Her back meets the wall, and I brace my hand above her head, taking in the darkening of her eyes and the quickening of her breath. “Sound like a good plan?”
She nods.
Leaning in even closer, so I can smell her perfume and feel the tickle of her hair at my jaw, I whisper, “You know there’s a flaw in your logic, right?”
“W-what?”
Not so confident now.
“You may not get out much, but what’s my excuse, Jules? Because I get out plenty, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the taste of your kiss from the first minute I had to give it up.” I run my nose against the shell of her ear, reveling in the unmistakable tremor that follows. “All I can think about is your mouth and everything I want to do with it.”
Her breath comes out in a warm rush, leaving her lips parted in the most tempting way. I bring my thumb to that soft, padded swell and then trace it down the pretty line of her neck in a path I want to follow with my mouth.
“Greg,” she says weakly, “you’re not playing fair.”
I’m playing the only way I know how. To win.
“No? We could stop.” I say it just to see her reaction. To make sure I’m not letting my ego get ahead of me and misreading something that’s important to me on a vital level.
“We could,” she acknowledges softly, her eyes never leaving my mouth.
Yeah, I don’t think so. “But really, what’s one more kiss?”
Her nod is so small it’s almost imperceptible. That’s something about Julia. You have to look really hard to see what’s going on inside her head. More than that, you need to know what to look for.
And I do.
“Between friends,” she whispers before we collide.
Our first kiss beneath the bleachers started out slow and careful, and stopped at the edge of control. This kiss begins there. Julia meets me with a moan, her mouth open to the thrust of my tongue. Our hands are everywhere, moving in an urgent quest for more contact.
Her body is perfect, the curve of her hips a perfect fit to my flexing fingers, her breasts full and soft against my chest in a firm press. Her head is thrown back and my mouth is moving down the sexy column of her neck. Jesus, she smells good. I give in and lick the shadowy hollow between her breasts.
“Damn you,” she gasps, her fingers sliding into my hair and gripping tight.
“Dry spell, my ass.”
Then I’m kissing her again. Harder. Faster. It’s hot and frantic and fucking amazing.
Her body bows beneath the bend of mine, and the feel of her that way is like a drug. I want more. My arms snake around her, one at her waist and one across her ass, pulling her into closer contact until our hips are flush and that stretchy flowy skirt she’s wearing rises as her knee skims higher up my thigh.
I can’t believe this is Julia. My Julia.
I mean, I’m a guy, and she’s fucking amazing, so yeah, I’ve thought of her like this over the years. Joked about it. But we’re friends, and that means a hell of a lot to me, so I never expected to act on it. But now, all the little ways she’s stood apart from the crowd are starting to come together in a way that’s new and hot, and filled with so much fucking potential, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.
We’re rocking together, me against her belly, her against my thigh, and the little sounds she’s making, Christ, they’re sexy.
Her knee is hitched at my hip, her skirt bunched high and her shoulders against the wall. I smooth my hand up the toned line of her leg to the edge of her panties and then over them, groaning at the damp heat. When she rocks into my touch and gives me the softest, neediest little cry I’ve ever heard, something inside me snaps.
I fist her panties, and a second later, they’re off her body, the torn remnants sliding into my pocket for safekeeping. Julia’s eyes go wide, her lips parting on a rush of breath that tells me she very much likes the liberty I just took.
“I’ve got to touch you, Jules.” It’s my only defense.
She blinks up at me, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide. That look. I’ll never forget it. Never get enough of it. Grabbing my hair, she pulls me back into her kiss and moans around the thrust of my tongue as my fingers slide through her pussy. Slick and wet.
She’s going to be the end of me.
I’m not going to fuck her, though. Not here in some cluttered back room at a friend’s party. But I also can’t stop. Not yet.
“Greg,” she gasps as I play between her legs, following her slit from one end to the other, stopping to circle her clit before sliding one finger in for a shallow tease.
“So tight.” I think about her dry spell and wonder how long it’s been. But then I shove that thought away because I don’t want to think about anyone being here but me, no matter how long it’s been. “So wet, Jules. Is all this for me?”
She doesn’t have a chance to answer before I sink deep, wanting her to feel me in places neither of us ever thought I’d get.
I tell her how hot she is, what she’s doing to me. What I want to do to her. And when I kiss her again, it’s hard. Demanding.
My tongue matches the strokes of my finger, in and out, firm and deep. She’s humming around me. I can taste how close she is, feel it in the greedy grasp around my finger.
Tearing away from the claim I’ve staked on her mouth, I move to her ear. “I need to hear you come. I need to know what you sound like coming for me.”
Her eyes fly to mine, and Christ, that contact hits me like lightning. Too fast to realize what’s coming or prepare for the shock.
Julia.
I’ve looked into those honeyed pools too many times to count, but she’s never let me see past the playful edge. She’s never let me into this soulful, secret place that’s about the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I don’t want to blink, can’t risk breaking something I’m not sure she’ll let me have again. Something I don’t want to give up.
“Kiss me, Greg,” she whispers, and I give her what she wants, sinking into the slowest, deepest, most soul-fucking-shattering kiss of my life. Another beckoning stroke within her wet heat, and she shatters, clinging to me as I swallow her cries, kiss her breathless, and wring every last bit of pleasure from her there is.
I slip my hand from between her legs and, after a last appreciative caress, release her knee to slide down my thigh.
Distantly I register that we’re still at a party with barely more privacy than we had beneath the bleachers.
I should take her out of here. Take her home. Take her… well, anywhere.
She’s still leaning against the wall, her dress caught halfway up her thighs and twisted across her chest so it’s barely covering the breast I helped myself to however many minutes ago. But it’s her eyes that give her away. Heavy-lidded and soft-focused, she looks like a walking advertisement for back-room nookie.
It’s a far cry from the controlled image she maintained at the reunion, and it feels like a victory of the chest-thumping variety to me. But it’s nothing I want anyone else to see. This look is mine.
“Here, let me.” I start at the top, smoothing her hair as best I can before moving on to where her dress vees in front and the skewed bra beneath.
“I can get that.” She’s still a little breathless, her voice not entirely steady. “Just give me a minute.”
“Pretty sure I owe you a put-together after last time.”
She reaches up and gently touches the corner of my mouth, smiling.
“What?”
“You’ve got a dirty mouth.”
My grin cranks up. “Are you surprised?”
“Not at all.”
Her skirt is still exposing her toned legs, and I can’t bring myself to fix it just yet. I lean in again, tipping her chin to my kiss.
The temptation to get lost in it again is strong, but instead I pull back and meet her eyes.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Julia
Get out of here?
/> I just came harder than I have in my whole life, and he wants to leave before I have a chance to repay the favor? “What—umm—what about you?”
“Don’t worry about me. We’ll get a car.” Greg’s hand is warm against my cheek, his eyes tender as they search mine. Too tender. “I’ll buy you an ice cream. A drink. Something.”
“Like a date?” I rest my hand against his chest and give up a gentle laugh.
I don’t date athletes. But even if I did, that’s not what this was about.
“Look, I get it, Greg. We’re friends, and you’re probably trying to make sure I don’t feel cheap or used or whatever. But you don’t need to worry. I wanted this.” It’s so true, I have to look away as I mutter, “In case you couldn’t tell.”
He ducks his head, invading my vision again. Heavy angles and hard lines add to the collection of roughhewn features that make up the most beautiful face I know. There’s nothing gloating or smug in his tone when he says, “I could tell. And I think it’s pretty safe to say we’ve established the whole world-rocking thing is specific to us and can’t be attributed to any dry spells. Which is why you ought to break your rule for me.”
The way he’s looking at me has me closer to agreeing than I’ve ever been before, except— “I don’t break my rule for anyone.”
His brows knit together as my words sink in. “Julia.”
“No.” I sigh and push off the wall, half surprised to find my legs actually holding me. “Look, I know that was… intense. Obviously after all these years, that IOU had some heavy interest on it.”
“You aren’t seriously going to try and sell me on this again.”
“Yes, I’m going to try and sell you on this.” Absolutely, I am. I can’t afford to get caught up in the idea that there’s something special or significant between us. I don’t date athletes and Greg Baxter is top-tier. “Fine, I wasn’t expecting that kind of chemistry. But the chemistry doesn’t have to be an issue. I mean seriously, thirteen years of friendship. You don’t really want to risk it on a few sparks.”
I know I don’t. Especially considering Greg’s track record with women. He’s a player. Even back in high school, I can’t remember him going more than a week or two with the same girl before moving on. And yeah, some of that was that there wasn’t room for much in his life beyond hockey, but still. I see the tabloids. I know his reputation. In ten years, not much has changed.
All that aside, I don’t want to risk the professional credibility I’ve worked so hard to establish.
“A few sparks?” He stalks away and then turns to come back. “Julia, have you ever felt anything like that?”
Never. Not once in my life.
“What does it matter? We’re friends!”
His mouth slides into a familiar half-smile, but it doesn’t match his eyes. “Yeah, friends who burn inferno hot when their mouths touch.”
My confidence falters, but I don’t let it show. “Okay, but deep down, we’re still friends before anything else, right? Good enough friends that we should know better than to try and make more of this than it is. I don’t want to mess things up. And what about my job? I just can’t, Greg.”
He stares at me, eyes hard and intense. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I have the distinct impression I’m getting a look at what the opposing center sees during a face-off. It’s disconcerting, but in a blink, it’s gone.
“Okay.” He ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. When he looks back at me, it’s with the carefree smile I’ve been counting on for as many years as we’ve been friends. “So friends?”
Really? Just like that?
Greg’s always been a guy who burned hot and cold, but still, that was fast. Not that I’m complaining.
“Always.”
As if on cue, his pocket starts to vibrate, and with a last look he takes a step back and answers the call with a terse, “Yeah?”
The little bubble of intimacy we shared pops, and I feel colder. But I know I’m right.
Greg shoves a hand through the sexy mess of his hair and turns, signaling for me to wait a minute. “Thanks, man. Yeah, I’m getting out of here pretty quick anyway… you too.”
“What’s going on?”
Pocketing the phone, he walks over to the window and glances out. “Someone posted we’re here.”
Instantly I’m on alert.
“I don’t see any press out front, but that’s probably going to change pretty quick.” He turns, squinting back at me. “I’m not really in the mood for sound bites and smiling for the cameras tonight. You going to stay or go?”
The two of us leaving at the same time would be suspect. I need to play it smart.
“I’ll stay. You go.” Heat pushes into my cheeks, and I nod toward his fly. “I’m sorry about—”
He cuts me off with a laugh and, wrapping his big hand around my shoulder, leans in to drop a quick kiss on the top of my head. A friendly kiss.
“Don’t worry about it.” Flashing a wink that’s pure Baxter, he adds, “Gives me something to take home to Keri.”
I burst out laughing as he cuts toward the door. Keri. The hand lotion he’s been referencing as his significant other since high school. “Have fun.”
“I will… Say, Jules, you get around to upgrading that vibrator yet?”
This guy. “No,” I laugh out, because only Greg could throw that in like it’s casual conversation.
He flashes me a wicked wink. “Just want to make sure I’m working with an accurate visual for later. Night, Jules.” The door closes behind him, and I slump into the only chair in the room not stacked with boxes.
We’re good.
This is what I want. And that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach—the one that has a lot to do with the look in Greg’s eyes when he asked me to break my rules for him—well, it’ll go away.
Two hours later, I’m home in bed when I get Greg’s text with a picture of a box of tissues, a candle, rose petals, a twenty-ounce water, and his pump-bottle of lotion… all I can do is laugh. Until I stop laughing, because now I’m thinking about it. About the thick, long fingers that had been so deep inside me… wrapped around him.
My thighs squeeze together, and I try not to dwell on the way he kissed me or the rumble of his voice when he told me he needed to hear me come. But it’s too late. My eyes are sliding closed as my hands inch between my legs to my still-swollen sex.
I shouldn’t.
I won’t.
I—
Another text. The tissue box. Empty and on its side.
That man!
8
Julia
FIVE MILES ON the treadmill should have been enough to get my head straight, but by the time I stumble off my machine, all I’ve accomplished is muscles that burn so bad I can barely walk, and I end up having to hail a cab for the three-block trip back to my place.
I can’t believe I let it happen again. Greg gave me every opportunity to stop him last night, but by the time his mouth finally met mine, I was shaking with need. It didn’t matter that we were at Martin’s party, that anyone could have noticed we’d disappeared into a locked room together, or that I’d sworn there wouldn’t be any repeats of the kiss from the reunion. All that mattered was the way he looked at me and how every crooked smile of his pulled me just that much further past the lines I’d drawn in the sand. By the time my shoulders hit the wall, I would have grabbed hold of any excuse Greg offered to justify what had become inevitable.
The elevator doors slide open with a ding, and I push off the rail, trying to shake the sensual fog clouding my mind with dirty kisses and even dirtier talk.
Why did he have to ask for more?
If he’d pulled away from that kiss and held up his hand for a parting high-five, we both could have walked out of that room without a care in the world. But instead, I’m swamped with all these what ifs and wouldn’t it be nices and maybe in another lifes… because in this one, what Greg was offering just isn’t in the cards.
At least he saw reason in the end.
I let myself into the apartment and drop my keys into the catchall just as Matty slides into the room in a padded Superman muscle suit and two paper plates fashioned into slippers.
“AJ, you got a package!” he shouts, flinging himself at my legs and then wiggling to get free when I crouch down for a full-size hug.
Matty’s been calling me AJ since his first words and couldn’t manage the mouthful “Aunt Julia” made. It started as a little slurring of sounds about a month after he nailed “Mama,” and Cammy and I thought it was so cute and, since it made sense, we went with it.
“Hey there, Superman. How was your day?”
“Good. I had applesauce twice! Is the package for me? Mommy says it’s not for me, but I bet it is.”
I think back, trying to remember what I’ve ordered. There were the mittens that matched Cammy’s coat, but they weren’t supposed to be here for another week or so.
“I’m not sure, little man. Maybe you can help me open it and we’ll find out who it’s for together.”
“Yes!”
He darts off toward the kitchen, and I follow, checking my phone. I’ve got seventeen texts from the hour and a half I’ve been at the gym. I’ve cleared four of them when I see the next one is from Greg.
Matty’s voice carries around the corner. “She said I could open it!”
Cammy replies, but I can’t make out what she’s saying.
Greg: For when you’re thinking of me.
My brow furrows and then the penny drops. My feet are already moving as I belt out, “Cammy, no! Do not open that box. Matty, let AJ pick out a present just for you. Don’t open it!”
I skid around the corner and find Matty kneeling on a chair at the kitchen table and Cammy by the sink, both staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. The package in question is parked on the counter, untouched.
Dirty Player_A Hockey Romance Page 5