by Lily Harlem
He froze above me. “Am I hurting you?”
“No, it’s good.” I stared into his eyes. “It’s perfect, Brick, so perfect.”
“Tell me about it,” he muttered, his lips hovering a whisper above mine. “It’s the sweetest damn thing I ever felt.” He pulled out slightly then eased back in, gaining even more entry this time.
We groaned in synchrony at the intensified sensations. My eyes fluttered shut.
“Look at me, Carly,” he said, claiming the last inch of me until his balls pressed up against my butt cheeks. “Look at me while I make love to you.”
I opened my eyes and stared into his. His lids were heavy, lazy and sleepy, but beneath them the green of his iris sparkled and the gold flecks glinted like nuggets at the base of a woodland stream.
He began rocking his hips and his pubic bone caught my clit as his cock shifted gently in and out. I was consumed by him, pinned down and overtaken by his big body lying above me, around me, in me. Every one of my senses gorged on him.
I moaned in desperation as my orgasm began to grow once again. It was there, on the inside and out. My G-spot was being stimulated by the ring in a way it never had been before. It felt glorious and I reveled in the climb to satisfaction.
“Lord help me,” he whispered, “but I just want to do this to you forever.” His warm mouth came down on mine, open and firm as his tongue stroked my lips and my teeth then plunged deep into my mouth.
I surrendered myself as the first tug of a delicious climax pulled my belly. A groan spilled from my throat and twisted with his matching one.
My orgasm was there.
It balanced for a moment of bliss before crashing through me. I cried out in ecstasy as his hips gave one perfect, forceful ram at the point of my wild spasms. Wave after wave of additional pleasure washed through me as his cock pulsed long and hard.
He didn’t stop kissing me. Even as he came and I cried out, his mouth didn’t leave mine. His tongue probed and his lips stayed connected as I sensed a wet heat seeping into my core.
Curling my hand around the back of his neck, I pulled him deeper. I had never felt so connected to another person. Never felt in such harmony with another human being or let anyone witness every not so perfect part of me.
I’d never been in love with anyone or anything the way I was in love with Brick.
Epilogue
Six months later
The vast cathedral was packed with sports stars, singers and other celebs all dotted amongst a huge host of family and friends. The congregation sat in their finery watching Mae French and John “Wolf” Jones swap expensive glittering rings and promise to cherish each other for all of time.
In a navy trouser suit and with a feathered fascinator poking from my hair, I sat and let the timeless words fill my heart and my soul. Brick was on my right, his hand curled around mine and looking amazing in silver-gray Armani. Brooke sat on my left, Phoenix had his arm draped around his wife’s shoulders as she fiddled with her own wedding ring and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“You may kiss the bride,” the priest finally announced with a flamboyant flick of his wrist.
The happy couple kissed, long, deep and lovingly and not at all appropriately for a place of worship. The crowd erupted in cheers. A choir sprang to life, singing one of Mae’s latest songs and a host of prettily dressed bridesmaids blew rainbow bubbles from small white pots as they walked back up the aisle.
“You okay?” Brick asked as we wandered into the bright sunshine behind the happy couple.
“Yes, fine.”
“Not sore?” He slid on his Ray-Bans and rested his palm in the small of my back.
“A little stiff, but that’s to be expected.”
He rubbed his hand up to my shoulder and then back down again. The previous day I’d defended my U.S. endurance title and brought home the medal, again. It had been hard, harder than ever with a body that was only just at peak fitness and a wrist that had been weakened, but I’d done it and I couldn’t complain about a few sore muscles.
“I’ll give you a total-body rubdown later,” Brick whispered in my ear. “If you think that would help.”
“It would definitely help,” I said, tipping my cheek for the kiss he was sending down.
I glanced over and saw Ramrod, who had the role of best man, chatting to a petite girl with amazing long curls of black hair. She had a pouting ruby mouth and a clipboard squeezed against her voluptuous chest. Ramrod had a sparkle in his eye that I recognized only too well. He liked her and something told me she had better watch out.
“You’d look good like that,” Brick said.
“Like what?” I looked up at him with a frown. Did he want me to curl my poker-straight hair to look like a lush waterfall?
“Like that.” He nodded at Mae posing for photos, her arm linked with Wolf’s and a giant bunch of lilies in her hand.
“What do you mean?”
Brick swept his tongue over his bottom lip. “In white.”
“White?”
“Yeah, in a long white dress, walking down an aisle.” He swallowed, lifted his shades to the top of his head and captured my gaze. “Walking down an aisle, toward me.”
“Is that a proposal?”
One side of his mouth tilted and he shoved his hand around the freshly cut hair at the base of his neck. “What would you say if it was, honey?”
“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” I grinned and tried to look cool even though inside I was erupting like a volcano. Marriage? He’d never mentioned it before but that wasn’t to say it hadn’t been on my mind as we’d gotten closer over the last few months.
He grabbed me suddenly and dragged me up against his hot, hard body. I let out a gasp and put my hands on his chest.
He simply grinned at my shocked expression and took four big steps around the back of a sweetly scented acacia bush to duck us out of view. “Then I’m asking,” he said down to my stunned face. “Carly Flannigan, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
I gazed into his eyes. The world stopped spinning. Everyone else on the planet ceased to exist.
There was only one possible answer.
“Yes.”
The next thing I knew, he was kissing me in that special way, stroking and caressing me with his tongue and his lips. And in that moment I knew I had the ultimate prize. Brick, my gorgeous, sweet, caring and accepting Brick, was going to be my husband, and I knew full well he was going to be so much more fun to play with for all eternity than a cabinet full of gold medals.
THE END
Slap Shot
Hot Ice #3
By Lily Harlem
SLAP SHOT. Back Cover Information
When it comes to Dana, the captain of the Vipers plays to win.
They say a leopard can’t change its spots. They’re wrong, because I did! Now I’m successful and independent and busy heading up my own company. I don’t have time for the complication of a man in my bed—not yet. That plan is years down the line.
Or so I think. The devastatingly sexy Rick “Ramrod” Lewis sets his sights on me, and my old impulsive self is determined to make up for two years of abstinence. I want to get sweaty, naked and dirty real quick. Heck to the consequences, regardless of the outcome. It’s all about immediate pleasure and intense satisfaction.
Trouble is, best laid plans never run smoothly and before I know it, I’m working a pole again…and running for my life.
SLAP SHOT. Chapter One
“Is there an airport around here or is that my heart taking off?”
I looked up, and up some more, searching for the face of the culprit who’d dished out possibly the cheesiest pick-up line ever.
Seriously. Airport. Heart taking off?
High above me, chestnut-colored eyes full of mirth topped with heavy black eyebrows sparkled down. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but smile back as his mouth stretched wide, revealing neat, white teeth and dimples that just didn
’t belong on such a giant of a man.
“I’ve got more if you like that one,” he offered, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting on the baked pathway that led to the church.
I pulled my best and-you-seriously-think-I-want-to-hear-them? expression and clutched my clipboard to my chest.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice deep and rasping. “How about, are you a parking ticket, babe, ’cause you got fine written all over you?”
I groaned and glanced at the bride and groom who were still busy having their photographs taken. Despite the corny approach, the testosterone-overdosed guy looming at my side was hot, damn hot, hot enough to make a nun break her vow of celibacy. And I, for one, was no nun.
He tipped his head to mine, his mouth only a whisper from my ear. The scent of citrus, honey and amber filled my nose, an aftershave so tantalizing and unique I couldn’t help but suck in a little more deeply than was required. He spoke again and his warm breath tickled my neck. “I wish you were a door, then I could bang you all night long.”
“That’s truly terrible.” I shook my head and took a step away. “Don’t tell me it has ever actually got you anywhere.”
“Once or twice.” He grinned. “I’m Rick by the way.” His huge palm cupped my elbow, preventing me from moving any farther. “Remember that name, darlin’, ’cause you’ll be screaming it later.”
I shifted my elbow from his grip. “I think we can safely say that is not going to happen.” My legs stayed firmly together these days. Gone was the old Dana who’d danced and played around, living life to the fullest, partying as though there was no tomorrow. The new Dana was work-focused, determined—a classy, independent woman.
“I’m sorry.” He shrugged and grinned. “My mouth gets carried away sometimes.”
“Is that another line?”
“No.” He laughed, rubbing his fingers over the patch of dark hair beneath his full bottom lip. “But it could be.” He held out his hand. “Rick Lewis.”
I placed my hand in his palm and his colossal fingers wrapped around mine. “Nice to meet you, Rick.” I already knew who he was because it was my company, Best Laid Plans, that had been responsible for organizing Mae French and Charles “Wolf” Roberts’ wedding. For weeks I’d been scanning lists of the guests, checking and double-checking invitations and place settings, hotel rooms and personal favors. The sheer volume of famous names from both the world of the NHL and the music industry had required extra security measures. No one wanted the picture-hungry paparazzi or overzealous fans intruding on the big day. The local police had even insisted on checking over security arrangements, something they’d never done before at one of my events.
“So now you’re at a distinct advantage,” he said, sliding Ray-Bans down from tousled black hair and settling them over his eyes. “You know who I am but I have no idea who you are.”
“Dana Wilcox, and I’m sorry but you’ll have to excuse me, I have work to do.” I glanced at my clipboard.
“Work?”
“Yes, I’m the event organizer.”
“Ah, then you’ll be at the reception venue?”
“Of course.” And the sooner we got there the better. The Florida humidity was killer today.
“Good, that means you’ll dance with me later then, Miss Dana Wilcox, event organizer.”
“I very much doubt it.”
He smiled again with a mixture of cockiness and challenge. “Wanna bet?”
“If I was a gambling woman then yes, I would bet.” I spun on my heels and strutted away. Although my final words had been cool, I couldn’t ignore the heat of Rick “Ramrod” Lewis’ gaze on my butt. It was like a hot caress, licks of flame curling over my tight pencil skirt and down my calves to my towering, fire-engine-red heels.
As I stepped toward the photographer’s assistant, a shiver of appreciation for the sexy hockey player who’d asked me for a dance snaked up my spine. My walk turned a little more sensual, a little more provocative—my hips rolling just a fraction more than they needed to.
I would have to make a point of avoiding Rick Lewis later. Despite his cheesy pick-up lines, he was clearly dangerous. A man who could make my flesh sizzle with just a few words and a cheeky gaze was definitely not good for continuing my two years of sexual abstinence.
The reception ran like clockwork. Country-and-western star Mae was stunning in a voluminous ball-gown-style wedding dress, which suited the fairytale hotel she’d invited her four hundred guests to. She was aglow with happiness and the smile never once left her face. Not even when the best man made a comment about Wolf’s past conquests and the top tier of the chocolate cake wobbled dangerously when a child dressed as one of the seven dwarves charged into it. Dopey, I think.
I stared out the floor-to-ceiling window. Dusk was rapidly turning to night. I was relieved to see that the herd of unicorns grazing on the lawn had all managed to keep their horns attached. It had taken a considerable number of calls to get eight white Andalusians transported in, and even more anxious calls from my assistant, Maddie, trying to get long, silver polystyrene horns made for their white head collars. The men on stilts juggling fire at the drawbridge entrance had been easier to organize, but the glass pumpkin-shaped carriage had been considerably trickier.
Still, I couldn’t complain. Best Laid Plans was being paid handsomely for the event, and in turn so was I. Soon I would own my house outright, something I never thought would happen in my life. Just went to show that, along with a ton of hard work, planning parties for the rich and famous could be very lucrative.
I still surprised myself sometimes when I sat back and looked at what I’d achieved. I’d grown up with a drunken father and a mother who liked a few hits of dope by three in the afternoon, every afternoon. As soon as I could, I’d left home, got an honest job for all of three weeks, then, just when my only option was sleeping rough, I was offered more money per hour dancing than I could earn in a week at the mall. I knew it wasn’t what I would do forever, but it had paid my way and given me something to focus on.
Trouble was, I’d become more and more entrenched in the seedy nocturnal world. To my horror, each day I was becoming more and more like my parents—until, that is, my wake-up call—a wake-up call that had been swift and final and changed my life.
My thoughts came back to the wedding, and right on time the music switched from one of Mae’s rockier hit records to one of her slow ballads. In a deep, bellowing voice, the DJ announced the first dance.
I moved to the end of the long mahogany bar draped with orange and cream flowers and found a spot tucked out of the way of guests.
“Here,” Jay, the head barman, said. “You look like you could use a drink.” He slid a tall glass my way, the orange contents fizzing invitingly.
“Thanks,” I said, perching on a stool and sipping the wonderfully peachy concoction.
“It’s a Fizzy Fuzzy Navel.” He grinned, spinning an empty glass into the air and catching it behind his back. “If you like it I’ll make you a hairy one later.”
I laughed and turned to watch Mae and Wolf take to the flickering shadows of the dance floor. Jay had been easy to work with during the planning of the wedding. He was flirty and full of laughs but he was way too young. If I’d been on the lookout for a man in my life, that was, which I definitely wasn’t. That plan was several years away, and even then he would have to be Mr. Absolutely Spot-on Perfect.
A movement in the shadows of the curtains caught my eye. Out of the fading light stepped the captain of the Orlando Vipers.
I snatched in my breath and wondered how long he’d been standing there, so very near to where I’d been staring out at the grounds. Close—but silent.
He banged his bottle of beer on the bar next to my Fizzy Fuzzy Navel. “Hi, Dana,” he said, his wide shoulders and considerable height looming at my side.
“What, no cheesy pick-up line this time?” I asked, hooking my left heel on the brass rung at the base of my barstool and crossing my legs.
His eyes swept over me for the briefest of moments. “I’ve exhausted all my best lines on you and they didn’t get me anywhere.” He shrugged and one side of his mouth tugged upward. “I give up.”
“Really, that easily? I don’t believe it.”
His eyes narrowed and small creases shot toward his temples. “Nah, just lulling you into a false sense of security.”
“Oh, I see.” I took another sip of my drink. “And what if I told you I’m just not interested, no matter what line you use?”
“You’re not interested in men?” He shoved his hip against the bar and folded his arms. “You don’t strike me as a girl’s girl.”
That wasn’t what I’d meant, I liked men plenty. Cock over pussy every time, when I wasn’t celibate. But I didn’t tell him that. Instead I tipped my head and waited for him to go on.
“A beautiful woman like you,” he said. “It would be a crime to mankind if you didn’t share your elegant…” He paused and scanned my body again, from the toes of my pointed high heels right back to my chest, covered demurely in a cream silk blouse with the tiniest red polka dots. “It would be a crime if you didn’t share your delectable body with an appreciative, willing, experienced man.”
“Then you’re only interested in me for my body?”
“Hell, no.” His mouth stretched into an infectious grin. “Well, maybe there’s a little bit of interest from certain parts of my anatomy.”
I smiled back up at him, it was impossible not to, and wondered why my heart was hammering in my chest. Why my breathing was quick and shallow. His delicious thick scent enveloped me again and the music had dulled into the background. “Thanks for your honesty,” I managed, my fingers tightening on my glass. “It’s a refreshing change.”
“I’m an honest guy.” He tugged his bottom lip with his teeth, stretching the small soul patch in the cleft of his chin.