Through the big glass windows, I see him in the hall accosted by a teammate who claps him on the back and chats him up for a minute. People are happy to see him up and around. He has been very much missed by a lot of people.
"Welcome back," I say after he steps into the therapy suite. He looks gorgeous as usual with his hair pulled back in a tie and that happy expression he wears on his handsome face much of the time. Georg is a beautiful man. Whatever else he is to me, whether it becomes something more between us or it doesn’t, he will always be remembered as he is right now in this moment—a funny, sweet, beautiful man, smiling at me mischievously, suggesting he’s up for anything a little naughty. Or probably a lot naughty is more like it.
I’m so screwed.
"Thank you, Pamela. It’s really quiet in here today."
"That's just because it's the end of the day. You're my last appointment."
"Ahh. Well, how do you want me?"
I'm at the instrument table when he says this. I can't see his face but I'm positive I heard innuendo in that statement. I turn slightly, just enough to give him the side-eye, and find him standing with hands on hips and rockin’ a cocky grin on his handsome face. Gah.
"Start on your back on the table, please." I do my best to sound professionally aloof, but I don’t think it’s working. Because when I turn back towards him, the cocky bastard is standing there with his shirt whipped off. All that glorious arm-porn I love so much is on full display to distract me. Send help. I look to the chair where he tossed his shirt, and then track slowly back to where he’s standing next to the table. Wearing only a pair of flip flops and some black athletic shorts. I resist the urge to swallow and fail miserably. Twice. "Umm, Georg, I am not aware of any upper body injuries, so you can probably put your shirt back on."
"But I want you to have something nice to look at while you work."
Smiling widely up at me in typical Georg fashion, he's far more than a "nice" sight with that sexy body stretched out on my work table, but I don't tell him that.
I push my tongue into my cheek to keep from returning his smile. "Well, I won't be paying attention to anything other than your injury, so I guess it's just the ghosts who will enjoy the view of your pasty white chest."
He sits straight up. "Pasty?" he objects, mock-hurt in his tone. "I am not pasty!"
I let loose a smile, and we meet each other's eyes. There it is—that spark of chemistry, immediately rendering me hot and wanting him again. That's all it takes.
He lies back down and I begin my work. The whole time, we tease each other, our verbal jabs sharp and ruthless, but also very funny. It makes the hour go quickly, so when I look at the clock and realize his session is over, I'm shocked.
"Well, Georg, that's the end of our session today. I'll see you again on Thursday?"
"Back for more torture? I can't wait," he says, sitting up. "You're mean, by the way. The way you opened up those tools, like a serial killer trying to decide which tool to use to cut off my appendages."
I'm suddenly very focused on just one of said appendages. In his thin athletic shorts, I can clearly see the outline of his cock, and he's semi-hard. He notices my gaze and gives a lopsided grin. "Your hands were all over me. How could I not be turned on?"
I look around. There’s nobody left here. Everyone has gone home for the day.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Pamela?"
I bite my lip.
"You are," he exclaims. "You sinful little fox."
"This is my work space, Kolochev. And I was thinking no such thing—if whatever you're thinking is dirty—which I know it was," I lie. How can I not? I get hot just looking at him, let alone having my hands on him for the past hour.
"I was thinking a very dirty thing and you should just fess up, because I know how you look when you're turned on. There is no one here. Go close the blinds, and I’ll make you come until you scream my name."
I gasp. A big, audible gasp that's filled with surprise and delight…and so much want.
I turn away and head to the windows to the suite. We have blinds because sometimes our guys want privacy while we work on them. As I reach out to close them, my hands are shaking. I shouldn't be doing this. It's so risky. What if someone walks in? I could lose my job. But damn, I'm so aroused right now, it's painful. I don't know what it is about Georg, and how he makes me feel like this, so turned on that I feel I might explode.
My steps back to him are slow. As I near him, he reaches out from his perch on the therapy table and pulls me to him, his lips on mine before I can even process what's happening. Thank God.
The kiss is fast and rough and hot. And then he hops down from the table and says two words, "Get naked."
I don't have to be told twice.
I watch his eyes grow hooded as I perform a strip show for him. He's in a mood to watch apparently, because he doesn't help. Off go my shoes and socks. His dick grows bigger with each item of clothing I toss aside:
Crush polo.
Khaki shorts.
Front-clip red bra. He licks his lips and swallows hard when that gets tossed.
Matching panties. A sexy groan erupts out of him before he tells me to get on the therapy table, face down.
I don't know what to expect, but it's not the massage he gives me. He uses my therapy oil and gives me a nice back massage first, then works his way from my feet up my legs. When his hands caress my inner thighs, I relax and let him spread my legs. I know he's staring at my pussy.
He massages my ass, casually spreading my cheeks, running his fingertips down, down, down, just grazing my aching sex.
He's got me so worked up, that I'm so wet it's probably getting on the table. When he flips me to my back, he pushes my knees apart and leans in to place one kiss on my clit before turning his attention to my breasts.
He massages, getting a few licks and nips in when he can, a devilish grin on his face the whole time he works on me. His eyes shine with mischief as his hands work themselves lower, to my belly and my hips.
Georg's thumb finds my clit, working a slow but steady rhythm. My hips buck involuntarily, the telltale start of an orgasm already building in my lower abdomen. He picks up the pace, his face lazily entertained as I push my hips up wildly, my motions growing more crazed with each increase of speed and intensity from his thumb.
I'm letting out crazy, nonsensical noises as the orgasm starts. "Yes" is the only thing that sounds even remotely like a real word. He keeps working while my pussy clenches, my body overcome by pleasure. He continues his efforts as the aftershocks roll through me, and it's only when I lay boneless does he let up.
Then, he crawls up on the table, on his knees, and pulls me to him so I straddle him, the only barrier between us his thin shorts. His hard, long cock rubs at that swollen nub, and I feel the want building again as I ride against him, pushing my clit against his hardness.
Georg's fingers slide down my ass and find my pussy, wet and gaping. He pushes his fingers deep inside of me as I rub myself against him. His lips find my neck. I kiss his forehead.
"Yes, Pamela. Yes, just like that. Yes. Come for me, baby."
"Georg," I manage to breathe. "Yes. Yes, Georg."
And then the world is gone. I come and come, the longest and best orgasm I've ever had.
Georg asks for nothing in return. He just pushes me to the edge, over the cliff, his body strong as he holds me, his breath hot as he kisses me. He whispers, "I want you so, so badly, Pamela. So very badly."
"I want you too, Georg. I want to be with you. I want—you—to be my first."
"Ty chti mne moyu lyubov'."
I have no idea what the Russian words mean but it sounds beautiful when he repeats it several times, holding me possessively as the orgasm rocks me into another universe.
He kisses me for a long time, still holding me against him like he won't ever let go.
I realize I don't want him to.
* * *
I'm too scared to do such
a thing ever again. I've had major anxiety about it, worried somehow we'd be caught on camera. And while what we did was literally the hottest thing ever, I've forced myself to return to professionalism when he's around. We still tease and flirt, but he understands when I tell him I think we need to be more careful. He knows I loved it, but I also love my job.
Georg does well in his therapy and training sessions with Dale and me. So well, in fact, that he’s back on skates in just four weeks. He's not yet cleared for competitive play, but he is allowed to practice and suit up and be on the bench.
Evan is back, too, and while the team is winning, it's not without struggle. Not having Georg on the ice has definitely exposed a weakness in the team's defense, a weakness that has attracted the attention of Evan's agent, Scott Rose, who offered to take on Georg as a client. This is really big news, because Scott is a kingmaker. He’s well known for making huge financial deals for his clients, and Georg has sent me about a hundred texts to tell me how awesome this new development is.
Dale and I meet with Coach Brown, Max Terry, Georg, the team doctor, and Scott in a big conference room near the owner's suite. I've actually never been up on this level of the arena. It's almost intimidating, but also kind of funny, as there is eighties rock music playing softly. I think it's a Def Leppard song called Pour Some Sugar on Me. Totally cheesy but catchy as hell.
Georg is really into it, though, singing along softly, drumming his fingers on the table. I have to force myself to keep from smiling.
"He's working super hard," Dale is saying. "All season he's been focused in the gym. He's very fit, so it's been no problem getting him back up to speed on my end."
"And in physical therapy?" Coach Brown turns his attention to me.
"Same," I say. "Georg is working very hard. He was diligent in following concussion protocol and the injuries to the ligament and ankle are healing really well. His range of motion on the ankle is about ninety-eight percent right now."
"He can play next week," the doctor announces.
"Great," Coach says. "Thanks, team."
It seems we're dismissed, but Georg and Scott are asked to stay behind. He catches my eye as I stand up to leave, a wicked gleam flashing in his greens. It goes straight to my belly. We’ve been texting back and forth like high schoolers, but we haven't had any more personal encounters since the wild one in the therapy room a couple of weeks ago. My body misses him.
Dale puts his hand on my back as we walk out into the hallway. I hear Georg clear his throat. It's a definite sound of warning.
I can’t hold back the grin as Dale quickly drops his hand.
Twenty-Two
Pam
MY FIRST TIME AT A DUDE RANCH
I don't usually watch the Crush games from the stands. Some of the home games, I'm on call to assist with light injuries, cramps, etc., so I watch on a monitor in the therapy suite. Otherwise, I just get too nervous to watch live, so I watch from home or with Holly at her house.
But there is no way in hell I would be any place other than in the stands tonight, while Georg is making his return to the ice. I send him a text.
Pam: Good luck out there, hot stuff. Make a touchdown or whatever.
Georg: Ha ha!
Pam: Seriously, though, sub out if that leg bugs you.
Georg: Yes, boss.
Georg: You in the stands tonight?
Pam: No, I'm naked and touching myself in bed right now.
Georg: That is not a way to keep me focused on the game, Pamela.
Pam: Kidding. I'm in the stands. Fully clothed.
Georg: Thank goodness.
Georg: If we win, I would like to request nudity later.
Pam: Deal. Go sink a basket now.
Georg: I'm rolling my eyes at you right now.
Pam: You know there's an eye-roll emoji, right?
Georg: Did not know that.
Pam: Have fun out there! XX
Georg: XXX is more interesting.
Pam: Focus.
Georg: On you. XXX baby!
I grin the whole way through the pre-game rituals. They play a video of Georg's best moments and make a huge deal out of his return to the ice. The crowd goes nuts when he comes out with the team, and I actually become teary at all the fan love for my guy.
Georg is back on the starting lineup and he looks around the stands as he takes the ice. When he finds me in the stands, he gives a cocky wink before taking his position.
The game is so much different from the games during his absence. He's on fire out there, getting the puck to Evan so he can score two times in the first period alone.
The opposing team comes out swinging in the second period, though, firing shot after shot on goal, so that Viktor, Tyler, and Georg are stuck protecting the goalie. They score only once, despite more than twenty shots on goal.
A third period check sets Tyler into a rage. He starts a huge fight that results in him in the penalty box and the other team on a power play. They make use of it, scoring quickly, narrowing the gap. Mikhail responds, though, with a goal of his own, and then Georg and Evan pull out a fourth goal in the last minute of the game.
The crowd is electric in this arena. My ears feel like they might bleed, it's so loud in here, and Georg and Evan's faces are prominently displayed on the jumbotron, heroes once again, a dynamic duo that absolutely cannot be replaced.
There is, as always, a press event after the game. I hang back with Scarlett while the press interview Evan, Georg, and Mikhail.
Kacey King, the queen of evil, barges up to the front of the press pack. Her black dress is skin-tight and so low-cut I wonder how the heck her bosses let her on television dressed like that. Her long, blonde hair is straight down her back and her eyeliner is crazy heavy. She looks like she's ready to go out to a club more than to do her job reporting on sports.
"Georg, Georg," she says, cutting through the questions from the press corps. "How did it feel on the ice tonight?"
"It felt great. I was ready to get back out there and I proved it tonight alongside these guys."
"Those were serious injuries," she says. "How were you able to come back so quickly, and looking so strong out there?"
"I had a lot of special attention from my physical therapist." He gives the camera one of his signature grins.
There’s a lot implied in that statement, so much that it makes me blush. Scarlett notices, coughs, and elbows me, hiding her face behind her clipboard while she giggles.
"Well, he must be a miracle worker," Kacey comments.
"She," Georg corrects.
"She?" Kacey asks, confused.
"Yes, Pamela Jenson is my physical therapist. She."
"Oh, well," Kacey attempts to save face by turning away from him and zeroing in on her next target. "That's wonderful. So, Evan, how has being a father affected your play out there?"
And with that, Georg has shut down whatever play Kacey was making. He looks over at me and bites the inside of his lip. He's not smiling, but his eyes are alight with their usual mischief. He's nearly bursting with energy, his legs bouncing under the table, his fingers drumming on the table again. This is crazy Georg, silly Georg, and naughty Georg. He's back, and I am incredibly happy for him.
This is the Georg I love.
Love.
Did I just say "love?"
Yes, I did.
I'm in love with Georg Kolochev.
After Fiona shuts down the press event, Georg finds me at the door. He takes my hand and I get a pointed glare from Kacey. I don't care, though. Georg is here. He's healthy and strong. There is no way he's getting traded.
And now I know that I'm in love with him.
We walk to the player's parking area where he opens the door of his BMW for me, planting a kiss on my cheek before I get in. We don't say a lot as he starts the engine and makes his way out of the stadium and onto the street. We didn't explicitly make plans, so I'm not sure what to expect. Another night in the casinos? Another dinner with a gorge
ous view?
Georg cranks the stereo as we drive, an eighties station playing on XM. Eurythmics' Sweet Dreams is the first song that comes on, and Georg sings along with every word. It makes me smile. A lot. We drive for nearly an hour, Georg happily singing, headbanging, and otherwise being his silly and adorable self.
When we pull into a quaint little ranch, I'm stunned. There are horses munching on grass along both sides of the long, dirt driveway. The house is simple, two stories, with a big front porch complete with a porch swing.
"What's this place?" I ask.
"It's a horse ranch but also a bed and breakfast. A friend of mine owns it."
"I have to say, I was not expecting a dude ranch when we got in the car. Also, I packed nothing."
"All part of the conspiracy," he says, grinning. "If you recall I requested nudity later if we won and you agreed. I have the proof right here on my phone. You said 'deal,' and we did win tonight, Pamela, and it is definitely later." He's so cute when he's like this.
"Well, aren't you the clever kidnapper? Look at you, Georg Kolochev, plotting out a way to have a night of sin with me." I'm teasing, but suddenly completely aroused as I squirm in the seat and clench my thighs together. I've missed being intimate with him. It's been a long time coming with his injury and all.
"Weekend, baby. I need a whole weekend to do all the sinning I want to sin with you." He gives me a knowing look, his green eyes dark and gleaming from across the seat. I understand completely what will be happening here tonight. And I also understand I’ll no longer be a virgin after this weekend.
I'm finally going to have all-the-way-sex with Georg.
Oh.
We pull up to the house and get out, the door opening immediately. A portly older woman says, "Yes, it is our Georgie."
Georg holds out his arms and says, "Miss Louisa, good to see you," as he pulls her into a hug. They embrace, her silver bun coming loose as he spins her around. She's smiling broadly as he sets her down and gestures to me. "This is Pamela Jenson. Pamela, this is Louisa Stone. Her husband, Jim, owns an establishment in town as well as this ranch."
Sin Shot: Vegas Crush #2 Page 14