.

  Or she was pent up. Or . . . that was just them.

  “Sorry I messed up your hair,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck.

  “No, you’re not,” she teased. “And neither am I.” She turned in his arms. “Next time, I just need to summon up enough energy to tame this”—a toss of her head—“wild beast.”

  “I love your hair.” He pushed back the curls she’d spent far too long detangling that morning. “It’s the color of fall.”

  “It can’t decide if it wants to be brunette or black,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “With a dash of red and gold in there, just to be difficult.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  A shrug. “It’s me. Plus, I like the hint of my great grandmother. She was a redhead. Did you know that?”

  He lifted her up, plunked her on the counter. “No.”

  “I’ve only seen black and white pictures of her, but she and my great grandpa lived in England—she was a relocated Scot, and he was a freed slave.”

  “How did they meet?” he asked, stroking his hand up and down her back.

  “Apparently, he saved her from an out of control horse, and she yelled at him for putting himself in danger.” She chuckled. “I suppose that might be where some of the women in my family got their fire.”

  “An ill-tempered redhead.” Amusement in his emerald eyes. “That fits.”

  She punched him lightly. “Rude?”

  “What about your parents?” he asked. “How did they meet?”

  “In London. My dad was studying abroad. My mom was out celebrating a girlfriend’s engagement.” Her lips curved. “He tried to buy her a drink, and she sent it back.” A beat. “Along with the next three.”

  Laughter rippled through him. “I’m guessing he eventually won her over?”

  “She went over to yell at him, to tell him to stop wasting his money because she was not interested in wasting her time with a man, thank her very much.” Char giggled. “Six months later, she was getting her master’s at the same college he was attending. They graduated at the same time, were married a year later, and two years after that, Will came along.”

  “He’s five years older than you, right?”

  She nodded. “Yup. He’s a professor at the college my parents attended, and Amelia just landed her dream job teaching kindergarten.”

  Her parents were professors, to
o—her father teaching at a local community college and her mother tenured at a state school not far from home. The teacher gene was strong in her family, though it had clearly skipped right over her.

  “Did you ever think about teaching?”

  Shivering, since she was still wrapped in just a towel after their shower, and the warmth of the steam had disappeared during their talk, she went to reach for her robe, which was hanging on a hook near the door just to the side of the sink he’d plunked her on top of. But before her fingers grazed the fluffy fabric, Logan was already dropping it around her shoulders.

  “You’re cold,” he murmured, cinching it across her waist. “Sorry, Starlight.”

  “I’m not complaining.” She leaned up to kiss his jaw. “I like talking about this stuff with you. It reminds me of lying in the back of your truck jabbering about nothing.” Another kiss. “And for the record, I think despite earning my undergrad degree in business, I would have ended up getting my teaching credentials and in a classroom, anyway.” One more kiss. “But then Luc picked me up in that coffee shop and shoved me into the business of hockey.”

  He helped her down. “I bet your parents were shocked.”

  “Their scholarly daughter, from a family full of scholars, diving headfirst into sports management?” A grin as she nodded. “Yes.”

  “Is this where your mom made a fuss about you going into football instead?”

  Char laughed, touched that he remembered her mom’s obsession with the sport. “Yes,” she said. “Although football isn’t really a scholarly pastime, is it? So, I really only had her to blame.”

  “How’d it go when you told her that?”

  She lifted a brow. “Do I look like I want to get my ass kicked?”

  Laughing, he scooped her up, carrying her through the door and back into the bedroom, plunking them both down onto the mattress. “Your parents love you,” he said, holding her close. “There would be minimal ass-kicking.”

  “Probably.” She rested her head on his chest. “But yes, they do.”

  “What’s that in your tone?”

  She frowned, sat up. “What?”

  “There’s sad in your tone, Starlight.”

  “No, there’s not.”