The crowd joins me in unison. “To Chris and Serena.”
I shake Chris’s hand and kiss Serena’s cheek.
“Thank you.” Serena grabs my hand. “We love you, Nick.”
Nodding, I reply “I know.” Because I do. I know they care about me and want what’s best for me.
Serena hugs Becca again, and both women cry. I’ve never seen so much crying and hugging at a wedding. My cell vibrates again.
Dude. Why is everyone crying? I didn’t shed this many tears when I signed my divorce papers. The text is from Damon “the Demon” DeLaurentis. He sits to the right of Camille. I look at him and he nods toward Thor, who is bawling. Camille is dabbing his eyes with a linen napkin.
“God help us, we’ve all gone soft.” No one hears me, but that doesn’t make it less true. We’re all softer than the fucking marshmallow man.
When I take another look at Camille, my eyes lock with hers. Her expression is intense, her stare unswerving. She feels it, too. The moment, the promise of the future, the chance at something real. Like that, I’m no longer soft. I want to fuck her until she screams my name. I want to be the guy she wants, regardless of my profession. I want to make her need me so much, she won’t even consider walking out of my life.
That’s why, after pictures and watching the happy couple cut the cake complete with large towering layers of white frosting and fresh flowers cascading down the side, I place my jacket over Camille’s shoulders. I then reach for two plates and she grabs the forks before I lead her to my little slice of heaven for the evening: my cottage overlooking the ocean. The salty ocean air is brisk as we hustle from the main house to the cottage. A fireplace illuminates the large loft-style cottage in a soft amber glow, accentuated by dim lights.
“This is Marcus Noble’s idea of a cabana? It’s twice the size of my condo, which Sally and I share by the way.” Camille saunters to the french doors, admiring the view. “This is gorgeous. I can’t imagine wasting this view on a summer home.”
Placing our cake plates on a table, I grab our forks from her and approach from behind, splaying my hand against her waist beneath my jacket. She leans against me, a reaction that causes my heart to swell. I swear my heart has grown tenfold since I met her. It’s because of the little things she does. Her jokes. Her ability to sing like no one is listening. The way she leans into me. The way she kisses me. Her ability to make me feel like I’m the only man for her. I doubt she notices the latter. I notice, though, and it’s more than enough.
Seconds pass, then minutes. The sound of the waves rushing against the shore mingle with the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears, in my temples. I’m about to lay it on the line. For her. Because I want Camille to know that I’m serious about her.
There was a reason I didn’t sing at her karaoke date. I don’t sing. Ever. I am completely tone deaf. Kids in elementary school made fun of me, yet my dad still made me join the church choir. When they laughed, I started mouthing the words. Yep, I faked singing in my church choir. It stopped the kids from making fun of me. So did one punch in the schoolyard. From me, to the largest in the group. From then on, I pretended to sing.
Even back then, I knew how to blend in, how to hide. It was better than being made fun of. I was a chameleon. It helped me as a child and aids me today in the NHL. I give no one power over me. Not until now. Not until Camille.
“Can I have this dance?” My voice quivers. Based upon Camille’s quick turn toward me, she noticed.
She meets my eyes, hers filled with concern, and I grin. It’s enough to convey that everything is fine. Camille tilts her head to the side. “Will we have music?”
After removing my tux jacket from her shoulders, I toss it onto a chair in the far corner. “Patience is a virtue.” I sweep her into my arms and she laughs.
“You’ve got moves, Mr. George.” Camille is tall. With heels, she’s the perfect height and her body melds with mine, her head resting on my shoulder, the scent of her hair much like her perfume. A floral and musk mixture. Sophisticated but not too feminine. It contains many layers, much like the woman wearing it.
There are so many layers to Camille Benetti. She’s strong, she’s sassy, she’s sensitive, she’s even vulnerable if one looks close enough. Most probably miss that last observation. Not me. I notice. And it, much like our sexual chemistry, jars me stronger than a goddamn earthquake. It shakes my foundation, everything that makes me who I am. That vulnerability that I know no one else notices makes me want her even more. Which seems impossible, since I want her more than life right now.
My palm rests on the small of her back. Her skin is soft, even more so than the fabric she wears. I caress her, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. I wonder if she can feel it. Does she know how big of a moment this is for me? The realization that this woman means more to me than any other. Ever.
As if that’s not enough to terrify me, I’m about to do something reckless, something completely unlike me: hand her control. Will she notice my vulnerabilities? She tested me with her little non-date, and I suppose this is my version of a test. How well does she know me? How clearly does Camille see me?
She has no idea what I’m about to do. Or how raw, how naked I feel. How terrified I am as I begin to sing, though it’s more of a ragged whisper. Neil Diamond, of course. “Sweet Caroline,” though I replace Caroline with Camille. Good times never did seem so good. Not until Camille entered my life.
Cami exhales an audible breath and I stop. I don’t move, holding her in my tight embrace until she pulls away. I’m unable to look at her, suddenly shy. This was way too corny. It was stupid, really.
Flattening her palm against my beard, Camille’s eyes lock with mine. “You’re too good to be true.”
“How do you figure?” I’m amazed my vocal chords still work, that my shame hasn’t rendered me mute.
“That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. It wasn’t easy for you, was it?” She caresses my beard. “Isn’t it bad luck to trim your beard midseason?”
Total change of topic. I’m at a loss, so I go with it. “I make my own luck. Besides, my best friend only gets married once.”
“How can you be so sweet?” Though she framed it as a question, something tells me that Camille doesn’t expect me to answer. Instead I laugh.
“I’ve never been called sweet. Don’t ever say that in public or you’ll ruin my reputation.”
She rests her cheek against my shoulder, placing her hand over my heart, beneath my tie. Her warmth permeating through my shirt, searing my skin without ever touching it. “There it is. That well-crafted alpha male reputation. The one you hockey guys think is sexy, the same one the puck bunnies find irresistible.”
Now it’s starting to make sense. Puck bunnies. Irresistible. The reason she doesn’t date hockey players. She’s been with one. I’d bet a year’s salary he cheated on her. “You went to…Syracuse, right? A university where hockey is popular.”
Looking up at me, she smirks. It’s a simple tell, one that confirms that I’ve made the correct assumption. “Some asshole cheated on you. That’s why you don’t date hockey jocks.”
“That’s why you are too good to be true. I know your kind.”
I arch my brows. “That’s an unfair assessment of me. I’m not that kind of guy.”
Before she can pull away, I cup her palm in mine and kiss it. “Because I’m the best man for you. You know it, or at least you suspect it. So why don’t you give me a chance?”
Her eyes narrow, as if she’s struggling with something. “I—I’m not the woman you think I am. I’m damaged. I’m not your happily-ever-after.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me.” On this, I’m adamant.
“Nick—”
“You know that I want you. What you don’t realize is that I don’t want anyone else.” I try to lighten the mo
od, with a wink, with a smile. I know Camille is battling something. Precisely what that is must wait until another time. Tonight, she needs to believe in me, needs to know that I’m serious about her. The rest doesn’t matter. Not now. Maybe never.
I place another sensual kiss on her palm, then place it against my cheek, against the stubble of my beard. She shudders in immediate response. Her body’s reaction to me betrays her. She wants me in spite of her reservations about my being a jock. Hell, I’d wager that Camille wants me to be a good guy, wants to believe I’m different. Let’s face it—I am different. “I want something real with you and I’m not some shit who will cheat on you. That’s not me. I keep my promises, and I promise you that I won’t let you down.”
Camille sways. “I’ll let you down. That something real you crave isn’t possible with me. At least not the definition of real that you covet. Not the baby makes three—”
“Stop, right there. I want your body and mind. Not your womb.”
She sucks in a breath, as if I struck a nerve.
“I’m serious.” I’m trying too hard to convince her. Perhaps I should leave the decision up to her. Pulling away, I take several steps back. “This is me and I’m laying it all on the line. Either you want to see what happens between us, or you don’t, but don’t think for a moment that all I want is some white picket fence, ‘baby makes three’ thing with you. You…that’s what I want.”
Our eyes lock, and Camille’s gaze reflects her inner turmoil and vulnerabilities. “You sang to me. That’s epic.”
“You have no idea—”
“But I do.” She marches toward me and wraps her arms around my neck. “I do know. That’s why it’s epic. If it were easy for you, it wouldn’t matter as much.”
Splaying my hands on her back, I caress her bare skin. “Then why are you fighting us?”
“I’m not fighting you, or a night with you. I need you to understand that I can’t commit to a future. This is just tonight. I need you to be okay with that.”
I kiss the nape of her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent, reveling in the way she makes my heart race. “What if I agree to one night? Then what?”
Cami leans into me, into my embrace, like she was meant to be in my arms. She’s a perfect fit, even if she won’t admit it. “What if I live to regret our deal? What if I want more and everything I’ve accepted, everything that has defined me for so long, suddenly shifts? I don’t know how I’ll handle that.”
“Then we’ll battle your demons together. That’s what adults do. I don’t know who you dated before, baby—”
“Married. I was married to him.”
Now it makes sense. “I don’t know who you married, but he wasn’t me.”
“He sure as hell wasn’t.” Camille captures my lips, tracing them with her tongue, probing for entrance that I immediately grant. I’m in, ready and willing to accept everything she will give me. Every piece of her she grants me. I’m consumed by her.
Her tongue strokes mine and she grinds against me. Camille’s lust is like a drug. One I can’t get enough of. So, I push it to the limits, meeting her hunger with my own. Kneading her soft flesh, fisting the silken fabric of her gown, hiking up her skirt, then lifting her until she wraps her legs around my waist.
We groan, we pant, we bump into the french doors behind us. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t stop her relentless exploration of my mouth. Not even when she slides to the floor, then fumbles with my belt…unbuttons my trousers…unzips them with ease. It doesn’t matter that we’re in front of french doors, or that anyone walking the beach could see us. Who the fuck cares? It’s too cold for anyone to be on the beach, and even if they were, they shouldn’t be looking. Besides, it took Camille ages to take a chance on me and I’m not stopping her.
I will undress her though. She must be naked. I kick off my shoes, step out of my trousers, and shimmy her dress up, over her legs, hips, breasts, then her head. My knuckles skim every curve of her body, every intimate place. It’s my turn to explore and I do. With my hands and mouth.
Camille moans as I lick, and nip, and suck every inch of her neck, then bend lower until I reach her breasts. I stare, long and hard, inhaling a slow deep breath. Savoring the view. Her tits are round and her areolas dark, from my hands pumping and teasing them. She moans as I claim one with my mouth and bumps against the french door, pinned.
Though it may be uncomfortable, she doesn’t move. Though it may be awkward, she stands her ground. Sensually naked with strappy heels so sexy they make my mouth water. I want to fuck her in those heels.
Yeah. That’s what I want. To fuck her and never stop. It’s animalistic between us. This urgency. This connection. We’re thunder and lightning, our need for each other building like a rough storm. The kind of sinful give-and-take that would make most women blush. Not Camille. She welcomes me, my thirst for her, with her own intensity.
This woman is hell in heels. And she’s mine for tonight. I’m making the most of it, as my tongue traces a fiery path to her other breast. It’s plump, and her taut nipple fits perfectly in my mouth as I suckle it. Camille’s deep-throated moan tells me I’m doing right by her. But I want more. I lift her up, and she straddles me again. I then pin her against the wall.
My erection is ready for her, but I don’t have condoms. They’re in my jacket pocket. Shit. Tearing my mouth from hers, she digs her nails into my shoulders.
“Don’t stop.”
“If I’m going to fuck you like I want to fuck you, the condoms are on the other side of the room.”
Camille pants. “You’re clean, right? Safe sex?”
I’ve got a clean bill of health and have always practiced safe sex. “Yeah. Always.”
“I’m clean, too, and I’m not getting pregnant.”
If anyone else had suggested this to me, I would’ve refused. Unequivocally. I’ve never had unprotected sex. Do I want Camille to be my first? No, I want her to be my only. Can I tell her this? Not yet. But I can show her, and I do. Because this is real. Whether she wants to admit it or not. We are real.
Judging from her cry when I penetrate her, from the way she tightens around my cock, the way her breathing is labored, this is a first for her, too. Camille is too practical for unprotected sex. I mean something to her, and that’s more than just a great fuck. Which I will be. I’m determined as I thrust and grind within her.
Her wall tightens around my cock, squeezing until I groan. Sex has never felt so intimate, so steamy, so raw. It’s primal. The lust factor is off the charts. The flirting, the texts, the getting to know her, truly know Camille, has heightened my desperate desire for her. That must be why I’m making her my one and only “real” penetration.
Me inside her. No barriers. Because I know her. No matter how complicated she may be, I want to jump head first into complicated, especially when it heightens my every nerve, causes my every hair to stand on end, as the waves of heat and the pressure mount within me.
“Fuck me, Nick.” Her nails claw my back and her core tightens around my cock. The tension builds, rising to the surface until I’m certain I’ll combust. That’s when we reach our first climax together.
Camille is wet and warm, and I can’t get enough of her. She rides the wave with me, until we’re both slick with perspiration and panting.
“You are definitely not an average pro athlete.” She laughs, then groans, her legs locked around my waist. Neither of us wants to pull away.
“There’s nothing average about me.” I nip her lower lip with my teeth.
She laughs in response; it’s a deep, naughty laugh. “I’d ask you to show me more, but I think it might be a little early for that.”
I shake my head. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. Besides, you promised me one night, and I am going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked. All night. Until I’m the only guy you
want.”
Our game has just moved to the next level and I win playoffs like no one else. When it comes to the championships, I’m a pro.
“Bring it on, Nick.”
Her throaty challenge is all I need. “You asked for it.”
Chapter 12
Camille
“That was…” Nick is winded. A good winded. An I-just-gave-him-the-blow-job-of-his-life kind of winded.
I straddle him, getting lost in the depths of his baby blues. “Mind-blowing? Earth-shattering? Any other clichés I can’t think of right now?”
“All of the above and more.” He laughs. For a night of hot sex, we seem to be laughing a lot. It’s new territory for me. To say Nick pleasures me completely and like no one else would be an understatement. He’s sexy and skilled, not to mention protective and genuine.
Hoisting me and rolling me onto my back, Nick kisses my palm. It seems to have become his thing. Kissing my palm, then the spot beneath my wrist where I spritz my perfume. It’s romantic and sensual and makes me pulsate for him, deep within my core.
“You are incredible.” His mouth lingers, his words linger, as his warm breath fans my flesh causing little aftershocks to reverberate through my body.
“I owed you.”
Smiling one of his brilliant smiles, he shakes his head. “I’m afraid I can’t decide what’s best—giving or getting a blow job from you. I must research further.” His tongue trails down my neck and over my breasts. “We only have one night, right? Or might you have reconsidered?”
He nuzzles my hair and kisses me gently. It’s warm, comforting, and oddly familiar. It feels…right.
Yes, I’ve reconsidered. In truth, my one-and-done demand was my armor, and I wouldn’t relent no matter how much I wanted to. Though I do want more than one night with Nick, I refuse to mislead him. Inhaling a sharp breath, I decide it’s now or never. Nick’s got to learn the truth, before he decides how far he wants to take this thing between us. “We need to have the talk.”
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