Twisted Wrister: A Next-Door-Neighbor Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 7)

by G. K. Brady

  A shout, followed by an incoherent string of noises, burst from her, and her muscles contracted around his fingers, squeezing them until they stopped moving. Her mind blanked, and her body let go, folding like a wet noodle while he held her up. “I got you,” he soothed against her temple. “I got you.”

  Then he spun her in place, and his mouth crashed down on hers before she could catch her breath. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. The tenderness he showed when he laid her down on the bed was at complete odds with the frantic way he tore off his clothes and heaped them on the floor. He climbed up her body, his engorged cock blazing a trail to her entrance. Gathering up her legs on either side of his hips, he lined himself up and plunged inside her hard.

  “Oh fuck!” tore from his chest, followed by a low, long, hissing growl as he drove in deeper, seating himself to the hilt. When she opened her eyes, he wasn’t moving, his mouth parted and his face contorted in an intriguing mix of ecstasy and agony. His eyelids lifted, revealing deep emerald orbs swirling with fever and fire. He began moving again, his hips flexing slow and steady, but his rhythm soon grew punishing and relentless. He held her gaze without wavering, his eyes locked onto hers like magnets to steel.

  Ricocheting through her head was how vulnerable she was, with his eyes mining hers as he pounded into her over and over again at a ruthless rate. It was as though he’d snagged a grappling hook deep in her soul and was using it climb inside her. Totally bared to him, she had never experienced anything like it, and her body buzzed with the carnal energy flowing through him into her.

  When she finally shattered into a million shards of pleasure, he followed her, releasing himself inside her with a primal groan that seemed to move through his entire frame like an earthquake moving through solid ground.

  As she lay under the warm blanket that was his big body, her even breathing and her sanity returned. She stifled a giggle. She’d made no note, but she was pretty damn sure it took far less than thirteen minutes for her to soar to her peak and less than the “average man” for him to hit his. But oh, how beautifully those glorious minutes had filled space and time. Until this moment, she hadn’t even realized they’d forgotten a condom.

  Chapter 25

  A Chalk Outline of the Heart

  Blake didn’t possess enough swear words in his arsenal to articulate the explosion that had rocked his mind and his body. He’d gone nuclear, melted down, leaving nothing but a useless heap of radioactive ash.

  M’s chest moved at a normal tempo, so he hadn’t killed her, but all his weight was pressed on her. Reluctant to pull himself from his post-sex dream state, he slid off nonetheless and rolled onto his back to keep from crushing her. It was then he realized his mistake. He turned his head toward her. Half-lidded, soft gray eyes peered at him.

  “I forgot the condom,” he blurted. Was it because he’d still been half-drunk? One mistake compounding another.

  “We both did,” she said in a drowsy voice.

  “You said you were on birth control. That hasn’t changed, has it?”

  “No.”

  “I’m clean. I promise.” He caressed her hair and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll get tested and show you the results if you want.”

  She tipped onto her side, propped up an elbow, and cradled her head in her palm, her eyes never leaving his.

  “Is that a smirk?” His own smile formed.

  “It sure is. Does it occur to you that I might not be clean? Why wouldn’t you want to see my test results?”

  A frisson of discomfort jolted him, but it had nothing to do with STDs. It was because she could have been with someone. Recently. He laced his hands over his chest uneasily. They hadn’t talked exclusivity, but he’d assumed it anyway. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  The smirk widened. “Yes. I’m trying to tell you to be careful and not trust everything women tell you when you’re taking them to bed. You’d be a great catch for someone.”

  “I don’t plan on being anyone’s ‘catch.’” Unless it’s you. “I also don’t plan on taking any women to bed. Present company excepted.”

  “Just saying.” Her fingertip traced a path down his nose and along his jaw, and he closed his eyes. “You’re very trusting.”

  “Not really.” He opened his eyes and caught her gaze in his. “That’s the only time I’ve gone bare since my first time. My horny teenage self got lucky. Despite my raging hormones, I wised up real quick and never played Russian Roulette again.”

  “And started using condoms from that day forward,” she finished for him.

  “Didn’t work exactly that way,” he chuckled. “I kept it simple and stayed away from girls. Channeled all my energy into hockey, which worked out for the best.”

  She tossed her head back and let out a throaty laugh. “I take it that first time wasn’t enough to convince you it was worth the trouble of messing with protection, huh?”

  Shaking his head, he wrapped a coil of her soft hair around his finger. “Honestly, I was terrified.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of everything! I was terrified I wouldn’t find the right hole, terrified I’d come before getting it in, terrified I’d get it in and come on the first stroke, terrified she wouldn’t like it, terrified she’d get pregnant, terrified her parents would find out. All that shit was going through my mind at once. I don’t even remember the actual screwing part.”

  Giggles shook M’s shoulders. “You were afraid you wouldn’t find the right hole?”

  “Hey, getting to third base a few times was the only experience I had. It’s one thing to look at porn, but it’s a whole different hockey game when it’s show time. There’s a lot of pressure on us guys. All you women have to do is lie back.”

  She dropped her head on his shoulder, and the giggles escalated. “Is that what she did? Lie back?”

  He chuckled. “Pretty much, although she did help guide me to the right spot. I appreciated that. And she didn’t laugh at me, which was helpful too.”

  “I’m sorry,” she snickered.

  “You should be,” he teased. “Guess you’ll have to make it up to me.”

  After she stopped laughing, M placed her small hand on his chest, tracing his pecs and playing with his nipples. Tiny shivers ran up his neck. “Hey, that feels kinda good,” he murmured.

  “Probably nowhere near as good as when you do it to me.” She leaned in and nibbled his bottom lip, whispering, “I, for one, am very glad you learned your way around a woman’s body.”

  This surprised him—and puffed his chest with pride. “Yeah? I always feel clumsy, like I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and some of those same old thoughts take over.”

  Her eyes popped wide in mock surprise. “That you won’t be able to find the right hole?”

  He pulled her to his chest and grinned. “Don’t be a sass mouth. No, not that part. Mostly, the part about whether she’ll enjoy it.”

  She raised her head, propped her chin on his chest, and looked straight into his eyes, all traces of teasing gone. “Speaking from personal experience, you don’t need to worry about that. Just like you didn’t need to worry about your kissing skills.”

  That’s just with you. He raked his fingers through her hair. “It’s because you’re a very patient teacher.”

  “About that.”

  “About what?”

  “Have I been bossy in bed?”

  He started to laugh, but one look at her furrowed brows and her lower lip caught between her teeth made him hold back. “I don’t think you’re bossy. I think you’re … into it. Adventurous. Fun. I like it. I think it’s hot. Incredible. Incredibly hot. I think I need a new vocabulary.” The relieved look on her pretty face lifted his heart into his throat.

  M was the first woman he could remember really letting himself go with, which, he realized, was one reason sex was so spectacular with her. No little voices telling him she wouldn’t enjoy it or otherwise crushing his conf
idence. She was very clear at communicating what she liked and how much, and if she didn’t like it, or liked something else better, she didn’t hesitate letting him know in such a way that coddled his ego. They worked like a team, and when he got it right—when he scored—she rewarded him with fireworks. He’d never felt connected that way before, and tonight, when he needed it most, she’d been there and he’d lost himself with her … and found himself in a wholly better place. Why had he convinced himself alcohol held the escape he’d craved? Right now he was just sober enough to admit drinking had spiraled him in the wrong direction, and he shuddered at how easy it had been to kid himself he could maintain control.

  “Your vocabulary is just fine.” She let out a lilting laugh, yanking him back to the bed, and thank fuck because he didn’t want to be in his own mind examining his actions.

  “I think I need one that’s less juvenile.”

  He melted into the mattress, loving her soft curves caressing him and the way her fingers floated over his skin. Being with her felt so right. He closed his eyes, ready to drift, when she suddenly pulled in a shaky breath. “Speaking of horny teenagers and other things juvenile, tell me about growing up. I don’t know anything about your family. Your sister, Amanda, for instance. Are you close?”

  Before he could check himself, his muscles tensed and his eyes snapped open.

  She must have felt the shift. “I’m sorry,” she soothed. Her fingers continued their lazy circles over his chest, inching up to stroke his jaw. “I just want to know more about little boy Blake.”

  “Uh …” Damn. The post-sex glow was gone, swallowed up by a few words.

  M climbed up his body a little higher so their heads were close. His arm cradled her, and without thinking, he swept his hand down her back and fondled her ass. “You can play with my ass if that helps,” she teased, “but I’d really like to know. Doesn’t have to be tonight. How about we play a little game of truth or dare with only the truth part?”

  He tilted his head to look at her.

  “You can go first,” she offered. “Ask me anything. Well, except about my clients. That’s confidential.” Her lips quirked, and she was so adorable that in that moment he ached to give her whatever her heart desired. And it wasn’t the bourbon talking.

  I am so fucked.

  All his circuits fired up at once, and he dragged his hand over his jaw. Shit. He needed to shave. Had he shredded her tender skin? He blinked, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. “Did you know that couples who use terms of endearment have a higher level of satisfaction in their relationships? And that ‘sweetheart,’ ‘honey,’ and ‘darling’ have been around for centuries? ‘Babygirl’ is a millennial thing.”

  She chuckled, and her warm body jiggled against him, scrambling those circuits. “Is this your ‘truth’ question? Not exactly what I had in mind, but thanks for educating me on pet names.” She snuggled a little closer. “Let’s try that again. I love your trivia, but I’ve noticed you sometimes use it like a shield, which tells me that right now, in this bed, there’s something you want to ask me, some truth that’s making you uncomfortable. Just spit it out.”

  For hours, Ferguson’s words had been festering inside Blake. “Does she suck your dick better than …” She did, in fact—not that he’d ever admit it to Ferguson—but that wasn’t why he wanted to be with her. The way she worked her talented tongue and mouth on him was merely a very delightful perk. But it did stir up thoughts he didn’t like entertaining.

  He cleared his throat and braced himself. “When we’re in bed, you seem to know how to push all the right buttons for me. You know your way around a man’s body, and I’ve been wondering how...” God, he didn’t want to know about past lovers or how many. Why had he started down this path ripe with insecurity?

  “You want to know if I’ve been with lots of men?” she said softly. “Is that the question?”

  He nodded, his mind a twister of emotions dominated by dread.

  “No, I haven’t. But I was with one man for a long time, an older man, who had very specific ideas about what he liked and didn’t like in bed. I wanted to please him, like people do for their partners when they’re in love, so I learned to do what he liked. It wasn’t abusive, though toward the end, it always seemed to be about him, you know? The last year we were together, we didn’t have real sex. The only intimacy we shared … we only had oral sex. His. I guess I worked at it extra hard to try and … entice him to do more.” She pushed out an extended breath. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. Only Fiona knows. It’s so … humiliating. Like my body was dirty somehow, and he couldn’t stand to touch me.”

  Anger flared inside of Blake, and he arrowed some of that anger at himself for putting her through the gut-wrenching memory—all to smooth over his own fucking insecurities. Selfish much?

  “Shh … that was him, M, never you. I can’t fathom anyone not wanting to touch you.” Because that’s all I can think about; it’s all I want to do. I’ve never been with anyone like you.

  He tightened his hold on her, pulling her close, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head, hoping to comfort her, to give her strength to draw on so she could wrap it around herself and ward off the jerk from her past. Her intimate confession, her faith in him to hold her secret, touched him deep inside his chest, plucking at his newfound heartstrings. He bit his tongue, fighting the urge to feed her platitudes she’d probably see right the hell through. He hadn’t had much practice acting the supportive whatever—beyond the little he’d shown Amanda since she’d come into his life—and the impotence was suddenly overwhelming.

  M sniffled against his chest. “That’s what Fiona said.” A laugh lifted from her. “Not the part about touching me, but that it was his hang-up and had nothing to do with me. I know that. I get it, I do. But sometimes it still stings.” She raised her head to look at him, her eyes shimmering silver. “Maybe that’s why I’m a little bossy. I feel safe being that way with you. And just so you know, when I’m with you, I’m not thinking about what to do. I just … feel you. You let me know, without out-and-out telling me, what you want, and my body and mind simply respond to you. I can let myself go. And when I know you’re enjoying it, it feeds something in my soul. Does that make sense?”

  He nodded, his throat sticky, unable to do much beyond grunting, “Yeah,” because her words left him humbled and speechless. As he tightened his hold on her, he knew in that instant that he might have only known her a month, but it was too late to keep himself from falling because he’d already splatted on the pavement. Time to outline him in chalk. He was a goner.

  Rolling onto her side, she tucked herself against him, her hand idly doing its lazy circles on his skin. Her curls tickled him, and he buried his nose in her hair to pull in her fragrance. “Your turn to answer,” she whispered. “Should I repeat the question?”

  “You lying next to me like this turns me on.” He took her hand in his and skimmed it down his chest, over his abs, and placed it on his sleepy cock that was waking right the hell up. Yeah, he was totally going off topic.

  She began drawing the same lazy circles along his length and over his crown. “Hmm. I can tell. Is this your way of distracting me so you can avoid answering?”

  He turned on his side and faced her, caressing her back languidly, exploring the dimples above her ass. “No, I’ll answer—but this here feels so damn good, and going back to little boy Blake doesn’t. I want to wait a while.” He nuzzled her neck. “Is that okay?” There’s other stuff I’d rather do right now. It wasn’t so much the question he was avoiding—well, okay, he was—but rather he was feeding the need to stake his claim, to erase the memories of her past lovers.

  She trailed soft, sucking kisses along the base of his neck. “Of course, it’s okay. And if you never want to answer, that’s okay too. I don’t want to stir up anything unpleasant for you.”

  With an abruptness that stirred him from his path down Sexy Lane, she sat up beside him. Her thigh tou
ching his, she sank back on her heels, offering him a view that turned him ridiculously hard. There was no hiding the flagpole jutting from his crotch, and he glanced from her to it and back again, pretty sure “Help me out here” was written all over his face.

  “If we’re going for round number two, I need food.” With an impish grin and an arch of her eyebrow, she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  Confused, he spluttered, “What? Right now?”

  “Yes, right now. Care to join me?” She slid off the bed and swayed to the bathroom.

  “Join you for a shower?” he asked hopefully.

  She wheeled, perching a hand on her hip, and leaned her tattooed arm against the doorframe like she was posing for a picture. An X-rated picture. “A shower sounds nice, but not right now. Maybe later. I’m talking about food. Grilled cheese, omelets, sustenance, which I need because I’ve got Captain One-Track Mind in my bed.” She reached behind the door and pulled down a slinky robe she wrapped around herself.

  A moment later, the playful look slid from her face, replaced by shock, when he blurted, “My mother made my father kill himself.”

  Chapter 26

  Debris Happens

  Michaela blinked furiously. What? She hadn’t been trying to coax him into telling her; no, she’d been willing to let it drop—she really was hungry and had wanted a break before they mauled each other again. Correction: had been hungry.

  Blake was on his side, looking like a male model posing for an underwear ad—sans the underwear—as he watched her hawkishly. She pushed the absurd model thought from her mind and, a heartbeat later, dropped beside him on the mattress. Her gut corkscrewed while she found her voice. “What happened?”

  Eyes still glued to hers, he dragged a hand over his stubbled jaw, then sat up beside her. “I need—” Without finishing his sentence, he leaned forward and started rummaging through his scattered clothing. No surprise, all traces of his arousal were gone.