by Elise Faber
“Not bad, Hart,” she said when they finally broke for air.
She rested her palms on his chest, squeezed two perfect handles of pecs. Yeah, that feeling right there was probably why guys liked boobs so much.
He smirked, and she realized she’d spoken aloud. “It is better when you’re topless,” he said.
“Mmm, that I can get behind.” Especially considering what Blane did to her breasts when she was half naked. She straightened, tugging off her T-shirt before reaching for the buttons of Blane’s dress shirt.
“Me, too.” His eyes hadn’t lifted above her neck, and Mandy was glad she’d worn her best bra. Lacy and see-through, it pushed her modest set of breasts up and together, giving her a rare moment of legit cleavage.
“You like?” she asked, leaning down to press a kiss to his chest.
“I”—one hand rose to rest on her back and he unhooked her bra—“do like.” Both palms cupped her. “But I like this better.”
Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She liked that better, too.
But she wanted him naked. And inside her.
But naked first.
Her fingers shook as she undid the rest of the buttons. He played with her breasts, squeezing them gently, teasing her nipples as he did so, distracting her, making her hands slip more than once.
“You’re making this hard,” she panted, head spinning, thighs clenching, pussy aching.
He flexed his hips, making her moan. “Isn’t that the point?”
She kissed him, hard. “Blane?” she asked when she pulled away.
He did something with his thumb and forefinger that had her seeing stars. “Yes?”
“Normally, I’d be all about foreplay and taking our time, but can we just”—her words broke off on a gasp as he thrust up with his hips again—“forget that?”
His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her pants. “Forget what?”
“Can you, please, just forget foreplay and fuck me until I can’t walk?”
He froze, mouth slightly agape. Then he smiled, a slow, scorching grin that had moisture pooling between her legs.
Until he spoke.
Because confusion treaded along the edges of her desire.
“No.”
“What?”
He flipped her, kneeling between her thighs and then, in a movement so fast she could barely track it, her pants were off and her underwear pushed to the side.
Blane dove at her, his mouth meeting wet, hot flesh and he gave her a kiss so sensual that she was ramping up the edge to an orgasm in seconds. He spread her wide, laving his tongue over her clit, pressing one finger of his free hand inside of her.
It was too much and not enough.
Too intense. Too little. So much sensation that she threatened to burst through her skin.
And not Blane. Not inside. Not—
He slid in a second finger.
She came with a scream, chest heaving, covered in sweat, her muscles limp as cooked noodles.
“Holy—” Mandy jumped when he flexed his hand, fingers still inside her and making her nerve endings flare to life.
“See?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her clit that had her shuddering. “Isn’t that better than me just sticking it in?”
He nipped at her side, soothing the small hurt with his tongue, before slowly making his way up her body as he licked and kissed and bit every inch of her exposed skin.
“Yes,” she gasped, gripping his shoulders as he feasted on her breasts. “But now would be a good time to stick it in. I want you inside me, Blane.”
“Hmm,” he murmured against her skin, ignoring her as he kept teasing her.
Which was pretty much the point she’d had enough.
She reached down and grabbed his cock.
“Christ, Mandy.” His head dropped to her chest as he pushed into her hand.
“You. Inside. Me.” She punctuated each word with a squeeze.
“But—”
Stubborn men. Seriously.
She pushed him onto his back and slid down the mattress, sucking him into her mouth, both hands encircling his erection, taking him deep enough to make him unleash a blistering set of curses.
And she’d pretty much thought her ears were unblisterable.
One stroke. Two—
Next thing she knew, she was back on the pillows, breath whooshing out of her, and Blane was reaching into his nightstand for a condom.
A crinkle as he tore the wrapper open. A moment to roll it on and then he stopped and stared at her.
Her nape prickled, her insides roiled with a combination of desire and fear. She’d succeeded in finally snapping the leash of his control.
He was normally so calm, so together.
But the man staring down at her was neither of those. His eyes were molten, his jaw clenched tight. Every muscle in his body was taut with need. “Last chance, sweetheart,” he gritted out. “Last chance for slow and sweet.”
Any slice of fear faded. This was her Blane, her hot, sexy, unhinged Blane. But he was still there, still hers. She gripped his shoulders, yanked him down.
“Enough slow and sweet,” she said, clamping her teeth onto his earlobe. “I need hard and fast.”
That was it.
A heartbeat later he was inside of her and, fuck, did it feel good.
“Better hang on tight, baby,” he said and thrust deep.
Her head spun, but Mandy did as he said, and she certainly didn’t regret it. Blane stroked in and out in a rhythm that had her nails digging into his shoulders, her moans bordering on screams. He hurtled her to the edge of another orgasm and then . . . arched her back, lifted her hips to meet his.
And exploded.
Or at least, that was what it felt like. Pleasure flowed through her body, and her mind went fuzzy. She was vaguely aware of crying out, of Blane thrusting once, twice more before he shouted her name.
It was a long time before she came back to Earth to find him cradling her against him, his fingers stroking through her hair.
She smiled. “See?” she said, her voice slightly raspy after her verbal accolades of Blane’s skills. “Even after hard and fast, you still bring the sweet.”
His chest shook with laughter.
Mandy stayed pressed against it and lifted her hand, palm up.
Right on cue, Blane high-fived it.
“Go team,” she deadpanned.
He chuckled, lacing his fingers with hers. “Go team.”
Twenty
Blane
* * *
Blane was missing the third movie and trying not to feel salty about it.
So what if it was his favorite of the series? This was more important.
This being waiting in a fragile-looking armchair in the sitting room of Pierre Barie’s office and hoping the owner of the team and current acting GM would be able to see him that evening.
He’d begged off on Mandy’s party, knowing that it was more of a girl’s night than anything and figuring meeting with Pierre was more important.
Life and all its baggage was hard.
The fewer hurdles their relationship needed to clear, the better.
He’d already spoken to Bernard, and obviously Dr. Carter had given his all clear, but he didn’t want any barriers between them.
He wanted Mandy to feel safe in breaking things off with him if necessary.
Not that he planned on letting her go . . . but he also didn’t want to do anything to risk the career she’d worked so hard for.
More than that, he didn’t want her trapped. He wanted her to . . . choose him.
So instead of being with the woman who’d managed to infiltrate every part of his brain, he was at the arena, dodging fans from a pop concert and waiting for Pierre.
His phone buzzed.
Stefan.
We’re coming up now.
Convenient that Pierre was his captain’s father and Stefan had called in a favor from his dad for tickets to the concert fo
r their backup goalie, Spence, and his daughter. It put the very busy Pierre in the arena at the right time.
At this point, Blane would take any advantage he could get.
He shoved his phone back into his pocket and stood, trying not to pace as he waited for Pierre to show up.
The handle turned and the door pushed open. Stefan and Pierre strode into the room.
Show time.
“Blane,” Pierre said. “Good to see you’re up and feeling better. That was quite a hit you took.”
They shook hands.
“Doc and Mandy fixed me right up,” he said, following when Pierre indicated his office. “We’re lucky to have them on staff.”
Stefan hesitated on the threshold, but Blane waved him forward. Anything he was going to tell Pierre, his captain needed to hear as well.
“Hiring Dr. Carter and Amanda is probably the single useful thing the previous owner did,” Pierre said, sitting behind his desk. “But you’re not here to discuss our staffing.”
Blane straightened his shoulders. “Actually, we are.”
Pierre frowned. “Is there an issue? I haven’t heard from your agent—”
“No,” Stefan interrupted. “Hang on, Dad. This isn’t like that. Blane’s here because he wanted to talk to you about something important, and he wanted to do it in person, not through a proxy.”
“Oh yeah?” Pierre’s face went blank. “Is there an issue with our sports medicine staff?”
“No. I mean yes. It’s not—” Shit. He was fucking this up. “I—” Finally, he just blurted out the truth. “I’m in love with Mandy Shallows.”
Stefan raised his eyebrows. Pierre’s expression didn’t change.
Blane prattled on. “We’ve both been avoiding each other for months, trying to ignore it, but I can’t any longer. She means too much. She’s—” He sighed. “She’s everything. I can’t imagine seeing her every day and not being able to be with her. This isn’t a quick fuck because she’s here and convenient. Mandy’s special. She talented, whip-smart. She has us all in the best shape of our career.”
“And if that’s true, why would I risk that for a relationship that might implode any second?” Pierre’s brows drew together, his blue eyes swimming with irritation.
“I wouldn’t if I were in your shoes.” Blane swallowed hard, knowing that this meeting wasn’t going as he’d planned, but knowing he had to keep trying anyway. “But I also know that while this is my job and I love it and I feel so lucky to be playing for this team, hockey isn’t more important than her. If you had to choose between her or me, I’d want you to choose her. Every single time.”
Silence.
Pierre stood and turned to gaze out the window. The bright lights of the city shone through in a mishmash of glittering spots.
Shit.
Because there was no response. Just silence.
Blane opened his mouth, about to continue speaking but Stefan kicked his chair. When he glanced back over his shoulder, Stefan shook his head.
Getting the message, Blane sat silently in the chair and waited.
For several long minutes.
Or an eternity.
That too.
Finally, Pierre sat back down in his chair and folded his fingers together on his desk. “That was the right answer, son.”
Blane relaxed. “Yeah?”
Pierre nodded. “I appreciate you coming to me, that speaks both a lot about your character and also how important Amanda is to you.” He paused, glancing at Stefan before returning his gaze to Blane. “I’ll speak to her, but so long as this is her choice, too, I don’t have a problem with it.”
“And her contract?” he asked. “I believe there’s a clause—”
“My guess is that it’s time for Amanda to get a raise. And a new contract.”
Blane figured that was his cue—to leave, not fist-pump in joy. He stood, extending a hand. “Thank you, Mr. Barie.”
Pierre shook it. “I hope your agent will go easy on your contract’s terms after this.”
“Honestly?” Blane asked. “I don’t think Prestige Media Group has ever gone easy on any negotiation.” He shrugged. “That’s why I hired them.”
Pierre’s lips twitched. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from Devon Carter’s crew.” He winked. “Keep racking up those points, and you won’t have anything to worry about.
“Noted.”
Pierre’s office line rang and he’d barely waved Blane and Stefan off, before snatching it up.
Stefan waited until they’d entered the hall to comment.
“So you love her, huh?”
Blane nodded then waited for the chirp, the joke.
Instead, Stefan just grinned and punched him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the club, brother.”
“I’m screwed, aren’t I?” Blane asked as they rode the elevator down.
“Totally and royally and in the completely best way possible.”
Blane couldn’t do anything but smile . . . and pull out his phone to text Mandy that he missed her.
For once, he didn’t even tease as Stefan pulled out his, presumably to send the same sentiment to Brit.
The buzz in return, the message in return of I can’t wait to see you later, was so much better than the buzz from any goal he had ever scored, no matter how clutch.
He was in love with Mandy.
And it felt fucking fantastic.
Twenty-One
Mandy
* * *
Okay, so the sorting hat cupcakes looked a little . . .
“That’s disturbing,” Brit said, tilting her head.
Mandy tilted her head as well, trying and failing to find an angle the dessert looked appetizing. Maybe it was the globs of black icing or the way it seemed to be slithering off the tops of the cupcakes, but the treats were definitely disturbing.
There was something clearly wrong with the frosting.
As in it was melting.
Why was it melting?
She sighed. “I think the icing was too hot when I added the butter.”
Sara joined them. “Why was the icing hot?”
Mandy swiped a finger of the frosting up and plunked it into her mouth. Then almost spit it out. Gross. Her buttercream had somehow ended up greasy.
“It’s Swiss Meringue buttercream,” she said, making a face. “It’s supposed to be foolproof. You whip egg whites to stiff peaks and heat sugar up to one hundred sixty degrees. Then you add it—” She broke off when her friends stared at her incredulously. “It seemed easy on YouTube.”
“You’re insane,” Brit said.
“We still love you, though,” Sara added.
Brit frowned. “It looks like you tried to murder the Sorting Hat in a vat of acid.”
Mandy swiped the platter of cupcakes from the table and dumped them into the trash. “So what if I did?” she muttered.
Monique, sans Mirabel and Spencer who’d gone to a concert at the Gold Mine, gave Mandy a quick squeeze. “Your broomstick pretzels are super cute, though.”
“Unfortunately they taste horrid,” she said. While tying sour strips around pretzel sticks had definitely given them a broomstick feel, actually eating the combination was a lesson in . . .
Barf.
“They can’t be that bad,” Monique said, plunking one into her mouth before wincing then chewing with the determination of someone who wasn’t willing to spit out a bite of food, no matter how bad.
“Here.” She grabbed the trash can and held it up to Monique’s mouth, who daintily disposed of the offending appetizer.
“Okay, so they’re not good.” She plunked her hands on her hips, gorgeous chocolate curls bobbing with the motion. “Where does that leave us?”
Brit held up her phone. “Movies and DoorDash.”
Mandy knew when to admit defeat. She trashed the pretzels and put on the first movie as Brit ordered a boatload of Indian food.
The doorbell rang, and Sara opened it, letting in PR-Rebecca alon
gside Nutritionist-Rebecca. Greetings were exchanged, wine glasses distributed and filled, and then they’d gorged themselves on PR-Rebecca’s brownies as they’d waited for the delivery guy.
“I know I’m supposed to be encouraging you to fuel your body with super greens and low-fat protein,” Nutritionist-Rebecca said, taking a giant bite of brownie. “But these might be the best things I’ve ever tasted.”
PR-Rebecca waved a hand. “You’ve spent too long eating that crap to know mediocre food when you eat it.
“You’re insane,” Sara said. “I’d swear you put drugs in these brownies.”
They all froze when PR-Rebecca didn’t immediately deny the fact.
“What?” she asked as they stared at her.
“Are these pot brownies?” Brit demanded.
“What?” PR-Rebecca said. “No. Literally, I got the recipe from the Food Network. No leaves in sight—super green or otherwise.”
“I,” Monique said, “for one, don’t care what you put in them so long as you keep bringing them.”
“Agreed,” Mandy chimed in and got up to answer the door when the buzzer rang. She returned, her arms laden with bags of food, to five pairs of eyes studying her closely.
PR-Rebecca raised a brow. “Do you have something to tell me?”
“What? No.”
Except that she was apparently dating Blane.
That he wanted to be boyfriend-girlfriend.
Good grief, that sounded so juvenile.
Surprisingly, it was Nutritionist-Rebecca who outed her. “She’s hiding something. Look at her face.”
Again five pairs of eyes locked onto hers.
Brit squealed and they all winced. “Holy shit, you did it, didn’t you?”
“Did what?” Sara and Monique asked in unison.
PR-Rebecca narrowed her eyes.
“You finally got it on with Blane.”
“Wh—” She shook her head. “I—Why is that any of your business?” Ten brows raised in her direction. “Okay, fine. Blane and I are . . . dating.”
Brit fist pumped.
“Holy shit,” Sara said. “Really? That’s great.”
Monique grinned and even Nutritionist-Rebecca smiled. And she was normally so serious that it was hard to get a read on her. Maybe PR-Rebecca really had spiked those brownies.