by Avery Flynn
“Are you saying you’re only good with your hands?” she asked.
He dipped his head lower until his lips nearly brushed the shell of her ear. “You know that isn’t true.”
Desire, hot and needy, made her breath catch. “Why don’t you remind me?”
He took a step back. It was only a few inches but it felt like miles.
“You sure about this?” he asked, his body tense and hard, the outline of his thickening cock visible against the soft bottom of his joggers. “I can leave right now.”
One last night. One final time. That’s all this would be. It’s all it could be. She’d pretend that was enough.
“We’re not in Harbor City.” She closed the distance between them. “Everyone knows that being outside of your own zip code doesn’t count.”
And she kissed him.
…
Ian took his hands out of his pockets.
There was no way he could leave without touching Shelby. The cotton of her tank top was a thin barrier between them, but it was still too much. He needed more. He needed her.
As if reading his mind—or as desperate as he was—she broke the kiss to take off her tank. After that, it was like they’d flipped a switch. Clothes went flying as they raced to get rid of it all, the need to touch bare skin, to kiss and lick and nip every inch overwhelming anything else.
Deepening the kiss, he skimmed his hands down her sides, gliding over the swell of her hips before cupping her ass and lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around him. Her fingers in his hair, pulling and demanding more. He trailed his lips down her neck, pulling her closer against him so he could better fit his cock against her.
“God, you feel so good.” He squeezed her ass, watching as she bit down on her lip, the move drawing his attention to that lush mouth of hers.
“I want to feel you,” she said, her voice husky with want. “But you need to put me down.”
He hated to let her go, but telling her no was an impossibility. “Touch away,” he said after he lowered her feet to the floor but let his fingers linger on her hips.
Then she did the last thing he expected: She let go. “Hands on the wall.”
He had a half second of hesitation before he did exactly as she wanted.
Palms pressed against the wall, he let out a tortured groan the second she wrapped her long fingers around his cock and started to stroke.
She paused. “Too tight?”
“Too good.”
She smiled up at him. “Let’s see if there’s room for improvement anyway.”
She slid her hand down to the base of his cock and sucked the head into her mouth. Jesus. It was soft and hard, wet and dry, slick and steady all in one instant. It was more pleasure than his brain could process, but there was no way in the world he was going to tell her to stop or slow down or anything at all—not in any small part because forming words was beyond his abilities right now. Up and down, in and out, over and over until his dick was so hard and wet and ready for more that he was grounding his molars together to keep from coming.
She wasn’t done with him, though. Her free hand cupped his balls, squeezing and rolling them with just enough power to take it even higher. Then she stroked a finger over the sensitive spot behind his balls at the same time that she took him in her mouth all the way to the back of her throat. He clenched his eyes shut and used every ounce of willpower he had to stay on the edge instead of spilling over. Hands curled into fists of desperation, he kept his knuckles pressed to the wall and teetered as she did something with her tongue that he didn’t have the vocabulary to describe but fucking A, did it feel good.
Too good, unless he wanted his part in this to be over too soon.
“Shelby,” he said, barely getting her name out.
She stopped and looked up, her eyes wide and her lips wet from sucking him. “You want something else?”
“I want it all.” He’d never said something truer in his life.
He reached down and pulled her up so she was standing, her legs spread wide and her back against the wall. Damn, she was beautiful. Unable to not give in to temptation, he took a step back and looked his fill, gripping his dick hard at the base to alleviate some of the pressure.
She smoothed her hands over her curves. “You like what you see?”
“I love what I’m about to taste.”
He went to his knees in front of her and buried his face in her sweet pussy. She was slick and ready for him. Hands on the inside of her strong thighs, he explored her with his tongue, tasting her desire, and she moaned and rocked against his face. Oh yeah, his Shelby wanted what he could give her.
Looking up at her as he leaned back on his heels and circled her clit with his thumb, he savored having her on his lips. “So very good, aren’t you?”
“Ian,” she said, her voice getting breathy. “Don’t play with me.”
“You don’t want me to go slow and take my time?” Was he being an ass? Absolutely.
“No.”
“What do you want, Shelby?”
She let out a desperate moan. “You know.”
“Say it.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to take the time to explore her. God, did he. However, there was something about seeing her demand what she wanted, pull in control, and take it that he was desperate to see.
“I want to come.” She rotated her hips as if she couldn’t help but move like she wanted to be touched. “I need it.”
“Are you gonna ride my face?”
She got a look in her eyes—bright and intense—as she exhaled a shaky breath. “Yes.”
“Are you going to use my mouth to get off?” He took her hand, moving it over his lips, sucking on her fingertips as he did.
“Yes.”
“Then do it.” And he leaned forward, tongue pressing to her clit and his fingers slowly circling her entrance.
She didn’t take it easy on him, and he loved it. Fingers in his hair, she steered him where she wanted him, urging him to go harder, faster, slower, softer as she rocked against his mouth until she let out a cry and came on his lips.
…
With her back against the wall and her thighs shaking, Shelby tried to catch her breath. Good God. How in the hell was she still upright?
Ian stood up in front of her and leaned in, kissing her with a possessive intensity that had her body aching for him. The bed was too damn far. That chair over there, though. That was an option.
Without hesitating, she dipped underneath his arms and walked to the club chair. Giving him a sassy look, she winked and then bent over the back of the chair, keeping her legs spread.
“Fuck,” Ian said, the single word sounding more like a prayer than a curse. “I could look at you spread out like this for me all night.”
She looked back and gave him a mock glare. “Don’t you dare.”
“You’re done waiting, huh?” he asked, obviously teasing her as he rolled on a condom while crossing to her. “I know the feeling.” He slid the tip of his dick over her slick core. “Damn, baby. I love the sight of this. The feel of you. Everything. I love it all.”
It wa just the high of the moment, she knew that, but still it would be easy to believe he meant more because the truth was she wanted it to.
He liked her.
She was falling for him.
Before the potential impact of that important distinction could hit, though, Ian sank into her, pushing away everything except for how he made her feel. Hands on her hips, he squeezed just enough to anchor her to him as he slid in and out of her, going a little bit deeper each time until she was filled with him. Already primed by her first orgasm, her body responded to the rhythm they set together. After each stroke forward, he pulled her back against him as he pistoned in and out of her, hard, demanding, just what she needed. This wasn’t about making love.
It wasn’t about release. This was desperation and need and knowing that no matter how much she got, it wouldn’t be enough. She wasn’t sure it ever could be. When it came to Ian Petrov, she didn’t want now—she wanted forever.
“Fuck, baby. So damn good.” He reached a hand around the front of her waist and slipped two fingers between her legs. “I want to feel you come around my dick.”
With the way he was circling her clit, that wasn’t going to be a problem.
“That’s it. Rock against me. Show me what you want.”
She arched her back, changing the angle enough so that his cock rubbed against her entrance at just the right spot. Her thighs quivered as she tensed, her climax tightening into a ball of energy until it exploded, her orgasm slamming into her.
Ian’s grip tightened as she rode the wave of pleasure and he pumped into her once, twice more before burying himself as deep as he could and coming hard.
As they sank to the floor, sated, exhausted, both still floating a bit, Shelby blocked out that little voice that was already starting to whisper evil nothings in her ear. It was just the one last time. It may have meant more to her than to him, but that was okay. It wasn’t like a relationship between the two of them could work out. They’d both worked too hard to get to where they wanted to be in the hockey world to lose it all now.
“Stop thinking so loud.” He dropped the used condom in the nearby trash can and then scooped her up and carried her to the bed. “Nap first. Round two second.”
She loved the sound of that, but it probably wasn’t the best plan of action. “Who said you could stay the night?”
He sat down on the bed with her, pulling the covers up over her. “Do you want me to go?”
Ignoring the warning siren blaring in her head, she told the truth. “No.”
He smiled and tucked an arm around her waist, pulling her in snugly against him. “Good.”
Unlike at the cabin, Ian was out in minutes while she stared at the ceiling for an hour wondering what was going to happen next before finally drifting off without any answers about what was going to happen next.
Chapter Fourteen
Shelby was in a world of shit. She was smelling a hotel pillow. Also, she was wearing the hoodie Ian had left behind when he’d hurried out of her room shortly after dawn. Okay, shortly after round three and right before the team’s morning skate.
After finally setting the pillow aside, she reached for a leftover room service chocolate croissant and scrolled through the morning hockey headlines on her phone. Maybe there was some sort of My Strange Addiction episode she should apply to be on—pillow sniffers anonymous. That had to rank right up there with the one about the people who ate their own couch cushions.
A text notification popped up on her screen accompanied by a picture of a sparkling emerald green Mustang Shelby GT350 with a crisp white racing stripe down the middle of the hood.
Roger: How’s my favorite mustang?
Shelby: Purring like I’ve just pulled onto the straightaway.
Damn, it was the truth. Who knew orgasms and midnight room service could do that for a woman?
Roger: That’s what I like to hear. Any trouble finding those meetings on the road?
Shelby: Smooth sailing.
She’d gone to a church basement meeting in Denver and another in Vegas. Both had the same bad coffee and stomach-settling coming-home feeling. Even after six years, that sense never went away. Meetings may not always be a comfortable place, but they were always a safe place.
Roger: And the rest of things? Job?
Shelby: Job’s good. The rest? My head’s above water.
She wasn’t about to explain the mess that was whatever it was with her and Ian to her sponsor. She loved Roger, but she really needed to get better girlfriends. Talking about sexy times with him really just felt all sorts of wrong.
Roger: Do you need to hop on the phone?
Shelby: I’m good, thanks, Dad.
Roger: I’d be a lucky guy if that were the case.
Shelby: You’re a softie.
Not that anyone would guess it from looking at him. Wiry. Flinty. More likely to yell at someone to get off his lawn than buy Girl Scout cookies? Yeah, that was her sponsor. But underneath it all? Total teddy bear. Sorta like someone else she knew.
Roger: You back tonight?
Shelby: Yep.
Roger: Let’s meet up for diner milkshakes later on in the week.
Shelby: So you can make faces when I dip my fries into my chocolate shake?
Roger: It’s our tradition. Text when you get back to the city.
After sending a goodbye text, she did not take one more sniff of the pillow that smelled like Ian—okay, an extra-deep inhale, but that didn’t count—and got in the shower. Then she headed out of her room for the rink and the afternoon face-off. It wasn’t until her alerts dinged on her cell phone that she checked the latest hockey news again. When she did, her belly dropped faster than an elevator with its ropes cut.
Daddy Petrov In Vancouver to Watch His Boys?
There wasn’t much of a story to go with the headline beyond a short clip of David Petrov standing outside the Vancouver arena signing autographs and giving the reporter a curt “no comment” when asked about his sons. Her gut sank anyway. David the Great was in Vancouver. This was not going to end well. Not even a little.
…
It was the first question a reporter asked Ian about in the post-game interviews. Not about Stuckey’s massive hit on Eggleton. Not about Christensen’s breakaway goal. Not about Blackburn’s call to arms in the locker room before they came out in the third period and came back from a three-to-one deficit to win in a shootout. No. The first thing everyone wanted to know about was what the great David Petrov had said about the game.
Ian exhaled a deep breath and the locks went down one by one. Click. Click. Click. “I haven’t talked to him.”
“Your dad rarely comes to games. Do you know why he is here tonight?” One of the reporters shoved an iPhone in Ian’s face. “Have you guys cleared the air? Seems like you and your brother have mended fences.”
“I’ll talk about the game.” Ian looked around at the locker room. Players were mostly dressed, packing up their stuff, and the vibe was good. Winning did that for a team. “Any questions there?”
“Oh, come on,” another reporter called out. “You gotta give us something.”
He could practically hear the metal whine as those mental locks were tested. The cool was his thing. He’d always done it. Cold. Unemotional. Robotic. But a man could only take that for so long. Eventually, the screws holding the locks in place would get stripped and break free. Then all hell was going to break lose.
That couldn’t happen, but the urge was there, dark and growing.
But before it could explode, Christensen appeared by his side out of nowhere, dressed but still dripping from the shower. He slung his arm around Ian’s shoulders as the cameras zoomed in on the first public showing of brotherly love.
“He gave you one helluva game,” Christensen said, his tone friendly and open. “If it hadn’t been for his perfect pass, I wouldn’t have been able to make it down the ice for that breakaway.”
One of the TV reporters asked, “Have you talked to your dad?”
Ian tensed, unease swirling in his gut like radioactive battery acid.
Christensen snorted. “Not since I took some very bad advice from him.” He jerked his chin over to where Lucy stood shooting electric dirty looks toward the scrum of reporters surrounding them. “Now, it looks like Lucy is calling you guys over. Trust me, she is not a woman you ever want to ignore.”
The reporters let out a collective groan and turned like a group of fourth graders headed to the principal’s office.
The farther they moved away, the more the muscles in his shoulder loosen
ed. “Thanks, man,” he said to Christensen.
His brother grinned. “Let’s go get on the bus before we’re stuck with the shitty seats.”
They walked out of the locker room and down the hall leading to the parking garage. They made it a third of the way through before a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.
“My boys together,” David Petrov said, looking at the two of them as if they’d welcome him with open arms. “This is quite the sight.”
“Why are you here?” Ian asked, not bothering to pretend to make it sound pleasant.
Dave gave them an easy grin. It was like seeing Christensen’s smile out of an older version of Ian’s own face. “Fucking creepy” didn’t even begin to cover it. Nor how he never noticed it before.
“I wanted to talk,” he said.
Of course.
Ian cut a glance at Christensen, who rolled his eyes. At least they were on the same play. This wasn’t about anything other than what David Petrov wanted at the moment. How fucking typical.
Christensen crossed his arms. “So say what you need to say.”
“How about if we go grab some food or something? I can get you to the airport instead of you having to take the team bus.” He took a few steps away, as if they were going to follow him. “I was always starving after a game.”
Neither Ian nor Christensen moved.
“I’m fine,” Ian said.
His brother nodded. “Me too.”
David’s steps stilled and he turned, the dear-old-dad easiness gone from his stance, and he pointed at the two of them. “Look, I know you’re upset, but we’re a team. You two have to move past what happened before.”
Ian and Christensen looked at each other.
Christensen raised an eyebrow: The fuck?
Ian tilted his head to the left: Fuck if I know.
Christensen rolled his eyes: What a dick.
Ian snorted: Agreed.
Conversation complete, Ian dead-eye stared at their dad. “How are we a team?”
“You’re my boys.”
As if that made a difference.