by Hughes, Maya
She rested her elbows against the granite countertop, her back pressed up against it. Not giving either one of us enough time to think, I flung her legs up over my shoulders. The siren call of her overheated core filled my head—hell both heads—with the need to taste her now.
With the first swipe of my tongue, she dug her heels into my back. I sucked on her clit, running my tongue over it, slipped two of my fingers inside of her.
She moaned and her fingers tightened on the edge of the counter.
This was a heaven I hadn’t thought I’d experience with her. That night on the beach, I thought I’d screwed this up beyond belief. An insensitive slip up ruining the chance to be close to her again. But she was into this every bit as much as I was, pouring those feelings out right along with her cries and moans.
I nipped at her inner thighs and she squirmed against my mouth, grinding against my face and working with me to reach her peak. I slipped another finger inside of her and curled them forward.
Her hips shot up off her seat and every muscle went rigid. Her legs squeezed my head like she didn’t ever want to move again. I didn’t want to move either.
Not wanting to let her come down completely, I laved her clit with my tongue.
She shuddered and moaned, grabbing onto my shoulders and pulling me toward her.
I stood, and for the first time there was no hesitation with my knee. I’m thankful the knee recovered or maybe I couldn’t be here tonight with Imogen. I’d been an idiot earlier. I could have fallen off the bar or done something stupid when I was that damn drunk. But I was sober enough now. My leg could’ve fallen off and nothing would have stopped me from getting inside her when she was clutching at me, pulling me close like this.
Gripping my cock, I ran the head along the seam of her pussy. So damn wet. I gritted my teeth, determined not to come in thirty seconds flat.
“Please, I need this. You need this.” She wasn’t wrong. Her eyes locked with mine and she dug her heels into my ass and I sank inside her.
“I need you.” I couldn’t form thoughts. She was so tight and wet my eyes rolled back in my head. Each thrust drew a cry from her lips.
Running the back of my hands along her stomach and up to her breasts, I cupped them and pinched her nipples.
“This is too good.” I dropped my hand between us, running my thumb over her clit.
“Colm, I’m—” The word was lost on her cry. Her back arched off the counter and her legs tightened around my waist. The contractions of her walls around me set me off.
“Imo—” It was a choked word, strangled out of me by pleasure. We both hurtled straight over the side of that cliff we’d been balancing on and I collapsed on top of her, bracing my weight with my arms.
My heart pounded like I’d played double overtime out on the ice and sweat rolled down my back. But I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. Was I supposed to be playing it cool? How could I when she’d sliced through the storm cloud of my life like a sexy ray of sunshine?
Imo’s flutter soft kisses along my neck sent a shiver down my spine. Every part of this felt right: her soft breasts pressed against my chest, our bodies nestled together, my cock inside her.
I’d come already and I was still hard. That was new. Apparently the gin I’d had tonight had the opposite effect of whiskey dick. Like he and I were on the same page about what she deserved. Or maybe it was just her.
I felt her soft touches running up and down my back, and the tingling tickles shot across my skin. Lifting my head, I captured her lips in mine, putting so much more into that kiss than any that had come before. For so long I’d tried to pretend she didn’t get under my skin, but I didn’t have to pretend anymore. She’d said ‘hell no’ when I’d asked if I should stop, so there was no doubt in my mind that she wanted to be here with me.
Our journey of sexual exploration took us across every flat surface in the living room and kitchen, as well as some improvised ones. The ottoman. The bookcase. The fireplace. We’d made it as far as the stairs at one point, but ended up heading straight to the floor and then back to the couch. I’d never be able to look at a single surface in my home without remembering how we’d devoured each other on it.
The pillows on the couch pushed her hair up against one side of her head. She batted my hands away sleepily as I ran the back of my finger along her cheek. If I hadn’t been with her for hours and seen her nursing nothing but an Irish coffee—well and the gin she’d stolen from me—I might have been worried. But she’d been there with me the whole time.
I stepped back, separating our bodies, and the ice bucket realization stole over me. No condom. I’d never not worn one. From high school until a few hours ago, it would never have crossed my mind. It was like muscle memory ingrained not only from being a professional athlete, but also coming from a family with resources like mine. I’d always been wary of finding myself ensnared by someone with less than above-board intentions.
Then I looked down at Imogen, and that small knot slipped away like it had never been there. That’s not Imo. She’s not someone who uses people. She’s someone who cares. Look at how she stuck with my surly ass all night.
We could have that talk in the morning and figure it out, whatever it might be. But tonight, I curled up with her in my arms. Sliding them under her, I lifted her from the couch.
Taking a second to make sure my knee was fine, I gazed down at her. She burrowed deeper against my chest, murmuring in her sleep. From the long, fine curve of her eyelashes to the delicate shell of her ears, she was perfect and I could stare at her all night. Goosebumps broke out all over her and I cursed, taking us upstairs to my bedroom before the chill could disturb her.
I tucked her into bed, and smiled as she sighed and rolled closer to me. Then I peeled the blankets back and slipped in beside her. She huddled toward my embrace and I welcomed the weight of her against my chest.
What had I been upset about today? It all seemed like a distant memory. Maybe I should call Ford and Liv in the morning. My shock at thinking Liv had died, coupled with finding out she’d slept with Ford had sent me scrambling to make sense of the world. Intense, crazy emotions had made it hard to think clearly. Throw in my girlfriend leaving me and maybe I’d overreacted a little when it came to Ford and Liv’s new whatever-it-was.
I brushed the hair back from Imo’s face and the corners of her mouth lifted. One night and I was already thinking crazy stuff. This is what had gotten me in trouble before. Going straight to planning family vacations a year from now. Asking a woman to move in. Like I was trying to rebuild a family out of thin air.
Slow down.
It’s like my game of Life was always jumping thirty spaces down the path, when I needed to stick to spinning ones. Breakfast tomorrow. That would do. I’d take her out to breakfast. Or maybe give her a morning wake-up call that might turn it into brunch, which might slide into a trip back here and lunch in bed.
Wrapping my arms around her, I closed my eyes and smiled as she moved closer, nudging my chin up to rest it on top of her head. I could totally get used to this.
* * *
The morning light streamed through the slatted blinds. I closed my eyes and sank into the bed, savoring the feelings lingering on my skin from Imogen’s nips, scrapes, and the grip of her legs on my body.
For once in the past few weeks, I woke up without anger and hurt burning in my gut. A highlight reel from the night before ran through my head. Every word. Every touch. Every taste from her. This had been five years in the making, building up in my head as something that would never happen. But it had, and my imagination hadn’t conjured anything remotely as good as the reality.
There was a lot to talk about. What did this mean? What happened now? Did she want to have dinner with me again? The heavy ache in my chest hadn’t been as keen when I had fallen asleep last night, and it sure as hell wasn’t as sharp this morning.
When I saw her last night, a longing I hadn’t let myself indulge in came over
me. We hadn’t been alone since that night on the beach, but every time I listened to James Bay I thought about her, which meant I’d played those songs more than I should. Anytime the gang all got together, I made a point to find moments alone with her.
Maybe I could deal with this whole thing with Liv and Ford. Take a breather and figure it out. He’d gone behind my back with her and that hurt. The trust we’d been rebuilding was shattered again, but he was my oldest friend. And Liv couldn’t just throw away her future to become a dance teacher, but there might be some room for compromise. With Imogen beside me, the uncertainty of the future didn’t seem so scary. It didn’t feel like, if things didn’t go exactly to plan, that they couldn’t turn out okay.
Once again, I was flying off into this imaginary life that felt more real than anything I was currently living, but first, I needed to get Imo fed.
Opening my eyes, I rolled over and my hand connected with nothing but blankets. The side of the bed she’d banished herself to after I woke her a second time with the insistent nudge of my erection against her back was cold.
I gave her a few minutes in the bathroom before I shot up, a thread of dread weaving its way through my chest. The bathroom door was open, but the room was empty.
Her scent lingered in the room like a French toast breakfast in a botanical garden. Nothing in my room was out of place, not that we’d been in here for more than sleeping.
Jumping out of bed, I beat back the edges of panic rising in me. Calm down, she’s probably downstairs. Maybe getting some food or something to drink.
Out in the living room, my clothes were strewn all over the floor right where she and I had peeled them off my body just like we’d done to hers. But hers weren’t there. Only mine, discarded on the floor, like I’d come home by myself and tossed them around, imagining the whole thing.
The clawing rawness in my chest was back. Maybe she’d gone out to get some breakfast. Like in Bridget Jones’ Diary. Liv had made me watch that fifty times, probably to see me squirm. In the movie Bridget wakes up and thinks he’s gone, but he went out to get her a new diary. Imogen would totally be the person to get up early to sneak out and bring back breakfast, in case I didn’t have any food—she wouldn’t want me to feel bad about that. Or maybe she was getting that steak and eggs she’d promised me when she sat beside me on the sand.
I turned on the coffee pot. Even if she brought back coffee, I didn’t want her to think I was waiting around for her to come back with food. Maybe I could get started cooking something. Maybe French toast. That would be so much better than bagels or whatever the coffee shop a few streets over had.
Had she needed to get up early for work? She hadn’t mentioned it last night, not that I’d invited conversation.
I sat at my kitchen island, nursing a long chilled cup of coffee, two plates of French toast with sliced strawberries and a bowl of freshly whipped cream beside me. I kept my eyes trained on the front door, still hoping she’d return from whatever had dragged her from my bed this morning. She hadn’t left a note. I didn’t even have her number.
Stupid, Colm. What was wrong with me? Here I was, ready to blurt out an out of the blue proposal and thinking about a future, and she’d just been trying to comfort me. Pity sex for the beyond-fucked-up Colm. She was just like everyone else, pretending to care. Pretending they’d be there for me and then disappearing at the first opportunity. I held onto that anger because it was a hell of a lot better than the crushing sadness, the loneliness and rejection that had become the hallmark of my life with everyone other than the Kings. And now we were fractured too.
This was the story of my life. So many women back in college hadn’t understood why I needed to bring my little sister along on my vacations. Why I couldn’t jet-set like everyone else. But it helped me spot the users a lot quicker when Liv was younger. A de facto single dad with a teenager to take care of wasn’t exactly sexy to many twenty-year-olds.
I never cared about anyone who didn’t get why my little sister would always come first. It was me and Liv against the world, and anyone who didn’t get that could go fuck themselves. Only apparently Liv couldn’t wait to break that pact she’d pinky sworn me to out on the jungle gym in our backyard when she was eight.
My phone vibrated on the counter. I shot up like I used to when the ice cream truck drove down our sleepy street when Liv and I were kids. Snatching my cell up off the counter, my heart sped up. Imo?
A punch of disappointment cratered in my chest when I looked at the screen.
Declan: You’re still coming today, right?
Right, hockey with the guys.
Me: Yeah, I’ll be there.
Imo wasn’t coming back.
Abandoning my sentry post by the door, I got my gear together and headed for the practice rink. The calmness I’d felt earlier this morning had been washed away in less than an hour. I was back to the same burning anger inside, only it was worse now because I’d had a taste of what being with Imogen felt like. But I knew I didn’t deserve that happiness—if anything, the Ford and Liv situation had hammered it home.
Out on the ice I was able to bleed off some of my aggression, letting the walls and padded gear on the other guys absorb a shit ton of it, but it all came rushing back the second I spotted Ford in the box ready to get out on the ice.
My day had gone from shit to complete horse shit in a matter of moments. He was here. Staring at me like he wanted to talk, when he was the reason almost everything in my life had disintegrated in front of my eyes.
Ford tensed. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
Fire and blinding rage raced through me. Somehow I was standing in front of him and he was talking to me like I was the bad guy. Like I was the one who’d fucked someone’s fiancée. Or I was the one who’d convinced my little sister that medical school, the only dream she’d ever had, wasn’t for her. Or I was the one who’d kept the fact that she’d almost died in a fire from me. Like I’m the asshole.
I didn’t remember taking the swing, but the thought of splitting his lip and beating the crap out of him was too tempting. Too bad I was on skates and he wasn’t. The first time I busted my leg, I’d barely felt it. I tried to get up three times before someone came over and put me down and they hauled me off the ice. It might have been the adrenaline pumping through my veins from the game or that I couldn’t hear the crunch over the roar of the crowd. The punch I threw barely connected, but I’d thrown too much weight behind it.
This time, every excruciating pull of muscle, crunch of bone, and twist of sinew was relayed to my brain in crystal clarity. In a split second, all the months of rehab, all the time I’d spent getting my ass back on the ice was wiped away. I stared up at the rafters of the practice rink with my leg on fire like someone had shoved a poker down my thigh.
“Fuck! Don’t look.” Declan slammed my helmeted head back to the ground. There was a flurry of activity and shouting and I hoped I’d go numb. I welcomed the numbness because the pain of watching the last thing I had in my life shatter made it hard to see where I could go from here.
And now I was lying in a hospital bed, in the place I’d sworn I wouldn’t be again. The doctors had come in. Bailey, the team trainer, had come in with her eyes blazing. Smacking me on my good leg she ground out, “I swear, you’re doing this on purpose. What the hell, Frost?”
“You don’t think I know already how fucking messed up this is?” I said through gritted teeth, pushing myself up in the bed. I winced as the pain meds took their time ramping back up.
She ran her hand over her face. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Is my place on the squad still okay?”
She grimaced. “If you’re up and running before the trade window closes this season, it should be. We’ll take a temporary trade to fill out the roster until then. The coaches will be here to give you the official word, so you didn’t hear this from me.”
I nodded. The angle my leg had been at after I’d thrown that punch at Ford did
n’t bode well for a speedy recovery. Last time it had been my knee. This time it wasn’t just my knee. Part of me just wanted to say fuck it. Wheel myself out of here and never look back. Who’d miss me anyway?
5
Imo
Stretching, I bumped my head against the chin perched on top of my head. Preston smelled different. Crisp and refined like a well-tailored suit. I ran my hands over his chest.
“You’re late for practice, P—” The word caught in my throat because this wasn’t Preston. He was gone. He’d been gone for almost five years. Gingerly, slipping away from the arms around me, I stared at the muscled and tanned expanse in front of me. Colm.
What if I’d woken him up and he’d heard me? Waking up in Preston’s arms was ingrained in my head like muscle memory. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to break the habit.
In the past four years, I’d only let myself spend the night with one other guy. When I’d woken and called him Preston, and then promptly broken down in tears, I’d sworn off trying again. Sleeping over was a no-no. Guilt sat heavy in my chest like a boot pressing down on me. I squeezed my eyes shut and slid to the edge of the bed.
Had I pressed Colm last night because I was lonely? Because I’d wanted him from a time when I had no business thinking about ever kissing anyone else? Because he was even more messed up than me and it felt good not to be the most broken one for a change? He’d been vulnerable and, apparently, I’d thought sex was the best way to help. I slammed my forehead into my hand.
Scrambling out into the living room, I snatched up my clothes. I couldn’t even use being drunk as an excuse for doing this. The highlight reel from the night before ran through my head like I’d pulled up to the drive-in with a whole bucket of popcorn.
The abandoned condom sat just under my jeans—still completely in its wrapper. Fuck! What had I been thinking? Oh, I know, I was thinking of using my vagina as a new rehab method—well, that and the fact that if I hadn’t gotten Colm inside me immediately I’d have jumped out of my skin.