Fire and Ice (Sticks & Hearts Book 2)

by Rhonda James

  “Derek,” I protest weakly. “There’s a man in the building across the street, and he’s looking this way.”

  The tip of his nose parts my folds, and already I feel my knees shaking, and his mouth hasn’t even touched me.

  “So?”

  “What if he can see us? See what you’re about to do?”

  “Then he’s about to become one envious motherfucker. Sweetheart, if he’s watching, then maybe you should give him a show.” Heated breath sears the delicate flesh between my thighs, and when his tongue parts my seam, I suck in a breath then release it on a broken moan.

  I feel a gentle scraping of teeth, then a tug as he licks and sucks the tiny piece of metal beneath his tongue. He keeps one hand on my ass, holding me in place, while the other slips between us until two fingers fill me and I rock against his hand, chasing the long awaited orgasm.

  “Fuck. I love this piercing.” There’s a battle between his tongue and his thumb as they feverishly work the tiny bud into a frenzy.

  My fingers work to grip the glass, and at one point, my eyes connect with the voyeur and hold his gaze when the orgasm begins to build low in my belly. By now, there’s no mistaking what is taking place. The windows run floor-to-ceiling, and this guy is getting a free show as Derek, with his magic tongue and fingers, works me into a mind-numbing frenzy. The man watching remains perfectly still, with his forearms braced against the window, eyes locked on me as his own mouth parts with every gasp or moan I release, and when I lower my hands to tweak my nipples, he visibly shudders. He appears to be as caught up in this as I am, as if we’re somehow connected and he can feel every sensation I’m experiencing.

  I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. For some reason, knowing he’s watching makes it more exciting. Maybe even a little taboo. I certainly don’t know the man watching me.

  And the one between my legs?

  I really can’t say I know him either, but I guess that only adds to the intrigue surrounding our hook-up. The knowledge that we’re strangers and will never see each other again seems to make us both let go and allows us to become whoever we want in the moment.

  If for only one night.

  Tonight, I want to be this girl.

  The girl without any cares.

  The girl who can be uninhibited and have sex with a random stranger.

  The girl who doesn’t care that another man is paying witness to her wild abandon.

  Desire licks its way down my spine as the orgasm takes hold. His tongue flattens, parting me one last time to send me spiraling out of control. I close my eyes and block out my voyeur. My mouth opens, and the sound I make is unlike any I’ve ever heard. At least, like nothing I’ve ever made. Then again, I can’t recall ever allowing someone to have this much control over my pleasure, and knowing someone else is watching heightens the intensity of my orgasm.

  This is unlike anything I’ve ever known. Almost like… an out of body experience.

  His mouth remains locked on my pussy as he continues lapping and sucking until my whimpers subside, and my legs are no longer shaking. At this point, I’m not capable of anything, least of all walking. I feel completely and unequivocally boneless and sated.

  He pulls himself to a standing position and carefully carries me back to the king-sized bed, easing me down onto the fluffy white comforter. I watch with heavy-lidded eyes as he reaches one arm behind him to pull the t-shirt over his head. His shorts go next, and he’s left standing in his black boxer briefs. One look tells me he’s ready, while I’m still coming down from the orgasmic cloud I’m floating on. He seems to understand this and joins me on the bed, but rather than climbing on top of me, he snuggles in beside me and cradles me in his arms.

  In this moment, I come to the realization that this man intrigues me. He’s a walking contradiction. Upon first glance, you see him and immediately jump to the conclusion he’s a spoiled rich boy. When you speak with him, you’ll catch a glimpse of his cocky arrogance. If you’re lucky, you’ll spend time with him and discover he’s a man who goes after what he wants. Then you start to get to know him, and you have a hard time walking away. Pretty soon, you find out who he truly is: a passionate, caring man who gives so much more than he takes.

  Don’t ask me how I know this after only a short span of time.

  I just do.

  I just do…

  We’ve been in this position for a few minutes when I feel the haze finally beginning to lift. I stroke over his chest with my right hand while twirling his hair around my left. He’s quiet, and I know what he’s doing. He’s patiently waiting for me to take the lead, not wanting to push me beyond my comfort zone. How is it this man has only been in my presence for a short time, yet he seems to know just what I need, exactly when I need it?

  “You’ve got some serious muscles.” I prop myself on my elbow and study his beautiful physique. “I think it’s safe to assume you live in the gym.” I trace a finger over his chest, loving the chiseled lines of his pectoral muscles and the washboard abs that are fast becoming a beacon for my wayward fingers. Fingers that now tease through the happy trail that lead the way to my future heaven.

  Soft laughter rumbles though his chest. “I wouldn’t say I live there, but I do spend a fair amount of time working out. It’s a crucial part of my practice—“

  “Stop right there.” I reach up, holding two fingers over his mouth. “Don’t spoil it for me. I can’t bear the thought of hearing you say you workout to improve your golf swing, or something gross like that.” I wrinkle my nose at the image. “I would prefer to keep that part of you anonymous.”

  “I see. So you’re telling me there are sexy sports and some that are a huge turnoff. Got it.” His large hand sweeps up and down my bare back, and the tips of his nimble fingers cup my backside for the briefest of moments before retreating.

  “Oh, definitely.”

  “Okay, so what’s the least sexy sport you can picture me playing?”

  There’s no hesitation required. “Tennis.”

  “And the sexiest?”

  This time when his hand meets my ass, it remains there.

  “Hockey.” His wandering fingers dip low between my ass cheeks then sweep back up again. “Y-yeah,” I stammer, “definitely hockey.”

  I’m not sure why hockey’s the first sport to pop in my head, but I’m assuming it could have something to do with the guy Kelly told me about earlier. A story about a hockey player married to a country music singer. I can’t recall the entire story, but I remember her talking about how much he loved his wife, and she went on and on about the way he looked in his uniform. I asked her to show me a picture, so she pulled one up, and sure enough, he was sexy. But before that, I’ve never given hockey players a second thought. There’s a team at my school, but honestly, I couldn’t tell you anything about how their season is going. And I wouldn’t recognize one of the players if I ran into him on campus. It’s not that I have anything against sports. It’s just that I’m rarely on campus, and if I’m there, it’s because I have class or I’m putting in my required appearance in the dorms. Otherwise, I’m at work or taking care of our home.

  Or at least what’s left of it.

  “Lucky for me you like keeping secrets, cause I’d hate for you to start snooping around and find the tennis racket I have hidden in the closet.”

  I laugh loudly and he joins me while his fingers dance over my skin, teasing between my legs, coming close to my center before retreating back. I close my eyes and moan softly, wishing his hard length replaced his fingers.

  “Holy shit. You’re imagining me playing hockey right now. Aren’t you?” he asks, giving my ass a playful squeeze.

  Once again, I sense the heated shift, like before when he threw me against the window. A tingle forms at the base of my spine when I imagine how incredible it’s going to be when we finally have sex.

  I shift on the bed and wiggle around until I’m straddling his legs, then close my eyes and try to picture him in hockey ge
ar. I like what I see.

  “Yes, I am, and you’re interrupting my fantasy, so please stop talking.”

  Strong arms envelop me, pulling me down until my naked breasts are flush with his chest. This is what I’ve been craving. Skin against skin. Our sweat mixing as our bodies rock together in a heated race, both chasing the orgasm that’s been building within us.

  “Why don’t you forget all those fantasies and let me give you a taste of reality?” His hips rock forward as he grinds his length over the heated area between my legs, and with each movement, my pelvis lifts and lowers, creating a frenzied friction that’s sure to set off sparks.

  “Oh yeah, and just how do you plan on making me forget? It’s gonna take a hefty dose of reality to get the image of you in a hockey uniform out of my head.”

  “You want reality? Here’s a little reality for you.” He grabs the base of his shaft in one hand then teases the tip over my piercing. “I’m going to fuck you. Hard. And I’m not stopping until you’re screaming my name. In fact, I want your screams to shatter glass. You want to know why?” His declaration has me so turned on I can only nod. He sits up with me still wrapped around him, reaches for his wallet, pulls out a condom and hands it to me to do the honors. I’m shaking as I tear open the wrapper with my teeth then use two hands to roll it on. His hands settle on my hips, and our mouths fuse together as I sink down onto him. “I want everyone in this hotel to know that I’m the one responsible for making you come.”

  His words are fuel to my rapidly spreading fire, and all at once, I’m consumed with an insatiable desire. He moves inside me, filling me so completely I’m honestly not sure where I end and he begins. The man has already given me two life-changing orgasms, and now I’m driven by a desire to return the favor by making him come.

  I want to watch him fall apart beneath me.

  Hear the way he sounds when he’s moaning my name.

  Neither of us holds back as our bodies slap together in a furious attempt at deriving pleasure, seemingly in silent agreement that we both need this to happen quickly.

  My head rolls back, and I brace my hands on his shoulders for stability. Meanwhile, his mouth finds my neck and he sucks feverishly on the thin skin, and I know that tomorrow I will have another reminder of our time together.

  My muscles squeeze his length as he glides back and forth, abandoning me one moment then owning me the next. I’m in a complete state of euphoria, uncertain if I’m actually breathing, but aware that what is happening is by far the most amazing moment of my life.

  Our eyes lock, and I allow myself to get lost in the moment.

  I let go of everything that’s been holding me back.

  I let go of all the pain I’ve suffered.

  I forget about all the scars that pain has left behind.

  I forget about everything.

  Everything except him…

  When the orgasm strikes, I’m not sure whose screams are louder; I only know that we’re both so deeply affected, neither of us is willing to part when it’s over.

  We cling to each other, and later, when I’m in his arms and my back is against his chest, I feel his fingers in my hair as I’m drifting off to sleep as he whispers quietly into the silence.

  “Please don’t hate me in the morning.” His voice breaks, and I can hear the sadness behind his impassioned plea. I pretend to be asleep, afraid he may stop his confession if he knows I’m listening. “But if you do, I’ll understand. I want you to know what we shared means so much more to me than just fucking. I’m not sure why. It just does. You can be angry, you can be hurt, but please don’t hate me, because I already hate myself for having to leave you. Thank you,” he buries his nose in my hair and inhales deeply. “Thank you for giving me the most memorable night of my life.”

  I feel the press of his warm lips on my shoulder, then the safety of his arm as it tightens around my middle. I’m thankful he can’t see me. Thankful he can’t see the lone tear cascading down my cheek. And I can’t stop myself from thinking that glass may not be the only thing shattered when we leave this room…

  CHAPTER TEN

  DEREK

  For two solid weeks I’ve been itching to tell someone about Laney, and when I finally do, I’m met with silence.

  I’m not talking your typical crickets chirping quiet. This is straight up, hard-core dead silence.

  And it’s driving me out of my freaking mind.

  “For fuck’s sake! Stop staring at me and say something!” I pound my fist on the table then curse under my breath when they continue staring as if they’ve simultaneously gone mute.

  When it looks as if they’re not going to respond, I push my chair back and move to stand up. Cage is the first to finally speak.

  “You’re a dumbass,” he snorts, and his reaction doesn’t surprise me.

  “No, he’s not.” Rivers is quick to defend me. “He’s a fucking genius.”

  Masterson simply throws up his hands and laughs. “No way am I getting between these two.”

  We’ve been sitting around the kitchen table eating breakfast when I decided I was gonna go crazy if I didn’t tell someone. I didn’t spill my guts. Just gave them a few vague highlights. How she barged into my room. How I tracked her down at the reception and kissed her in the coat closet. Just enough to give them an idea of how we came to know each other, without making it sound as if I’m some schmuck who can’t stop thinking about the last girl he fucked.

  Because that would be pathetic, right?

  I probably would have been fine if Cage hadn’t gone and pulled off that romantic bullshit at last week’s game. Watching that scene unfold got me thinking about Laney. Wait. That’s not entirely true. I’ve been thinking about her since the moment I left my hotel room. Wondering what she may be up to. Wondering if she’s thought about me as often as I’ve thought about her.

  Wondering if she’s been wondering the same things about me.

  Now, I’m the one who’s silent, but I’m also cursing Cage because he’s the one I blame for making me question my actions in that hotel room.

  Cage leans forward and rests his forearms on the table before arguing his point. “A genius would’ve thought to ask for her last name.”

  “That’s the whole point of a hook-up. No one gives a shit about a last name, because you won’t be calling her.” Rivers flicks the cap to a gallon of orange juice at Cage and it bounces off the side of his head before rolling under the refrigerator. He gives Rivers the finger before continuing his argument.

  “Don’t project that shit on him just because you’re anti-relationship right now. What if she’s The One? What if they end up falling in love?”

  My eyes go wide at the mention of the L-word. Based on what little I learned, she seemed like a great girl, and we had an amazing time, but love never came into play. Lust? Fuck, yeah. But our time together didn’t last long enough to produce anything other than great sex.

  Did it?

  No.

  “So, what’s the story, D? You in love with this girl?” Rivers points a finger at me while snapping his fingers. “What was her name again?”

  “Laney,” I answer warily, already regretting my decision to tell them all at once. I would have been better off sticking with one-on-one. “I’m not in love. I barely know her. We had a good time. That’s it.” I stand, taking my plate to the sink to rinse before placing it in the dishwasher.

  “Next time I get the urge to share, I’ll save it for the weight room. At least the fucking weights don’t talk back.” I lean back against the counter and fold my arms over my chest.

  “Okay, fair enough, but tell me this, did you at least get her number?” Cage challenges.

  I clamp my mouth shut and chew on my lower lip, diverting my gaze. He takes my lack of response as a yes.

  “You hooked up with a hot chick. You’ve got her number and a first name.” He shrugs and joins me at the sink. “I guess what I’m saying is the puck is on your side of the red line. If
you’re still interested, take the shot. What can it hurt?” He claps me on the shoulder before heading down the hall, and I can’t help smirking, thinking how much he sounds like Coach Bishop.

  ***

  “Social media, in it’s various forms, has literally changed the face of the entertainment industry. No longer do viewers have to wait for the networks to give them their news, not when they can go directly to the source…” Professor Tompkins drones on.

  I’m sitting in my Communication Revolution class, tucked way in the back, backpack at my feet, and a blank notebook on the desk. Bored to death and only half-listening. This guy is notorious for long lectures, which wouldn’t be bad except he has the most monotone voice I’ve ever heard. I’m serious. Not one sliver of intonation is introduced. I’ve been avoiding this class, but it’s part of my requirement and I signed up only when I had no other choice.

  A quick survey of the room tells me I’m not the only one willing to strangle themselves by the straps of their backpack. I spend the majority of class scrolling through my phone just to escape. There’ll likely be a pop quiz on this shit before the week is over, so I should be paying attention, but right now, I’ve got something else on my mind.

  Better still—someone else.

  Her number just sits in my contacts.

  Calling to me.

  Taunting me.

  Tempting me.

  Reminding me.

  And I begin entertaining thoughts I probably shouldn’t be entertaining. Imagining possibilities that, when said aloud, seem almost impossible.

  Maybe I could reach out to her. Say hello. Tell her I’ve been thinking about her but I’ve been so busy with practice and classes I haven’t had a moment to myself. Any excuse to make it so she actually responds.

  What’s the worst she can do?

  Ignore me?

  Tell me to fuck off?

  Pretend she doesn’t remember me?

  Actually, I think that one would cut the deepest. But I would get over it. After all, it was only one night. I bet I can name at least five girls in this room who would jump at the chance to hook up with me. In fact, maybe I’ll pick one right now and convince her to leave with me. We’ll go back to my place and have hot, crazy sex. Once we’re both satisfied, she’ll go her way and I’ll carry on just as I have for the last four years. Besides, it’s easier that way. No strings or complicated attachments. No bullshit.