“Mmm.”
Her breathing accelerated, her movements jerkier.
“I’m coming…oh damn, ohhhhh…”
I sucked her clit, and she vibrated against me, her hands going to my head and sliding into my hair as she came on my face.
Fuck. She was fucking perfect.
I grabbed her by the waist and lifted her, knifing to sit, tossing her onto her back between my legs. She gasped out a shocked laugh, hair all over the place, and I grabbed a condom, rolled it on, and rose onto my knees. I shoved her thighs apart, and my eyes met hers, which were bright with excitement. We were learning more about each other, in bed and out of it, and in bed Olivia liked things a little edgy.
Which suited me juuuuuuust fine.
I thrust into her creamy pussy, and she immediately clenched around me. I loved that feeling. Holding her gaze, I lifted one of her legs and wrapped an arm around it to steady her as I drove into her, not holding anything back. Her tits bounced, and I fucking loved that too, loved the flush that stained her chest and her cheeks. She hated the way she got all “blotchy” from an orgasm, but I thought it was sexy as hell.
“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Harder.”
“Oh, hell yeah.”
Our bodies met in wet slaps, my balls hitting her ass. Sensation burned and twisted through my body, electricity flashing over every nerve ending. My balls tightened, and my skin tingled with waves of unbelievable pleasure as my body roared to its climax.
I collapsed on top of her, panting, sweaty, and delirious. After a moment, I pulled out and rolled off her, stretching out on my back. We were upside down on the bed, and the covers were missing, but oh well. “Wow.”
“Mmm.”
“Is my sweet little pussy okay? That was kinda rough.”
“Your pussy?” She lifted her head and glared at me. “Excuse me?”
I smirked. “I licked it so it’s mine.”
After a startled beat, she dropped her head back to the mattress and laughed. “Oh my God.”
“Isn’t that how things work?”
“You’re crazy.”
“Yeah, but I’m a hockey player, so people overlook that.”
“Not to mention full of yourself.”
I pushed up onto one elbow and smiled down at her. “Yep. And admit it…you like being full of me too.”
She rolled her head, a smile breaking free. I loved making her smile.
Chapter 14
Cam
Olivia and I were on another date, but this was one she’d planned, just the two of us, a Saturday exploring hidden history in Chicago. And it was really cool.
First, we’d gone to stand in the spot where the Chicago Cubs had won the World Series way back in 1908, hidden away between some buildings in a little park. Olivia pointed out where home plate had been, and I pictured the old diamond. Then we went to the last wood block street in Chicago. It was an alley, really, in the Astor Street District. Olivia explained that before the Great Chicago Fire in 1871, the streets had all been paved with wood blocks and covered with tar, which led to the story that the streets had literally been burning during the fire.
We left there, and as we drove to our next destination, the Chicago Theatre, Olivia told me the story of the fire. “And Mrs. O’Leary’s cow didn’t really start the fire,” she chatted. “That’s a legend, but the reality is the city was just waiting to catch fire, constructed all of wood—even the streets and the sidewalks—buildings all close together, and it had been so dry. After that, wooden construction was prohibited in Chicago, but that was a good thing because in the reconstruction, architects created some of the world’s first skyscrapers. The city grew really fast after that and became a major economic and transportation hub.”
“You should be a tour guide.”
“I was a tour guide.” She smiled smugly. “I used to work summers on one of the tour boats on the river. Sometime we should go on one of those cruises, and I can give you a personalized architecture spiel. It’s quite fascinating.”
I would never have thought history and architecture could be fascinating, but I’d listen to Olivia talk about it all damn day.
We parked in the Loop and walked down North State Street. The colorful marquee of the famous theater was visible ahead. Olivia stopped us on the sidewalk on the other side of the street and pointed at the marquee.
“See, right in the middle…where the C is? There’s a circle…and a Y in it.”
I sought it out and nodded. “Yep.”
“That symbol is called a municipal device. The Y represents the three branches of the Chicago River. Keep that in mind.”
I grinned, shaking my head. “Okay.”
“Now, we walk.”
She led the way down North State. The sun sank lower in the clear blue sky in the late afternoon, the air cooling. As we crossed a street, Olivia’s head was down, and then she stopped dead. “Ah ha!” She pointed at the road.
“What?”
“Look at the manhole cover.”
I peered at it and, damn, right in the middle was that symbol…the circle with the Y in it. I lifted my head and grinned at her. She beamed back at me. “They’re all over. Let’s keep walking.”
She spotted one on a traffic box, and then I noticed one on a lamppost. She laughed with delight. “Now that I’ve opened your eyes, you’ll see them everywhere.”
“That’s so cool.”
We turned the corner and kept walking until we were in front of a big old building.
“This is the Chicago Cultural Center. I love this building.” She said it with such wistful passion, I felt it in my gut. “We’ll go inside, but first we have to look at the bull.” She gestured to the big bronze statue. “You haven’t seen this already, have you?”
“I’m ashamed to say that I’m seeing parts of the city I had no idea existed.” I followed her to the bull. “Nice bull.”
She grinned. “And so many people walk right by it without noticing the hidden secrets.”
She fucking delighted me. “Does he have big balls?”
She choked on a laugh. “Um, I don’t know about that. He was a gift to Chicago after hosting a community-based public art project. But most people don’t notice the famous landmarks in the bull’s eyes.” She pointed to one. “That’s the Water Tower, which survived the 1871 fires.” She glanced at me. “You know the Water Tower, right?”
“Yeah. It’s near Play, where we went on our first date.”
“Yes!”
I squinted at the sculpture. “I know I have a dirty mind, but it kind of looks…phallic.”
She bit her lip, looking from the statue back to me through her eyelashes. “Actually, it does. Geez, you’re a bad influence.”
“I totally am. And you love it.” I grabbed her and gave her a squeeze, lifting her off her feet.
She giggled breathlessly. “The other eye is the Chicago Picasso sculpture. We can pass by that sculpture when we walk back to the car. But first…the Cultural Center.” She led me into the building. “This building used to be the Chicago Public Library, but now hosts all kinds of events. A lot of people get married here, although I’ve never been to a wedding here. I can imagine how beautiful it would be.”
She stopped in the big lobby with a hand up. “Hang on.”
I lifted my eyebrows.
“What do you see?”
I frowned and looked around. In front of us was a wide staircase that split right and left at the top. I took in the intricate mosaic above us, golden lighting and arched windows.
“Come on.” She nudged me with her shoulder. “Look.”
“Uh…”
“Okay, I’ll tell you. Look at the stairs.” She gestured with her hands, palms together, in an upwa
rd motion, then split them like the stairs. “A Y shape.”
“Holy shit.” I stared at the staircase. She was right. It was a giant Y. I grinned. “That’s amazing.”
She smiled back at me. “And look above.” She pointed to the mosaic and sure enough, right above the staircase was the symbol again.
We started to climb the big staircase, both of us gazing all around.
“The architectural style is beaux arts, which uses all these gorgeous decorative materials—carved stone, marble, glass, and hand painting.”
She showed me the Tiffany dome and the Carrara marble. We wandered to the big arched windows overlooking Michigan Street. There were chairs set up there, and we sat and for a moment took in the quiet, elegant grandeur. It was an old building, but I had to admit it was amazing.
“Why do you love history so much?” I asked.
“Oh. I don’t really know. My teenage years were kind of crappy. I mentioned that before…not fitting in with my family, not feeling like I fit in anywhere. Other than with Paisley. I escaped a lot into fiction. I read tons of historical romances—actually, I still love them—and they made me want to know more about history. I used to go to the Art Institute and the Chicago History Museum. Stories about the Great Fire and Al Capone caught my interest, and I started reading about the history of Chicago. And I discovered all these cool places with little bits of history.”
She paused and tipped her head back. “History teaches us so much about others. And about ourselves. R. G. Collingwood said that studying the past teaches us three things: what it is to be a man—or a woman; what it is to be the kind of woman you are; and what it is to be the kind of woman you are and nobody else.”
“Hmmm.” I didn’t know who the hell R. G. Collingwood was, but I eyed her with a deep fascination. “And what have you learned about yourself from history? And the kind of woman you are?”
“Well.” She gave me a sideways, shy glance. “One thing I learned is that heroes don’t always wear capes.”
I laughed softly. “That’s true.”
“I’m not a hero,” she continued, ducking her head, hair falling over her face. “But I can do good in the world, even if it’s just helping a few kids be healthier.”
“Also true.”
“I learned that some people are late bloomers, which took pressure off me. The world is full of child prodigies, and I grew up with a bunch of overachievers.”
She’d mentioned this before, about not feeling like she could ever live up to her family’s expectations.
“But there are lot of stories in history about people who never made it until later in life. And I also learned that big things can start small. Look what throwing some tea into Boston Harbor led to.”
I nodded thoughtfully.
“So my little nonprofit is a start.” She sighed. “Sometimes I still feel the pressure to succeed in a bigger way, especially around my family. But I keep reminding myself that I am succeeding, in my own way.”
“Those are some pretty good life lessons.”
She smiled. “I think so. I know people think of history as boring, but when you can make it real and relate it to your own life, it’s amazing. You never know where you’ll be in the future. When we start our careers or our personal journeys, the possibilities are endless…and the only thing that guarantees we won’t live our dreams is if we give up on them before we even try.”
I thought about that for a moment. “Yeah. I can relate to that.”
“You had a dream.”
“Yeah.” I touched my fingertips to her face. “Not gonna lie. There were times I wanted to give up. Times I wondered if I’d ever be good enough. And…” I stopped.
“What?”
“It’s not over,” I said quietly. “I got to play in the NHL. Now I’ve got my sights set on the Stanley Cup. I want that.” I pulled air into my lungs. “Thanks for the reminder about how important it is to keep going.”
“It’s a good reminder for me too. We’ve had some setbacks lately, and I hate to think that my dream might die. So I keep going.”
“Of course you do.” I slid my arm around her shoulders, pulled her close, and kissed her temple. “Because you’re amazing.”
“Aw. Thank you.” She tipped her head and met my eyes. “I think you’re pretty amazing too.”
“Except, what I do is just a game. Somehow, when I sit in a place like this and think of what went into designing it and building it and that it’s still here and still so beautiful after all these years…what I do doesn’t seem very important.”
“That’s not the lesson you’re supposed to take from this!” She looked genuinely dismayed. “Look how important what you do is to so many people! All the people at those games cheering you on. All the people who stop and ask for your autograph, or to have a picture taken with you. Look how happy you make them.”
“And how pissed off they are when we lose,” I said dryly, only too aware of the frustration diehard fans could feel when things weren’t going well.
“That’s because they care so much.”
“Yeah, I guess. Actually…” I paused, thinking. “One of the reasons the Stanley Cup is such a great prize is because of the history of it. The Cup has been around longer than the league itself.”
“Really? How can that be?” She watched me with warmth in her eyes, a smile tipping her lips.
I was kind of proud that I knew this bit of history. “Lord Stanley was appointed by Queen Victoria as governor of Canada in 1888. He became a hockey fan, and when his sons started playing, he got involved and helped form the Ontario Hockey Association. His sons convinced him to donate a trophy. Originally, it was for the best team in the amateur hockey league, but eventually became the ultimate prize in the NHL.”
She nudged me. “Look at you talking history.”
I grinned. “Right? The Stanley Cup is one of the only sports trophies that gets passed on every year—there isn’t a new trophy each season. And every winner’s name gets engraved on it. To get to have your name on it along with all those others, some of the greatest players in the world…to hold that history in your hands and be a part of it…that’s an amazing thing. Every kid who plays hockey sets that as their goal—to win and be a champion—but not everybody will ever do that. I want to hold all that history in my hands and be a part of it. And this year…we have to do it.”
I felt weird confessing my deepest dreams out loud, but somehow I knew Olivia, with her love of history, would totally get it.
“But it doesn’t have to be this year. You have lots of years left to play.”
“It’s not that.” I shook my head. “Right now, our team is playing great. We have so much chemistry…when we’re playing our best, we can beat anyone. We have beaten every team. But next year, our team is probably going to look completely different.”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “Why?”
“Well, Rupper’s probably going to retire. He says that every year, but I think this year is it for him. He and Sidney are opening another bar. Hallsy might retire too.” I lifted my shoulders. “Plus, we have a bunch of guys who are free agents after this season—Bomber. Nicky. Chaser. Me.” I flashed a wry smile. “Chaser is likely going to get a huge raise. He’s been playing unbelievably well this year. Probably trying to make up for last year when he was playing hurt all year. Bomber is likely going to get a big raise too. My agent hasn’t started talking with team management yet, but I’ll be looking for more money. And there are the guys whose contracts expire after the end of next year—especially Army and Duper. They’re the core of the team, and if they want to keep those guys, it’s going to cost them money. Or…maybe they’ll decide to let them go and start rebuilding with younger players.”
“Ouch.”
“It’s a business. But yea
h, I know what you mean. Also Cooch—that’s Steve Couture—we picked him up at the trade deadline because we wanted to add some depth for a playoff run. He fit right in with the team and contributes a ton. It would be great to keep him, but he’s an unrestricted free agent after this year and it will cost big bucks to keep him. The fact is, with the salary cap, we won’t be able to keep all those guys.” My chest tightened thinking about it, even though I was pretty good at living in the moment. “There’s a real feeling that we have a unique opportunity this year with a team they’ll never be able to afford again.”
“I don’t understand the salary cap.”
“It’s complicated,” I admitted. “Basically, there’s a ceiling on how much money teams can pay for players’ salaries. It changes every year, and there are a bunch of rules.”
“If there’s a ceiling, is there a floor?”
I smiled. “Yeah, there is, actually. Nobody would do it, but it prevents teams from intentionally tanking. Which affects their draft picks.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway, with that in place, the team has to figure out how much it can afford to pay everyone, now and coming up. If they don’t offer a good enough deal, players could leave. And if the team is willing to pay enough to keep some players, they might not be able to keep others.”
She eyed me thoughtfully, nodding. “I see. I guess I understand why you feel it has to be this year.”
“I’m not saying we couldn’t ever win again. But it could be a whole different team next year, depending on decisions management makes. Don’t think it’s just about that though. I want to win, and I know I may have other chances. I’m just grateful I get to play hockey for a living. I know how lucky I am that I get paid a lot of money to play a sport I love.”
“I like that about you. I mean, you can be kind of an ass, but you’re not an asshole.”
I tipped my head, my lips twitching. “Wow. Not sure if that’s a compliment. Kind of backhanded.”
“Oh hey—you want backhanded compliments? You have to meet my sister. She’s the master of backhanded compliments.”
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