Game Misconduct_A Baltimore Banners Hockey Romance

by Lisa B. Kamps

  And he'd spent the last eight years since then searching for himself, only to find what he'd been missing right here. With her.

  Always with her.

  He rolled to his feet, leaned down and grabbed her hands, tugging until she could stand. She grinned and shimmied out of her jeans, kicking them away before grabbing his hand and leading him down the hall.

  Toward his bedroom.

  He needed to tell her no, needed to tell he she'd misunderstood. They had gone too far already. They couldn't go any further, not without—

  But it was too late. It had always been too late.

  She grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, ran her hands across his chest. Feeling, touching. Learning. Lower, lower still, until she pushed the shorts from his hips and down his legs. Her hand closed over his cock, stroking him. Long and sure. Up and down, her thumb twirling the spot of dampness beading at the end.

  Corbin clenched his jaw, threw his head back and sucked in deep breaths. Willing his lungs to fill. Willing his control not to snap.

  Then her hand was gone, moving from his cock to his arm, tugging. One step. Two. Not stopping until they reached his bed. She tugged once more and they were falling, falling until her back hit the mattress, until her legs wrapped around him and her hips arched against his. Searching. Demanding.

  Corbin swore softly, rolling off her a second before he slid his cock into her welcoming heat. He heard her sigh of disappointment, swallowed back his own short laugh of frustration before turning his head to the side and looking at her.

  "We can't. I—I don't have any condoms."

  She watched him for a long second, a glimmer in her eyes that he didn't understand. The she rolled off the bed and disappeared from the room, returning a few minutes later with something in her hand.

  Not something. Some things. She tossed the handful of foil wrappers on the bed next to him, keeping one in her hand. She tore it open, her playful gaze never leaving his as she rolled the condom down his throbbing length. Teasing.

  Promising.

  "I didn't want to take any chances."

  He opened his mouth, not sure what to say. Then it didn't matter because she was kissing him again, pulling him with her as she rolled to her back.

  Crying his name when he finally slid into her, losing himself once and for all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lori snuggled deeper against the warmth pressed along her back. Solid, reassuring. Her eyes fluttered open, her breath escaping in a short gasp as she struggled to find her bearings.

  A strong arm tightened around her waist as whispered words brushed against her ear. She sighed and leaned back, resting against Corbin's chest, soaking in the feel of him.

  Hard. Strong. Hot.

  It wasn't a dream. She still couldn't believe it. After all these years, after all the fantasies she had secretly harbored, it was no longer a dream. Corbin...and her. Together. Finally.

  And it was every bit as sinfully delicious as she had hoped. More, even. His hard body, honed from years of playing hockey. His intense focus, honed from years of being a goalie. How quickly he had learned her body. Where to touch, where to kiss. Exactly the right pressure to apply. A light caress there, a harder touch there. Over and over, until she was certain he knew her body better than she did.

  Even now, with his fingers caressing her chest, teasing her nipples into hard peaks of need. The way he brushed gentle kisses along her neck, stopping long enough to nip the tendon where her neck and shoulder met. A thousand tingles exploded inside her, pebbling her skin and making her moan.

  She tried to roll to the side but was stopped by his body. He murmured something, low and soft, something she couldn't understand. French, she thought. How many times had he lapsed back into French tonight? Too many. Enough that she wished she had kept up with trying to learn the language, even after he had left.

  But there had been no need to, not then. And not now, not when his body was communicating without words.

  She closed her eyes, rested her head against him as his fingers teased their way across her stomach. Each touch tender, soft, hinting at what was to come as his hand moved lower. Lower still, until he stroked between her legs. And God, she was already wet. Swollen. Ready. That fast, just for him.

  She sighed, bit back a gasp as he pulled her leg over his thigh, opening her to his touch. Stroking her, over and over, her hips rocking as she searched for release once more.

  He reached up, grabbed her hand and tugged, finally settling it against between her aching legs.

  "Let me watch you. Let me hear you."

  And oh God, just his voice was enough to send her over the edge. Low and throaty, husky. Filled with need. She slid her finger along her clit, lower, sliding it inside her wet opening. Slick. Hot. In and out, deeper, her hips rocking against the palm of her hand. She moaned, slid her finger over her clit, stroking. Harder. Faster. Corbin reached around her, his hand sliding against hers as he spread her flesh apart, opening her even more. He rocked behind her, the hard length of his cock sliding between the cheeks of her ass.

  She bit down on her lip, tried to swallow back her moans as her muscles tightened. Too soon. Too fast. Not yet, not without him inside her—

  "Let me hear you, ma cocotte. Let me see you as you pleasure yourself."

  She twisted her head to the side, blindly searching for him, but it was too late. Her body was betraying her, giving itself over to Corbin's throaty demands. She tensed, bit down on her lip, fighting what she knew was coming. And then it was too late. Muscles tightened, coiling, drawing taut. Tighter. Tighter still until her body exploded, until wave after wave of euphoria crashed over her. Lifting her higher, only to crash over her once more. Again and again, until she could do nothing more than fight to breathe.

  Seconds went by. Maybe minutes. She felt Corbin shift behind her, heard the rustle of foil tearing open, felt his hand against her bottom as he sheathed himself in the condom.

  That same hand grabbed her leg, draped it higher along his thigh as he slid into her from behind. Stretching her. Filling her, until there was nothing but him. And her. Them. Together.

  And oh God, it was too much. He was too thick, his thrusts too deep. It was too soon, her flesh was still too tender, too sensitive. It didn't matter, he kept thrusting. Slow. Deep. Deeper still, touching the edge of her soul.

  She reached behind her, digging her nails into the hard muscle of his thigh as he pumped himself into her. Harder. Faster. Deeper, so deep, pushing past the last protective barrier of her soul. Her body exploded again, shards of white hot fire searing her, burning her lids, licking her skin, devouring her very essence. Over and over, until she could no longer tell where her soul ended and Corbin's began.

  She tightened her grip on Corbin's leg, searching for an anchor before she was swept away and lost entirely. She gasped, struggling for air as Corbin's hips pumped even faster. Until his body tensed, until his own strangled cry of release echoed around them.

  Her body floated back to her, settled around her shattered essence once more. But she was different now, oddly aware of the clear delineation between then and now. There shouldn't be a difference, she knew that on some visceral level that made no sense. Just as she knew this was nothing more than her vivid imagination, a passing fancy or whimsy that she would laugh at in the morning.

  Corbin shifted behind her, the large bed jostling under his weight as he rolled off the other side. She watched him, her eyes drinking in the hard planes and shadowed dips of his sculpted body as he walked away, heading toward the bathroom. She heard the sounds of him cleaning up, of the toilet flushing and the water running. Imagined the sight of him as he splashed water over his face, as he reached for a towel and ran it across his strong jaw and bare chest. Imagined a single drop of water, sliding down the sculpted planes of hard abs—

  She rolled to her stomach and planted her face in the pillow, smothering her sigh of frustration. How could she want him again so
soon? Her body couldn't possibly be ready. She was too tender, too sore from their previous bouts of lovemaking.

  Yes, her mind was well aware of that, but her body definitely had other ideas.

  She rolled to her back, blew out a sigh, and stared at the dark ceiling. She was a fool, wishing for more than tonight. Hoping for more nights. For weeks and months and years. She needed to push those hopes away, lock them back up where they had been hiding for the last ten years, ever since the first day she had met Corbin and shyly asked him to join her for coffee.

  No, she couldn't plan on anything beyond tonight, no matter how much she wanted otherwise. She had seen the look in his eyes earlier, knew he had been so close to asking her to leave.

  Why, she didn't know. Out of some sense of responsibility or guilt, maybe. Or maybe it had something to do with her uncle. Or even with the events of the last week. Maybe all of the above, or for reasons she still didn't know.

  Or maybe, God help her, he still thought of her as that teenager from all those years. As the kid he had to watch himself around, always holding back.

  She gasped, then clamped a hand over her mouth to stop the ridiculous giggle burbling in her throat. Good God, please no. There was no way he could still think of her as a kid, not after everything they'd done tonight.

  "Am I missing something amusing?"

  Lori turned her head, her eyes raking him from top to bottom, pausing to rest and look her fill at everything in between. Her gaze finally met his and she had to suck in a few deep breaths to contain the incongruous giggle before she finally pulled the hand away from her mouth.

  She pushed up on her elbow, smiling when his hungry gaze dipped to her bare chest. "Do you still think of me as a kid?"

  His gaze shot back to hers, horrified. He shook his head, a rapid stream of French spilling from his mouth. He finally stopped, took a deep breath, shook his head again. And then more French fell from his mouth, not quite as hurried as before, but the tone still the same: confused, horrified. Stunned.

  "I'll take that as a no, then." She rolled onto her side and patted the mattress beside her. "Are you going to translate that for me?"

  "Non. Absolutely not. It is nothing you need to hear. I should be ashamed for even speaking like that in front of you, eh?"

  "Even if I don't understand?"

  "It does not matter, ma cocotte. I know better."

  "Hm." She slid over, making room for him as he stretched out beside her and pulled the covers over them. So he wasn't kicking her out yet. That was a good sign, right?

  "Do you know that your accent comes and goes depending on your mood?"

  "What? No, you must be hearing things."

  "I'm being serious. Sometimes you barely have one at all. And other times, it's so thick I can't be sure if you're speaking English or French or something else entirely."

  He raised his brows, watching her with the barest of smiles. "I'll do better to speak more clearly from now on."

  He dragged out each word, pronouncing them clearly and individually—without a trace of accent in his voice. She rolled her eyes then playfully swatted him in the chest, then held her breath when he reached for her hand and curled his fingers around hers.

  And held her hand in place, just above his heart.

  Don't read into it. Don't read into it.

  She repeated the words to herself, over and over. Reminding herself to keep it light, reminding herself not to talk about anything serious.

  "Don't do that. I happen to like your accent."

  "Is that so?"

  "Mm-hmm. I even like when you speak French, even if I don't understand a word of it."

  "You understand some of it."

  "No, I don't."

  He pushed up on one elbow, his brows lifted in surprise. "Non. That's not possible."

  "Well, I know you mean no when you say non. But that's a no-brainer. And I know ma cocotte means my hen, because you told me that a long time ago—even if I still don't know why you call me that."

  "It's a term of endearment, that is all. I thought it fit you, especially after I saw you with your chickens, eh?"

  "Yeah, but a hen? Couldn't you pick something different? Like, I don't know. My sweet. Or my cutie. Or—"

  "Ma puce."

  "Ooo, I like the sound of that one. Say it again."

  The corners of his mouth twitched. Once, twice. Not quite a smile but close. "Ma puce."

  "I think I like that one better. What's it mean?"

  His mouth twitched again, a grin finally breaking free. "It is what I almost called you from the beginning. When I first met you. I thought it fit. But, non. I quickly learned it is not something most women would appreciate. Not here, anyway."

  Lori's eyes narrowed, her suspicion growing each passing second, in direct correlation to Corbin's widening smile. "Why? What does it mean?"

  "It's nothing bad. I swear. And it is a term of endearment back home. But here, no."

  "Are you going to tell me what it means or not?"

  "I don't think—"

  "Corbin, out with it!"

  He swallowed back a chuckle, his gaze not quite meeting hers. "It means, loosely, my flea. But not like you think—oomph."

  "A flea? That annoying little bug that makes you itch and squirm?"

  He grabbed his stomach, rubbing the spot where she had playfully punched him. Then he pulled her into his arms, settling her beside him, his mouth close to her ear as he whispered to her in French. She had no idea what she was saying, but that didn't stop her body from melting against his.

  Until he paused. Then, very clearly, whispered the last two words.

  "Ma puce."

  She elbowed him again, her aim off because she was laughing too hard. And she wasn't the only one.

  That's how she fell asleep: with the reassuring strength of Corbin's body wrapped around hers, and the sound of his warm chuckle echoing in her ear.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lori dropped her head into her hands and groaned. A second later, the phone next to her right elbow began vibrating, sending it sliding across the glass top of the coffee table. Five seconds after that, the phone to her left did the same thing. She groaned again, knowing she needed to at least look at them. But she didn't. She couldn't. How could she, when she knew it would be more of the same negative crap posted by the trolls who considered themselves keyboard warriors? Baiting comments, filled with profanity, the posters waiting with malicious glee for someone to respond.

  Rule number one: never, ever respond to the trolls.

  But God, it was so hard not to. So hard to ignore them when all she wanted to do was verbally tear them to shreds.

  "You should just silence the phones. It might be easier to watch that way."

  Lori raised her head and glared at Danny through the veil of her hair. "Nothing would make this easier to watch."

  The Banners were playing their third game in a four-game road trip—a trip that couldn't end soon enough, as far as Lori was concerned. They'd lost the last two games in embarrassing fashion—and this one wasn't looking much better.

  The blast of a horn signaling another goal drifted from the television. Lori dropped her head against the table and groaned again. What did that make the score now? She didn't want to look—didn't need to look. It didn't matter what the score was, because the Banners were losing.

  Again.

  It was almost like they were trying to keep their losing streak alive. When was the last time they'd won a game?

  Just over two weeks ago, the night when they'd put Shannon Wiley in as EBUG.

  The night she'd finally run into Corbin for the first time since he'd been back.

  The night everything had gone to hell.

  Had it been only two weeks? She frowned, wondering if she had her timeline wrong. No, there was nothing wrong with her timeline. Just over two weeks.

  And so much had happened in that time.

  She sighed and raised her head, grimaced at the sound o
f the blaring horn again. A large hand squeezed her shoulder and she glanced over, saw Danny smiling. Well, not really a smile, but close.

  "Relax, it's just the end of the period."

  She looked over, saw the score flashing across the screen, and sighed. "Does it even matter at this point?"

  "It's hockey. A lot can happen in twenty minutes, you know that." He pushed off the sofa and stretched. "I'm getting more wine. Do you want some?"

  She should say no—she'd already had three glasses. But what the hell. She wasn't driving and she didn't have to go into the office tomorrow since it was a weekend. The only thing she had to do was finish the weekly blog post for Sunday, and she could knock that out in fifteen minutes.

  Maybe twenty, since she'd really have to dig for something positive to say.

  She grabbed her empty glass and passed it over her shoulder. "Yeah, fill me up."

  Danny took the glass from her outstretched hand, then leaned over and scooped both phones from the table. "Just in case, because I know you too well."

  "I wasn't going to look."

  He raised his brows in obvious disbelief, then disappeared through the doorway to her kitchen.

  "I really wasn't!"

  "Liar." His voice was filled with laughter, loud enough to be heard from her perch on the floor in front of the sofa. She closed her eyes and rolled her neck, then wiggled her outstretched legs to get the blood circulating. The sofa would probably be more comfortable—it was oversized and overstuffed, made for cradling a body in comfort. But Danny always hogged the entire thing whenever he came over so the sofa was out.

  Besides, she didn't feel like moving. And it was easier to bang her head against the coffee table from where she was sitting—something she had been doing a lot of tonight.

  A close-up of the commentators appeared on the giant screen of her television, giving their opinion of the game so far. Lori tried not to pay attention, knowing whatever they said would only depress her. Or piss her off. Probably both. She didn't need to hear their play-by-play of everything going wrong, not when she'd seen it herself in the first two periods.