Playing Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 3)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  “Caleb. Please.” Her voice was hoarse, throaty, the words filled with need. He dipped his head, ran his tongue across her damp flesh, bit back a groan when her fingers dug into the hard muscle of his arm.

  He sat back, blindly reaching for his duffle bag somewhere on the floor. Where the fuck was it? It was right here, somewhere—there. His fingers curled over the handle and he hauled it onto the bed, quickly unzipping it just enough to dip his hand inside. He searched by feel, his eyes never leaving Shannon’s flushed body. There!

  His hands closed over the foil pockets stuck near the bottom, pulled them out and tossed them on the bed next to Shannon. Then he pushed the bag off the bed and stretched out between her spread legs, dipped his head and pressed his mouth against her swollen flesh.

  And fuck, she tasted so sweet. So fucking hot. Like warm honey on a cold day. He drank from her, each little rock of her hips, each little breathy moan, sending him closer to the edge. He reached down, closed one hand over his cock, and stroked. Long. Hard. Fuck, he needed her. Needed to feel hot flesh wrapped around him, needed to feel her muscles squeezing him as she came.

  And fuck, if he didn’t stop, he’d come before he even had the chance to drive into her.

  He moved his hand, focused on the sweet taste of her against his mouth. Fingers suddenly tangled with his tongue and he looked up. His heart slammed into his ribs and his cock jumped at the look in her eyes. She pushed up on one elbow as her free hand dipped lower. One long finger, the nail painted a pale pink, slid along her clit. Lower, dipping inside, pressing, moving back out to slide the wet tip against her clit again.

  His hungry gaze snapped to hers, his lungs freezing at the need in her eyes. “Don’t stop. Let me watch you.”

  Holy shit. Holy fuck. Did she mean—? Her gaze dropped to the hard length of his cock, jutting up in proud desperation. Then she looked back at him, her meaning clear in her eyes. “Don’t stop.”

  He slid closer, sat back on his heels and draped her legs over his thighs. Watching as she touched herself, pleasured herself. Then he reached between them and folded his hand around his cock, stroking. Long. Slow. Hard. Watching as Shannon fingered her clit, always watching. Knowing she was watching him.

  “Fuck. Shannon. That is so fucking hot.” His words were barely more than a growl, lost in each harsh breath as he tried to fill his lungs with air. And fuck, if he wasn’t careful, he’d come right now.

  He closed his eyes, tossed his head back and clenched his jaw against an image of him leaning over Shannon as he came. On her stomach, her chest, her hot pussy. And fuck, he needed to stop. Now. He was so fucking close, his balls pulling tight, his cock throbbing with each hard stroke.

  He stilled his hand, opened his eyes and looked down at Shannon. At the shimmering hair tangled around her face. At the sharp points of her nipples, rising and falling with each harsh breath. At the creamy flesh of her thighs draped over his own darker ones.

  At the long finger sliding along her clit, each movement faster.

  Her hips surged forward, her back arching as her head tossed from side-to-side. She nibbled on her lower lip, her free hand lifting, blindly reaching.

  He grabbed her hand, felt her fingers tighten around his as her hips rocked once, twice. A low cry escaped her mouth then she called his name.

  Begging for him. Now.

  He grabbed a foil packet, ripped it open and quickly sheathed himself. Then he was there, driving into her, hot flesh clamping around his cock as her climax washed over her. Strong, powerful.

  And fuck. Fuck. He was so close, it would be so easy—

  No, not yet. Not now.

  He held himself still, fought for control, struggled for the last scrap of his willpower until her clenching muscles eased. Then he moved forward, rocking into her. Deep. Hard. Slow, not stopping until her nails dug into the flesh of his arms, not until she screamed his name one more time.

  Harder. Deeper. Fast now. Faster. Deeper still, until he couldn’t tell where his body ended and hers began. It didn’t matter, they were one. Her. Him. Them. Together.

  Harder. Faster. Faster, until the world exploded around them, sending them both over the edge. Soaring. Flying.

  Together.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Something wasn’t right.

  In that hazy mist between sleep and awake, something niggled at her. Annoying little pokes in her subconscious, telling her something wasn’t right.

  Something was different.

  She frowned and tried to brush the pokes away, rolled over and buried her head under the pillow. The room was too cold, she never kept it this cold. She didn’t have to look to know her flesh was pebbled from the chill—she could feel her skin prickling as a draft moved over her body.

  She mumbled under her breath and reached for the covers. Just a few more minutes of sleep, that’s all she wanted. A few more blissful minutes cloaked in the darkness of sleep, where she didn’t have to worry about anything.

  And where the hell was the comforter?

  Her hand swept along the bed beside her, finally closing over the thick comforter. It felt different but it didn’t matter, not when she pulled it over her bare skin and burrowed deeper, searching for warmth, for sleep.

  And dammit, something poked her again. Harder this time, in the shoulder. She tried to brush it away, waving her hand through the chilly air. “G’way.”

  A quiet chuckle sounded somewhere just beyond her reach. No, that wasn’t right, she must be dreaming. Except she could still hear the laughter, deep and rich, oddly familiar.

  She swore under her breath, telling the laughter where to go. Why wouldn’t it shut up? All she wanted was sleep, just a few more minutes—

  “G’way.”

  “Rise and shine, sleepy head.”

  The voice wasn’t in her head, in her dreams. She knew that voice—

  Shannon bolted upright, swearing when her hand hit the edge of the nightstand. She blinked against the bright light coming in through the curtains then slowly turned her head—

  And nearly screamed. Would have screamed if she was fully awake.

  Caleb was stretched across the bed, leaning on one elbow, watching her. She blinked, forced her bleary eyes to focus on him for a long minute. Tousled hair, eyes glittering with silent laughter, that damn dimple deepening in his cheek as his mouth spread into a wide smile. No shirt—she blinked again, taking an extra few seconds to appreciate the expanse of skin pulled tight over his broad chest and ridged abdomen. Her gaze followed the thin trail of dark hair that disappeared into the open waistband of his dress pants. She blinked one more time, sending him a sleepy scowl.

  “Go. Away.”

  She fell back onto the bed and pulled the covers over her head, only to have them yanked off her a second later. Shannon grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him, then swore under her breath when he caught it and leaned over her.

  Too awake. Too aware.

  And too damn sexy for this early in the morning. Too damn sexy, period.

  “Someone here isn’t a morning person.”

  “You think?” She tried to push him away but it was like moving a concrete wall, solid and immovable. He leaned closer, his mouth only inches from hers. She quickly turned her head to the side and his kiss landed on her cheek. Oh God, how could even stand being this close to her? She probably had morning breath. And bed head. And smeared make-up.

  But he didn’t seem to care because his mouth trailed a path across her jaw and over to that sensitive spot just below her ear. She sighed, her body melting under his as he nibbled her neck. Then he sat up, still leaning over her, his eyes still glittering with his soft laughter.

  “I brought coffee.”

  She pushed against him again, finally sitting up and glancing around the room in desperation. “Where?”

  “On the dresser. I wasn’t sure how you took it—”

  “Black. Strong. Now.”

  He laughed again, the bed dipping as he rolled of
f and moved toward the coffee. He handed her the cup, barely large enough for three long swallows. She didn’t care, she’d take what she could for now.

  “Careful, it’s hot.”

  She grunted then peeled back the top, blew on it, then took the first sip. Liquid heat slid down her throat and settled into her stomach, nudging her toward full consciousness. Another sip, then one more before the last threads of sleep finally fell from her hazy mind.

  She glanced around the room and mentally cringed at the disaster meeting her gaze. Clothes were strewn everywhere. One of her heels was tossed on the small chair in the corner of the room, the other was resting on the floor beneath the curtains. Her dress was tossed over the television—how the hell had it ended up there?—and the scrappy lace of her underwear was beside the bed, tangled with his red boxer briefs. A handful of foil wrappers, torn and empty, rested on the nightstand. And the bed…she glanced down at it, frowning at the way the covers were twisted and tangled, half on the bed and half on the floor. No wonder she had been cold.

  She wasn’t cold now, not with the embarrassment heating her from the inside. She took another sip of the awful coffee and hoped Caleb would think her red face was from the steam.

  Yeah, right. Not with the way he was looking at her, like he was ready to eat her up. How was that even possible? She had to look like shit, like death warmed over.

  Or like someone who had been kept up all night, deep in the throes of wild sex.

  She swallowed back a groan and placed the coffee on the nightstand, trying to ignore all those wrappers sitting there, trying not to count them. She kicked her feet free from the tangled sheets and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She hesitated, wondering if she should grab the sheet and wrap it around her before heading to the bathroom.

  Was she really worried about modesty now? After everything they’d done last night? Yes, she was. There was a huge difference between the dark hours of last night—even if the light had been on most of the time—and now.

  She tugged the sheet free and yanked it around her, then shot Caleb a dirty look when he chuckled. She swept past him, tripped, caught herself at the last minute, then headed into the bathroom and closed the door.

  And holy shit, she really did look like death warmed over. Her hair was a tangled mess around her face, sticking out here and there. Mascara was smeared under her eyes, making her look like a raccoon—

  Or like a hooker who had spent the last ten hours alternating between her back and her knees.

  Which probably wasn’t too far from the truth.

  She swallowed back a groan, dropped the sheet, then stared at her reflection with wide eyes. Red marks marred the skin of her chest. Not just red marks. She leaned closer, frowning at the small bruise just above her left breast.

  No, not a bruise. A small bite mark.

  Holy shit.

  She turned away from the mirror then leaned into the shower and turned the water on, twisted the knob to the hottest setting. Then she took care of personal business and stepped into the tub, pulled the curtain closed—

  And remembered that her small overnight bag was still in the other room.

  Dammit.

  She stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, wrapping herself in it before opening the door. Then she nearly screamed. Caleb was leaning in the doorway, a devilish grin on his face, her bag held in one hand.

  “Forget something?”

  She growled at him, yanked the bag from his hand, then slammed the door in his face.

  And damn if he didn’t start laughing.

  “You really aren’t a morning person, are you?”

  “Not when I don’t get any sleep, I’m not.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  She wanted to say yes, just to throw him off. Just to tease him. But she couldn’t force the lie from her mouth so she settled for another growl instead.

  Which only made him laugh again.

  Damn him.

  She grabbed the small toiletry bag from the duffel, pulling out her shampoo and conditioner before climbing back into the shower. The water was too hot now, nearly scalding her. She adjusted the temperature then stood under the stream, closing her eyes as water washed over her. Blissful, hot water. Relaxing her, waking her.

  She waited for the morning-after regret, expecting it to wash over her as fully as the water streaming from the showerhead. What they’d done last night—what she had done. That wasn’t like her, to be so brazen and wild. To sleep with someone even knowing nothing would come of it. But there was no regret. How could she regret it, when she had wanted it? All of it. When she had wanted Caleb?

  She had no idea what they were doing, where they would go from here. Were they dating? Maybe. Were they a couple? No, she couldn’t let herself think that. She couldn’t read into anything they’d done, couldn’t make more of it than what it was.

  Sex. That was it.

  Pure, raw, blissful sex.

  Everything else had to be one-day-at-a-time. God help her if she tried to make more of it than it was. God help her if she let her heart get in the way.

  The shower curtain whipped open, startling her. She wiped the water from her eyes and glowered at Caleb. At least, she tried to. It was hard to glower when all she could do was stare at the hard length of his cock.

  She forced her gaze to his and tried to frown. “What are you doing?”

  “What’s it look like I’m doing?” He climbed into the shower and pulled the curtain back. “You’re using all the hot water.”

  “Am not.”

  He didn’t say anything, just watched her with smoldering green eyes. He reached behind her and grabbed the small bar of soap, moving it between his hands until a bubbly lather formed.

  “Turn around.”

  The intensity in his eyes scorched her, knocked all thought from her mind. She turned, the stream of water falling across her chest as Caleb’s hands slid along her back. Warm, strong, fingers digging into the muscles of her shoulders, her lower back. Lower, teasing the round curve of her ass before sliding into the cleft.

  She sucked in a breath, her head falling back as Caleb’s mouth traced a line of fire along her neck. Heat raced through her, pooling low in her belly, between her legs. She reached behind her, draped one arm behind his neck as his hands slid around her waist. Up, to cup the fullness of her breasts. Squeezing, teasing, his thumbs scraping the hard points of each nipple.

  Lower, down across the flat of her stomach, one hand cupping between her legs. His mouth nibbled the sensitive flesh of her skin, tugged on the lobe of one ear.

  “Spread your legs for me.”

  She sucked in a deep breath, braced one hand against the tile wall, and did as he asked, helpless to tell him no.

  Helpless to do anything but feel.

  Her breath left her in a hiss as one slick finger slid across her clit. Back and forth, harder and faster as her hips bucked against his hand. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, biting down as that solitary finger slid inside her.

  “Christ, Shannon. You are so fucking wet. So fucking hot.” His voice, hoarse with need, made her knees buckles. He draped one steely arm around her waist, supporting her as he slid his finger in and out, up across her clit, back inside. Over and over until her vision swam, until her breath came in short gasps, until her muscles clenched and her body shuddered with release. But it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. She wanted more. Needed more.

  Needed him. Caleb. All of him.

  Deep inside her.

  She rocked her hips backward, bent over and braced her hands against the wall. She heard him groan, felt his hands rub her ass, squeezing, pinching.

  Shannon glanced at him over her shoulder, captured his gaze, held it with a desperation she didn’t know possible. “Now, Caleb. Fuck me. Now.”

  He leaned to the side, grabbed something from the edge of the tub and ripped it open with his teeth. She watched, her glazed eyes focused on the way he sheathed the ha
rd length of his cock, the way his hands closed over its thickness and stroked. Once. Twice. Then he leaned forward, guiding the tip of his cock into her from behind. Stretching. Filling.

  She closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath as he drove into her. Hard and deep, fast. Heat spiraled through her, scorching her as muscles tensed. Clenching, gripping, tightening.

  Tightening even more, until there was nothing but sensation. The heat of his cock driving into her, the tug of his hand as it twisted in her wet hair, the glide of his fingers as they rubbed her clit.

  Over and over.

  Fast.

  Deep.

  Hard.

  Driving her over the edge. Tumbling. Falling.

  Trusting Caleb to catch her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Caleb yanked the tie from around his neck and threw it across the room. It hit the bed, slid off and landed in a wrinkled heap on the floor. He thought about kicking it but what the fuck good would that do?

  It sure as hell wouldn’t do anything to relieve the anger and frustration boiling inside him.

  Tonight’s game had been a fucking fiasco. The Banners had been annihilated by Vegas, to the point where he wondered why the fuck they had even bothered playing. Eight to one? Seriously? That wasn’t a fucking hockey game. Not even close. It had been so damn bad, he had honestly thought Coach Donovan was going to have a fucking heart attack right there on the bench.

  Neither of their goalies had performed worth a shit. Then again, neither had any of the players—including himself. Their single goal had been nothing more than a fluke, a crazy-ass loose puck tipped in by Lucas Sacco. And the only reason he had scored was because Vegas’s goalie had thought he had stopped the play and was waiting for the fucking whistle to blow.

  And now, to make things even worse, Shannon was telling him she probably wouldn’t be able to see him on Thursday night.

  Caleb dropped to the bed and swallowed back his frustrated sigh. “Just a few hours. I can meet you at your place right after we land.”

  He heard noise in the background, the sound of running water and something banging, a low voice followed by a muffled grunt. From the television? Probably. It was already past eleven, Shannon was usually asleep by now.