Keep it simple. That’s what I tell myself as I devour her mouth with my tongue. With each husky groan from her, each time she grinds against my cock, I remind myself to keep it simple. We want each other. It’s chemistry. It’s attraction. Keep it simple. That’s my plan. This is sexual attraction. What could be simpler than that?
Chapter 3
Serena
Christian types in the security code for his gated community. I’m familiar with this neighborhood. Homes average about five thousand square feet, with large lots and impressive pools. What’s most special about this particular community is the privacy it affords. That’s why many celebrities and sports stars live here.
Staring out the passenger window, I notice that each house is larger than the next. When we reach the end of the cul-de-sac, Christian turns up a circular drive, parking in front of his two-story brick colonial nestled within dense woods. This is what’s known as the Realtor first look. If I were a potential buyer, I’d be pretty damned impressed.
Immaculate landscaping accentuates his gorgeous home, as do a set of exterior gas lamps that flicker a golden hue while illuminating a breathtaking entrance of solid wood doors featuring wrought iron.
Why is the Christian Chase working so hard to impress me? He’s the tall, dark, and handsome hockey god with the broad frame, tight abs, impeccable clothing, and unique hazel eyes that make my insides flutter every time they change color with his mood or change of setting. Christian is sexy as hell, rock hard, and kisses like no one I’ve ever known. I swear he is temptation incarnate. And I am tempted. Very, very tempted. That’s before he opens the door of his SUV for me like a hunky gentleman.
I’m certain he has no idea who I am. He doesn’t know I come from wealth, that my family is the Ellis Corporation. At least my father is. He’s the third-generation owner and CEO of a company that began down South as a home builder and has blossomed into a multibillion-dollar real estate investment firm in Manhattan and the tri-state area.
Among my father’s many properties was the land he sold to the Nighthawks at a hefty profit. What used to be a huge shopping mall with several strip centers is now the premier hockey home of the New York Nighthawks. Thanks in part to my imposing not-so-dear dad.
I follow Christian through the massive front doors and the lights automatically turn on, in a dim mode. Neat trick. My brownstone has light switches. Nothing automatic. So, not only is this guy sexy as hell, but he is way trendier than me.
His keys jangle as he drops them in a bowl on a table near the door and a dog barks. Its claws slipping against the sleek stone floor prove that it is running toward us.
“Come here, girl.” Christian kneels, and the dog runs right to him, tail wagging.
“Serena, this is Puck. I adopted her from a local shelter a few months ago.” He scratches beneath the canine’s ear. “Her paw was injured, but it’s healed. She may never swim, but she’s a good girl.”
Oh my God, he rescued a gorgeous chocolate Lab from a shelter. He can afford any breed he wants, but chose an injured shelter dog. Can this guy be any more perfect?
Christian pets her head as I offer the back of my hand for Puck to sniff. She then licks me, and I kneel on the cold floor, petting her behind the ears. “She’s adorable.” The more I pet the soft fur, the more she warms to me, even going as far as placing her head in my lap.
“You have her approval. Come on, girl.” Christian leads Puck to the sliding glass door in the middle of his living room. “I’ll be right back.”
I race to the door to find a deck, with a pool and a hot tub, some lounge chairs, and a fenced doggie run beyond. It’s well lit, surrounded by trees, and completely private. When Christian returns, I tease him. “Do you have an air-conditioned doghouse back there, too?”
“And heated. How did you know?” He’s serious.
“You don’t seem to do anything halfway.” I survey his great room, with high ceilings and a large quartz fireplace accentuated by overstuffed sofas and a big-screen TV. There isn’t a speck of dust anywhere.
“You are also the neatest person I’ve ever met.” I study the bookshelves on the far wall. “These are organized left to right. All of them. Each book. Left to right, tallest to shortest.” Note to self: Never invite this man to my place. He’ll want to scream and run from the chaos that is my own bookshelves. Thank God for my cleaning person, who keeps my dust bunnies at bay.
He stands beside me. His nearness sending my adrenaline spiking, making my stomach flutter. This isn’t good. I don’t have time for a relationship. Or room for one. Yet, Christian is making me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time, if ever.
“It freaks you out, doesn’t it?” He must sense my confusion because he adds, “The bookshelves. Organizing stuff relaxes me.”
That’s interesting. What must his closet look like? I assume he owns more designer shirts, with impeccable fabrics and stitching. A well-organized designer closet is my version of heaven. My phone rings for what must be the third time since I texted Christian’s address to Becca. “Sorry. This will just take a minute. Hello, sunshine.”
Becca is frantic. “What’s happening? You left with Christian Chase? After that kiss. Serena, I’ve got to know what’s happening. Now!”
I notice that Christian is straightening a book on one of his shelves. “Well, nothing is happening except that I’ve met his dog and keep getting calls from you. Three in the car—”
“Four,” Christian chimes in, his baritone rich and teasing. “Four in the car plus two texts. I remember because I was trying to hold your hand.”
Damn it, that’s right. I feel all warm and breathless when he holds my hand. Then there are his kisses…I want more of those, too. “Becca, I’m hanging up. Text me when you get home. If I need you before then, I’ll be in touch. Promise.”
Disconnecting the call, I lower the ringer to vibrate. “You promised me some fun. If not verbally, it was implied. Show me what you’ve got.”
My personality is bold. Most men can’t deal with it. Christian doesn’t seem fazed as he leads me into his media room. A flat screen takes up the entire wall. There is one overstuffed leather sofa, a couple of recliners, and a few gaming chairs. “Wii or PS4?”
“English, please.” I toss my purse on one of the chairs.
He grabs a controller in one hand and a stick, like a hockey stick, only smaller, in the other.
“Stick!” I kick off my heels, giddy at the prospect. “Definitely the mini hockey stick.”
He hands one to me. “Wii, it is.” Christian then explains how the game works.
Though the game is fun, I suck at it. “This isn’t fair. You have a huge advantage over me.” I swing and miss again. “Damn it.”
An animated player falls on the ice. “You just body-checked me.”
“Body-checked?” Well, that sounds very hands-on. I should try that again. This time my player falls. Christian body-checked me and the fake crowd cheers. “I expected more from your body check. Page Six was obviously wrong about you.”
“Ouch!” He splays his palm against my waist. His touch is strong and sensual, his eyes now a smoky amber simmering with intensity. He makes me reconsider my one-night-stand rule. “How about we start with peewee hockey?”
“Kids’ hockey?” Though I should be insulted, it’s probably best.
He nods. “Level one.”
“Okay. But first, show me how to play.” I plop on the soft sofa, my legs underneath me. “Let me see you in action.”
He nods to a mini fridge. “Do you want a drink? Water?”
“Nope.” I don’t want the distraction. Instead, I watch him tutor me in the art of a hockey video game. God, he is sexy when he talks hockey. Hell, he’s sexy period. Anything he wants to teach me, I’m there. Honestly, he had me at shelter dog. But there’s something about Christian’s voice. S
ure, he’s flirting. But there’s also this wonder when he explains the game. His love for the sport, even in this format, is evident. I find it endearing, to the point that the fluttering in my chest grows and I am overcome with excitement. When he’s done, he asks me if I understand.
“Not a chance. I’ll need a second tutorial.” Hell, maybe a third. Or maybe he just needs to keep talking, because I can’t get enough of his deep baritone. I pat the sofa beside me. “How about we play a different game?”
He sits beside me, leaning into me. “I like games. What do you have in mind?”
“Truth or lie.” My answer seems to have dampened his enthusiasm. “I want to know more about you. As for you…you don’t even know my last name.”
“Christ.” He scratches his jaw. “I never have to work this hard to get laid.”
“Is that all I am to you? An easy lay?” I rest my elbow on the back of the sofa, placing my head against my hand. Warning bells should be going off, and in some ways they are. The thought of being used sickens me. But I didn’t get that vibe from Christian. Then again, I didn’t get that vibe the first time it happened to me. I was young and naïve back then. I know better now. Holding my breath, I wait for what he’ll say next. It will tell me if my instincts are wrong about him.
“No, you’re not an easy lay. Which is why I will play this stupid game. I don’t have to like it.” He grimaces. It’s more of a mock grimace, as if he’s looking for pity. Kind of adorable in a strong, alpha male way.
“How about I make it more fun for you. For every right answer, you get a kiss. Deal?” If he’s willing to play along with me, offering him kisses that I really want is the least I can do. Especially since I want them so badly that my body aches for them. It has ever since we got into his car. I can’t ignore it. No, I refuse to ignore the hunger I feel for him.
Christian seals our deal with a kiss. This one is gentle, with a promise of more to come. It awakens my every nerve ending. Yeah, there will be kisses tonight. When his mouth releases mine, he nips my lower lip with his teeth, sending a jolt so strong surging through me that my breath hitches.
“We have a deal. Sealed with a kiss.” His arms remain wrapped around me, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on my back while he waits for my question. He’s sending shivers through my body, and I struggle to think straight.
My thoughts are jumbled, and I try to forget how sinful his fingers feel against my back. To push aside how my body vibrates from his touch. To ignore the fact that I crave more from him. I know very little about him, short of who he is and what he does, so now is my opportunity to ask anything.
“Why hockey? What made you decide to be a pro?” Clearly, he loves the game. I want to know why.
He sighs. “I suck at football.”
“Liar.” I raise my eyebrows. “Tell the truth or no kiss.”
His caresses lead to my shoulders, then the nape of my neck. My every muscle, every tendon, every nerve is igniting under his dexterous touch. He seems to have no idea the flames he’s fanning within me, especially between my thighs.
“My mom died before I ever learned to skate.” With his admission, my heart sinks. I remain silent as he recounts, “I never had a solid relationship with my dad. Ice hockey was a way for me to take out my aggressions as a kid.”
Somber hazel eyes look away from me, but I won’t let Christian go. No, instead, I straddle him, kissing his neck, his earlobe, and his lips. A man like Christian doesn’t want pity. After revealing such a raw truth, he needs something else. He needs this. In immediate response, Christian hikes my skirt up, allowing me to straddle his erection.
“What’s your last name? I want another kiss real bad, so tell me. Quick.” His question is easy. He’s changing the subject, which is okay.
“Ellis. Serena—”
“Got it. Ellis.” He commands my mouth, probing deep with his tongue. His kisses are hard and demanding. So are his hands as they explore my thighs. Kneading, squeezing, making my sex throb for him. I want more, which is not like me at all. We’re going fast. Too fast. I remind myself to slow down. I’m on a deadline. Work is crazy. I don’t need distractions. But, Christian feels so damn amazing that my body shudders. If I could ask him anything, what would it be?
I tear my mouth from his and he groans. “Why me?”
“Why not you? You’re a teenager’s wet dream, for Christ’s sake.”
Before he can kiss me, I ask a follow-up. “Is it really my body you find attractive, or is it my sass? The fact that I told your asshole teammates off.”
Threading his fingers through my hair, Christian smiles. “Your body and your sass. Seeing you rock my T-shirt the other day made me hard—crap, I shouldn’t have said that. How about this: your confidence is a total turn-on. Oh, fuck it. You’re so sexy that I can barely keep my hands and my mouth to myself.”
“Enough said.” I kiss him, exploring him with my tongue. Because he’s exciting, passionate, and sensual. Because Christian arouses me in more ways than I can count. Because he is into me, and my body. Unlike men in my past, unlike the asshole who shall not be named.
I’ve shut myself off from men for so long because of one encounter, one humiliating encounter. I deserve this. Now. No future and no past. These are only kisses, right? I learned a long time ago that kisses mean what we make of them. Nothing more and nothing less.
“What are your favorite drinks?” He throws a softball question at me.
I can’t help but grin. “That’s a tough one. Water—bottled. I hate the taste of tap water. I recycle, though. I’m very conscious of that. I also love lattes. I don’t drink alcohol often, but it’s either white wine or vodka when I do. And a blue raspberry Slurpee after yoga because yoga was a bitch and I don’t plan on ever going back. What are your vices?”
“Competition.” He winks at me and warmth surges through me. His winks are sexy as hell, and I wonder if it is a habit. One he doesn’t even notice. If so, it’s a shame, because a wink from him is like finding a rare unicorn. It makes me giddy and I feel like I’ve won the lottery. “I rarely drink and stay away from caffeine. Competition is my vice. So is my need to succeed, I suppose. I’ve got to win.”
Christian grabs my ass, then rolls me onto my back.
Laughing against his neck, inhaling his musky scent, I nip his earlobe with my teeth. “You are impressive.”
“Just you wait.” He nibbles my neck and slides me beneath him. He then tugs at the zipper on the front of my dress. He explores my flesh beneath my lace bra with his hands, his warmth all but branding me. Never did I expect to be half-naked tonight, let alone with the sexiest man ever, who is staring at me with the most intense gaze.
“My God.” His tone is rich and seductive. Almost as seductive as his fingertips, which have looped under my bra strap and brush my breasts beneath the fabric. “You are perfection.”
Me? I hold my breath as Christian unsnaps the front closure of my bra, cupping my breasts in his palms. I tremble as he strokes and gently pinches my nipples with his thumbs and forefingers. They’re taut for him, leaving me aching for more. Much more. That’s why I’m not objecting like I normally would. Because my body is in control, not my mind, not my memories. My body is calling the shots, and my intense reactions to him are what I want to savor.
His tongue explores my mouth, then moves downward until it captures one of my nipples. A low, guttural moan escapes my throat, and my pulse pumps so hard and fast that I hear it rushing in my ears. My nails comb through the short, tapered hair at the nape of his neck, up to where it is longer on top. It’s thick, and softer than I imagined. No product, which is pleasantly surprising.
He flicks my nipple with his tongue, then nips it with his teeth, igniting my core, sending surges of molten desire straight between my thighs. His tongue trails a hot path to my other nipple.
This is slow, steady tor
ture.
I clutch his shoulders as his mouth travels downward, even lower, to my…oh, God, I called them lady parts at the gas station. The gas station…We met days ago. But I’ve been thinking about him constantly and never thought I’d see him again, let alone…this. Maybe that’s why this thing between us, this connection, feels so inevitable.
My conscience rears its ugly head, reminding me that I’m not adventurous, that I don’t allow things to go this fast with a man, but I choose to ignore it. I’ve been closed off for too long. The walls I’ve built, surrounding my heart, are solid and there for a reason. It’s because of one guy that I was never able to keep sex separate from intimacy or love. So, I denied myself sex and intimacy. Not now. No more. Because I ache for release, my body quivering under Christian’s skilled tongue. He makes me want this too much to let my inhibitions stop me. Shockwaves of yearning, of euphoria, rip through me when Christian nips my thong with his teeth.
“Christian—” I moan as his tongue licks my pussy, nothing but lace separating the two.
I’m in serious trouble. I feel more for this man than I should. He’s a sports star, for God’s sake. No matter what he says, I’m fairly certain I’m not his type. Hell, sports stars date celebrities. I’m anything but. Besides, I’m committed to my company. I don’t have time for men. My list of excuses is a mile long. But, this guy is different from any I’ve known before.
He seems to understand me, and he wants me for who I really am, accepts my body as it is. This athletic god who’s rock hard and all muscle is turned on by what so many label as an imperfect body type. If he’s genuine, isn’t he worth the risk? I debate what’s the worst that could happen. We’ll have a hot night and I’ll return to Manhattan. I won’t have to worry about seeing him again. I deserve this. After all, never before have I let go. Not like this. Not once. Haven’t I paid my dues?
His hands clamp my thighs. Strong, determined, he spreads my legs wide apart. I swallow hard, against a lump of desire, against the heat rising within me, against my desperation for him. No more thinking. Not when this man has ignited an inferno in me that no one else has. Yes, this feeling is worth it. It’s new. And, I do deserve it.
Ice Hot Page 4