Breakaway

by Sophia Henry

  “Thank you.” I scramble off the bed. A sexy hockey player who puts a toothbrush out for a one-night stand? Now, that’s southern hospitality at its finest.

  A short hallway with mirrored sliding doors leads me to the bathroom. On the otherwise spotless bathroom counter a brand-new blue toothbrush sits, still in the box. The only other thing is liquid soap from a high-end bath-and-body store. Luke is by far the tidiest guy I’ve ever met. Which gives me a slight complex about my own habits. I’m not a complete pig, but my living spaces are—um, lived in.

  After using the bathroom, I wash my hands and face. Though I don’t wear makeup, my skin feels gritty from going to bed without even rinsing it last night. I pump soap into my hands and enjoy the relaxing scent of lavender and vanilla. I pictured Luke as more of a lemon or sandalwood kind of guy, but it’s neat to learn little things about him by being in his domain.

  As I pat my face dry with a soft red hand towel, I scan the counter for the toothpaste. It’s not there, of course, because the sink is a mecca of clean. Without thinking, I open the top drawer of the vanity as if I were in my own house.

  “Shit!” I slam it shut at the realization of what I’ve done. It was instinct. I don’t usually go through people’s private drawers. I’ve only been a nurse for a few years, but long enough to know some things are better left unseen.

  “Hey, Luke!” I call through the closed door. “Where’s your toothpaste?”

  “Top right-hand drawer.”

  “Thanks.” My hands shake, fumbling to open the toothbrush package. I still feel guilty reentering the drawer I slammed shut seconds ago.

  The toothpaste is not at the front, so I flick past a tube of hair gel and a package of mint-flavored dental floss, feeling like a creep sifting through his toiletries. He must not be embarrassed by anything in there, though, if he’s cool with letting me look.

  Bathroom drawers and cabinets are a big deal. People keep all kinds of secret things in there. You never know what you’re going to find tucked away—from foot-fungus powder to banana hammocks. Thankfully, Luke didn’t have either of those things in his drawer. At least not in this one, and I’m not about to poke around in the others.

  The familiar blue-and-white Crest logo catches my eye and I grab it. Next to that is a bottle of prescription pills. While I’m not one to go through people’s stuff, if I notice medication, I’m going to look to see what it is. That’s the nurse instinct coming out. Luke seems healthy enough, so I’m curious.

  I pick up the bottle slowly, so as not to shake the contents, which would tip Luke off that I’m snooping through his shit.

  Please don’t be Viagra. Please don’t be Viagra.

  Not that I have anything against that particular drug, but it would be a disappointing find in a young guy’s drawer.

  LORTAB

  That’s weird. I glance at the door then back at the label. Because I’m a healthcare professional, a flag goes off in my head. Lortab is a powerful—and highly addictive—painkiller. Why would Luke have Lortab?

  Instead of pondering the reason with the bottle in my hand, I gently set it back in the drawer and resume brushing my teeth. I’ve seen how people act when they’re abusing pain meds and Luke doesn’t exhibit any of the signs. I’d be able to tell if he were on Lortab. It would be obvious. It’s stupid of me to even think that about him.

  This is why snooping is a bad idea. You jump to all these crazy conclusions, but you can’t ask about them because it proves you were snooping. Which is dishonest and an invasion of privacy.

  When I return to the bedroom area, I’m still lost in my thoughts. Then I see Luke, sprawled out on the bed buck naked, with his hands folded behind his head. “Ready for fireworks?” he asks.

  “Hell, yes!” I say, grabbing the hem of my green T-shirt and whipping it off. Evidently he wasn’t expecting such an enthusiastic answer from me in a full state of sobriety, just like he’s not expecting me to tackle him. Which is exactly why I do it. I land on his chest with an “Oof!”

  “You serious?” he asks sitting upright.

  “I’m twenty-six, not eighteen, Luke. I know what I want.” Slowly, without taking my eyes off his, I shimmy the boxer shorts I woke up in down my legs to let him know just how serious I am.

  Luke watches me as I toss the boxers, my bra, and underwear on the floor. When I’m completely naked he says, “You’re a pretty kick-ass girl, Bree.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby,” I say, joining him on the bed.

  We’re both on our knees, face-to-face when Luke slides both hands up my thighs, his thumbs caressing the inside as his fingers grip the sides. I’m already so fucking wet it’s embarrassing. Hell, as soon as I remembered where I was, the dam between my legs broke. But it’ll come in handy when he finally slips his massive cock into me.

  That thought alone reminds me that it’s been way too long since I slept with someone.

  His callused palms are rough, but gentle as they slide over my bare skin. I love the anticipation, but if he doesn’t put something in me soon, I’m going to take matters into my own hands.

  That’s when he stops and reaches into the top drawer of the nightstand next to his bed and retrieves a condom.

  I pluck the foil square out of his hand. “I don’t want foreplay right now. I want your cock in me.” Then I push him back so he’s flat on the bed. There’s zero doubt that he’s ready for me, so I climb onto him, placing a knee on either side of his hips as I rip the package open with my teeth.

  “Well, look at you,” he whispers.

  I can’t take my eyes off him, watching his chest rise and fall faster and faster as the anticipation builds. I can tell he loves that I took charge. It’s evident in how hard he is.

  “Fuck me, Bree,” he whispers through a short breath.

  I run my tongue over my bottom lip and place my thumb in his mouth. He immediately begins sucking it, which drives me wild. Without wasting any time, I lower myself onto his cock with one swift motion. We both groan. He places his hands on my hips, while still allowing me to control the motion.

  —

  Sex with someone new has the potential to be weird. I’ve had those tense and fumbling times, almost as if it were the very first time again.

  But that’s not what fucking Luke Daniels feels like. Fucking him is the mash-up of all the best parts of every experience I’ve had. He’s rough enough to be fun, but gentle enough that I know he cares about what I’m getting out of it. And Luke likes a little dirty talk, which I’m totally down with.

  “Here.” Luke sits next to me on the bed and wipes my stomach with a warm, damp gray towel.

  “Thanks,” I say, trying not to sound too surprised. I’ve never had a guy wipe me off before. Everyone I’ve been with that has ever pulled off the condom in order to come on my stomach—or chest—has always just handed me a shirt—or dirty-ass boxers—afterward and made me do it myself. Which is no big deal, but it’s really sweet that Luke brought back a warm cloth from the bathroom and cleaned me up.

  He tosses the towel onto the floor and lays down next to me, pulling me into his chest with a strong arm. Though I didn’t expect it to happen with Luke, I do love snuggling after sex. Being molded against every curve of each other’s body is comforting and relaxing. It’s the closest I ever get to being completely vulnerable around someone. His fingers trail up and down my back, tickling me softly. There’s no way Luke could know it’s one of my favorite sensations, but it creates a sense of familiarity, like we’ve been lying together like this for years.

  Sex took my thoughts off the pills in Luke’s drawer for a moment, but now that it’s over, my curious mind wanders straight back to the Lortab. “Do you have some kind of injury?” I ask cautiously. Being brash would just freak him out or make him defensive.

  His hand moves to the back of his neck immediately, as if it’s a reflex. “Actually I do. How did you know?”

  I close my eyes and shake my head against his chest, sil
ently cursing myself for even bringing it up. But I want to know and I can’t stop now. “When I got the toothpaste, I saw a bottle of Lortab. That stuff is pretty hardcore, so I wondered if you were in pain or something.”

  His body stiffens under me. It’s slight, but noticeable. “I had surgery on my neck about a year ago. I don’t even know why those are still in there.”

  Luke takes a deep breath, which makes my head rise and wobble. I lift myself up and look at him. He’s not looking at me, though. He’s gazing straight ahead at the three-quarter wall that separates his bedroom from the living room area.

  “I’m sorry, Luke,” I say quickly. “I had no right to say anything to you. I—”

  His eyes cut to mine, but there’s sadness in them and I immediately think he’s going to shut down. That’s what I would do with a random guy who snooped through my shit.

  “Addiction runs in my family,” he says absently. “I didn’t even want to fuck with those pills in the first place, but I needed them. Then I ended up being on them longer than I thought I’d have to be.” Luke lifts his free hand and rubs the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Jesus, why the hell am I telling you this?” He drops his hand and shimmies a bit to sit up with his back against his pillows.

  Addiction to painkillers like Lortab can happen to anyone, so that’s not the part that shocks me. I’m surprised he’s sharing something so personal right now. I should probably stop him and take my leave, but I’m curious, so I keep my mouth shut hoping he’ll continue. I shift with him, pulling the comforter up to cover myself, and nestle in next to him again.

  Luke starts again. “My doctor had to help me wean myself off of those pills. Slowly and safely.”

  “That’s good.” I nod, encouraging him. Thank goodness he did it that way. I can’t imagine what kind of withdrawals he would have gone through if he’d stopped cold turkey. Those pills are a complete mind fuck.

  “I was scared when I couldn’t do it myself, ya know?” Luke pauses. “I thought it meant I would have issues.”

  My heart hurts for him. I understood how a strong, career-focused man could be in fear of being taken down by a highly addictive substance. Prescription drugs have been the downfall of many strong people.

  “I smoked some pot after my surgery, thinking it would help and I wouldn’t have to take that harder shit. I’d never tried anything else, because I’ve always been hyperaware of it, ya know? I have an addictive personality. I’m addicted to hockey. Addicted to adrenaline. Addicted to—” He stops.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Sex.”

  “Nice.” Now is my chance to change the subject. There’s no reason to go deeper into the conversation. I asked why he had Lortab; he told me. Done. Getting personal takes away from the fun of a fling. And I want to have fun with Luke at least one more time before I leave his condo. “Ready for another round?” I ask.

  “You’re fucking amazing,” he says and kisses the top of my head. “But I need to eat and recharge first. You hungry?”

  I pause. Part of me wants to slip on my clothes and start the walk back to my apartment to take a long, warm shower, but he’s open to recharging and going at it again, and I’m sex starved enough to stick around for that.

  “I could eat,” I answer.

  —

  “Wow! The artwork in here is gorgeous.” I run my fingers across a canvas on the wall as I scan it for the photographer’s name. “Who took these?”

  “I did,” Luke answers as he sets our plates in the sink. As if mind-blowing sex this morning wasn’t enough, he also whipped up fried eggs on a bed of spinach, tomatoes, and leftover diced sweet potatoes he’d had in his fridge.

  I spin around. “You took these? All of them?” A hockey player with such a creative eye is completely new to me. Not to stereotype, but none of Mason’s friends that I knew were interested in anything but hockey, and maybe fitness and wheeling, which is what kids in the OHL and WHL called it when they went looking for girls. Typical teenage-boy stuff.

  Luke nods, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “It’s a hobby. Something to take the stress off.”

  “You’re really talented,” I tell him, removing my gaze from a framed black-and-white photo of a frail, older woman with thin, wiry, gray hair. Her collarbone juts through a worn, ripped T-shirt, while jeans that are a few sizes too large sit low on her slender hips. Her eyes are vacant. It’s absolutely amazing to me that Luke could catch that in a photo.

  “Thanks.”

  “Wanna take a picture of me?” I ask, shaking the haunting image out of my head.

  Luke’s lips lift. “Naked?” he asks replacing the towel over the oven handle.

  “Sure.” I remove my T-shirt, which I’d slipped on again for the second time that morning. I should probably just keep it off. I’m standing in Luke’s living room wearing nothing but pink lace underwear, waiting for him to say something.

  He doesn’t. He just stares at me with wide eyes like he can’t believe it’s so easy for me to undress in front of him. Which is weird, because he’s a professional hockey player. Girls scratch and claw their way through crowds for the chance to get naked for him.

  “Not tasteful enough for the wall?” I tease him. I can tell he wants me again, that’s not the question. So what’s with the hesitation?

  “You serious?” he asks.

  “Well, I mean, you can take a photo if you want, but this is actually my way of trying to get you back between my legs. I thought the whole picture thing would be a clever lead-in, since I’m trying to seduce a sexy photographer.”

  “You don’t have to seduce me, Bree. I’m ready for you at any time.” Luke crosses the room in two strides and grabs me, holding on to the bare skin at my waist like a life preserver. He lowers his face to mine and claims my mouth.

  It’s not enough. My hands move to squeeze his biceps and I press my bare chest against his and deepen the kiss.

  He takes my hand and leads me around the three-quarter wall to the bedroom. His cozy bed greets us, sheets still rumpled from when we were twisted in each other’s limbs an hour ago.

  Goosebumps ripple across my skin when Luke presses his lips to my collarbone. I tilt my neck, giving him full access to kiss and lick. While he continues his assault, placing soft, wet kisses down my chest, I glance out the floor-to-ceiling windows that span his bedroom wall. And though we’re thirty-one floors up, there’s extra exhilaration when Luke lowers his mouth to my breast and circles one nipple with his tongue while we stand in plain sight.

  There’s another high-rise condo across the street and I wonder if people over there can see in. The thought alone has my heart racing, and right on cue, Luke takes my nipple in his mouth while simultaneously reaching between my legs. I’m so fucking wet I’m surprised I’m not dripping all over the hardwood floors.

  “Fuck, Bree.” He hisses, sliding two fingers into me. My heart speeds up and I grab his hair, clenching my fists and pulling his head back.

  Though I’ve only had a few partners in my life, I’ve always been pretty open to exploring sexuality. I can honestly say that I’ve never said no to trying anything. If you’re with a partner you trust, bodies are meant to be explored and enjoyed.

  And despite how amazing his fingers feel, I want nothing more than to have Luke’s cock in my mouth.

  I drop to my knees and yank his shorts down with one tug. His dick flips out and smacks me in the nose. I laugh immediately.

  Luke clenches my hair with both hands, which sends a tingle through my body. “Don’t laugh at it, Bree,” he teases me in a thick, husky voice.

  “I’m laughing at myself, Luke,” I say with a smile. Though I obviously know how thick and long he is, it’s a bit intimidating at full attention in front of my face.

  But I’m up for the challenge.

  Chapter 5

  Luke

  ANN ARBOR, MI

  “And rest,” Jonathan, my physical therapist, says. He’s been counting my reps while I lie
on my back doing bench presses.

  Jonathan and I get together whenever I’m in Ann Arbor for follow-up appointments with Dr. Patel. We used to meet at the clinic he works at, but our sessions gradually moved from rehab to how he can direct me in the gym so I learn not to go overboard.

  “When can I add more weight again?” I ask. I’ve worked hard to get to this point, which is only about twenty-five pounds less than what I’d been lifting before my injury. I know I’m almost back to normal.

  “What’s up with you, Luke?” Jonathan asks. “You seem extra motivated today.”

  My thoughts immediately fly to Bree. In general, motivation has never been a factor for me, but ever since I met her, I’ve been pushing myself harder. We’d discussed my injury for a minute after she asked about the painkillers in my bathroom drawer, but I never confessed that I wasn’t playing at the moment. The self-inflicted pressure has given me a bit more incentive to try to get back on the ice.

  “How about twenty?” I ask instead of answering his question. I’m not about to admit I’m working harder to impress a girl.

  Jonathan’s probably annoyed as fuck by my constant pestering. I just want to show him that I’m close to where I was before my injury, when I was in the best physical shape of my life and playing better than I ever had. The light-weight, increase-slowly shit has made me want to slit my wrists. I follow orders from my therapists and trainers, though, because I don’t want to fuck up the progress I made over the last six months.

  After intense physical therapy for my neck and shoulders, I’m more than ready to get back on the ice with my team. In addition to weekly sessions with the physical therapist Jonathan referred me to in Charlotte, I’m working out and skating on my own every day. I’ve been able to hold my stick and rotate my shoulder for months. No more tingling. No more numbness. Surgery made me the bionic man. Hell, maybe it even added a few playing years to my career, too.

  “The slower the better, Luke,” Jonathan says for the millionth time.

  I groan and glance out the window, which is nothing more than a view of a McDonald’s. After a powerful workout, the sight makes me want to puke.