Breakout

by Elise Faber

  Or more important, why had he deemed her worthy?

  Double ugh.

  Why was she suddenly feeling so fucking mopey? She was Rebecca Stravokraus, PR extraordinaire, kickass social media guru, strong, funny, independent woman, and she didn’t need any man, let alone one Kevin Hayes. Exactly. That was exactly right. Mmm-kay?

  She stifled a sigh because all of that was true. She was tough, smart, good at her job, and didn’t need a man.

  But she wanted this one.

  So, she was vulnerable.

  Rebecca didn’t like feeling vulnerable.

  Kev squeezed her fingers. “The last conversation I had with my dad, the one that wasn’t in the hospital was . . . intense.”

  She watched his face, or the side of it she could study as he navigated the crowded San Francisco roads. His jaw was clenched and when she glanced down at his free hand on the steering wheel, his knuckles stood out on his skin in sharp relief and that tension had her doing something she’d never done with a man—because she didn’t do relationships, because she didn’t dare put herself in a position to care or be vulnerable—but Kevin was different, and so she leaned across the console and rested her head on his shoulder.

  He gave and gave and gave, and now he was giving again. He knew she was feeling vulnerable and generous, lovely man that he was, Kevin was giving her more.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she murmured.

  The car slid to a stop at a red light, and he turned his head enough to press a kiss to her hair. “Laying it all on the table, sweetheart. Let it out, see where we stand. Wasn’t that the plan?”

  Her breath caught, but she nodded. “Yes.”

  The light turned green, but he didn’t shrug her off or take the hand she was holding back. Instead, he drove the last few minutes to her apartment in contemplative silence. She wanted to ask him to finish his thoughts but didn’t want to push . . . or risk another breakdown in a vehicle if her new emotional side took over. So, instead of talking or asking questions, she just enjoyed resting her head on his shoulder.

  When they got to her building, she directed him into her underground parking garage and had to move when he input the code to the gate. Instantly, she missed the broad expanse of him as he pulled into the lot and parked in her spot.

  Her car would be staying at the practice facility again.

  Because she wasn’t letting Kevin leave.

  Lips twitching at the creepy thought, she glanced up and her heart rolled over in her chest. He was staring down at her, emotions in those brilliant gray eyes and everything . . . just . . . stopped.

  “Hi, beautiful,” he murmured.

  She didn’t think, didn’t consider her actions. For once in her life, she didn’t consider risk or optics or fallout.

  She acted.

  Clambering over the console—damned thing kept getting in the way—she squeezed herself between him and the steering wheel.

  “What—”

  Not about to let him finish that sentiment, she kissed him. And fuck but it was good. Any time their lips met, the rest of the universe just fell aside. Nothing else mattered except for the two of them and—

  His hands gripped her hips, somehow pulled her closer, and any thoughts of the universe, or hell, all thoughts whatsoever left her brain completely. Done. Gone. Because fuck it felt good when he stroked his tongue alongside hers, teasing it into a dance that had her seeing stars. But she could hardly concentrate on his mouth because his hands were moving and stroking, making her alternately shiver with pleasure and shift closer to get more. One of his palms was on her back, sliding up and down her spine, fingers dipping down beneath the waistband of her slacks then under her shirt and up between her shoulders. His other was alternating between her hip, tugging her closer even though they were already pressed tightly together, and her hair, tilting her head just . . . so.

  And so was fucking great. Incredible. The best ever.

  Because it was Kevin.

  Eventually, they had to pull apart for pesky oxygen, and she collapsed against his chest, heart pounding, breath in desperate little gasps.

  He was no better, but considering he was used to being on the ice, working his ass off for short, intense shifts and then recovering quickly, Kev was much better off than she.

  “I hate you,” she panted, ear to his chest, listening to his heart still pound, but his breathing slow. “And your aerobic prowess.”

  He’d stilled at the first part of her statement, but the second made him roar with laughter. So much laughter, in fact, that he dropped his head to her chest and lost absolute control.

  She was with him, the intensity of the kiss in the hall, of the emotions in the car, and now with their make-out session leaving liquid desire to pool between her thighs, the laughter was welcome. Also, this just in, having Kevin’s face pressed against her chest while he was chuckling, the hot bursts of his breath sliding through the thin silk of her blouse, the vibrations from his amusement teasing her, reminding her exactly how close he was to her breasts, the hard points of her nipples—

  His head came up, stormy eyes colliding with hers.

  For one second, she thought he was going to kiss her again . . . he leaned so close that she could smell the energy drink Nutritionist Rebecca gave to all the boys after practice, but just before their lips could collide, he lifted her and plunked her back onto her seat.

  “Should we go up for that drink?” he asked.

  She nibbled at the corner of her mouth, gaze dropping to his, loving the way it moved when he talked, desperate to taste it just one more time.

  He grinned. “We’re going up.”

  After turning to grab her bag from the back seat, he opened his door and got out. She took one deep breath, trying to remember why it was a bad idea for her to strip Kevin naked and have her way with him in the parking lot, and reached for the handle. He beat her to it, opening her door, snagging her hand, and tugging her to her feet. But he didn’t step back as she found her feet and so suddenly, she was flush against his chest, all of those gorgeous, hard muscles against her and—

  Well, he wasn’t helping with her resolve to not jump him right there in the parking lot.

  “Come on,” she said, sucking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly then snagging his hand, brushing by him, or in reality, squeezing past him and the door. She waited a beat for him to close up the car and lock it, then tugged him toward the elevators. She punched in the code and waited for it to come down to the garage level.

  Her apartment was on the top floor and had a private elevator that she shared with only a few other tenants. Tenants whom she rarely saw.

  Which was a major perk right in that moment because as soon as the doors opened, Kevin tugged her inside, rasped out, “Which floor?” To which she pressed the button for her floor with a smirk, and before her finger had even moved off the button, he’d pinned her against the elevator wall and taken her mouth.

  It was caveman, him pinning her against all these surfaces and kissing her senseless, but . . . in that moment? She might as well have tossed her feminist card aside, because fuck if she cared.

  Plus, she had to face facts, because kissing in the elevator was a fuck-ton better than kissing in the car.

  And kissing in the car had been fucking fantastic.

  The doors opened on a ding and he lifted his head, leading her out into the hall.

  “Why are you smirking?” he asked.

  “Because your lot has corrupted me.”

  Now it was his turn to smirk.

  She smacked him lightly. “Not that way,” she said. “I’m corrupted on my own enough in that department. I meant in my use of the word fuck.”

  Hot eyes on her. “Oh?”

  “Look,” she said, tugging her purse from his shoulder so she could pull out her keys. The gray bag he’d bought her had a special pocket for them and so it only took her a few seconds, after which, he took the bag back. “I love the word fuck. It’s the per
fect curse word. Four letters, punchy, versatile. But you hockey players have corrupted me. I now use it as a noun, an adjective, a verb.”

  He snagged the keys from her hand, opened her door. “A verb?”

  Oh dear.

  Or maybe oh goody.

  Because that look on his face was . . . H.O.T.

  Her nipples tightened further, aching nubs that were no doubt poking through her bra and shirt. And they were far from the only body part aching. Her lips . . . her pussy. They’d been primed and waiting, and she had to face it, quite desperate, for Kevin for more than a month now. This was years of wanting coalescing into this moment.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “A verb.”

  Lightning in storm clouds, but this heat wouldn’t burn . . . or at least it wouldn’t burn to injure. It would scorch and scald and threaten to reduce to ash, yes, but Rebecca knew it would be in the best damn way.

  She closed the door, locked it, then stepped close. Really close, close enough that he had to drop her bag to the floor, close enough that her breasts were against his chest and her nipples were very happy with that development. Close enough to watch his eyes darken, to smell the fruity protein drink on his breath, to see the white scars on his face—one above his brow, another crossing his bottom lip, one on his jaw.

  Her mouth brushed over them. Then her tongue.

  Kevin was stock still. “A verb?” he repeated, voice hoarse, every muscle in his body like granite.

  “Yes, baby,” she whispered. “Maybe you can show me how that works?”

  For a second, nothing. No movement, no reaction. Absolutely, nothing.

  Then everything. Absolutely everything.

  And she wasn’t disappointed in the least with Kevin’s version of that particular verb.

  Sixteen

  Kevin

  He was spinning out of control. Rebecca felt incredible, tasted incredible, and Kevin was close to losing his mind and every bit of skill he had in the bedroom. His cock was demanding he tug off those sexy as shit slacks, spread her thighs, and dive between.

  With fingers and mouth and tongue. He’d make her come as quickly as possible, lift her up, pin her against the door then slide inside and—

  No.

  She needed more. Better. Finesse. Care. Especially after what she’d shared.

  The last damned thing she needed was him rutting against her like a fucking twat who didn’t know the first thing about romancing a woman.

  Rebecca needed to know she was special, important, that she was everything.

  And so, Kev forced himself to slow way down, to unclench his hands from her hair, to slip his palm down her spine, fingers dipping under her shirt to brush against her silky skin. Her thigh had wound itself around his waist again, and he actually had to clench his teeth in order to not thrust forward and grind against her.

  Slow. Slow.

  He trailed his mouth down her throat, stopping to inhale the glorious scent that was his woman, sweet and floral and spice, then nipped at her jaw.

  She jumped, fingers wrapping tightly around his arms. “Kevin?”

  Tongue dipping into the shell of her ear. “Yeah, baby?”

  “What”—her hands clenched, her heel dug into his ass, encouraging him closer—“the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  He froze. “Um.”

  “I’ll tell you what you’re not doing,” she said. “And that is not showing me the meaning of fuck as a verb.”

  “I want to make it good for—”

  He hissed out a breath when she did a little hop and he had to react quickly so he didn’t drop her when her other leg laced around his waist, pressing her pussy flush around his cock. Stars flashed behind his lids, but having to cup her ass so she didn’t tip backward wasn’t a tough task to bear. It felt fucking incredible to have her so close, made the urge to tear off her slacks even more intense. Especially, when she slid her hands up to his scalp, gripped tightly, and ordered, “Fuck me, Kevin. Not sweet and kind. Not soft and gentle. Tonight, in this moment, I need you to make me forget my own name.”

  His heart thundered in his chest, his cock went impossibly harder. “You sure?”

  Chocolate eyes on his, and she nodded. “Make me forget, baby.”

  He could do that.

  Still, he hesitated one more heartbeat. “Last chance, sweetheart.”

  In answer, she tilted her hips and leaned up to kiss him. Then Kevin didn’t worry about going slow or wringing out as much pleasure as possible from her. Instead, he focused on the moment, on getting her so hot for him that she’d forget where she worked, what had happened earlier, everything she’d revealed. Later, he was going to find out every single thing that drove her wild.

  For now, he did what he’d been imagining for fucking years. He spun, pressed her to the door, holding her there with his hips to free up his hands then kissed her with every ounce of pent up desire he’d been holding on to. She met him stroke for stroke, and when he nipped her bottom lip, she nipped his. Tongue in his mouth, soft lips moving against his. It was hot and wet and there wasn’t an ounce of tentativeness.

  This was Rebecca and him, and they’d cut the proverbial code.

  So no hesitation. No patience. Just spiraling need and rapidly moving hands. He gripped the sides of her shirt, yanked hard enough to send buttons scattering every direction.

  “Kevin!” she gasped.

  “I’ll buy you a new one,” he muttered, more focused on the sight now revealed in front of him.

  Creamy skin, luscious breasts, fire engine red lace.

  He reached for her bra—

  “Don’t tear that one,” she said, one hand coming to his. “I love this bra.”

  He did, too. So fucking much. But if she was aware enough that she was stopping him from tearing off her clothes, then he also wasn’t doing his fucking job. His woman was brilliant, passionate, and smart, but her big, juicy brain was doing them both a disservice at the moment.

  “Feet, baby,” he ordered.

  “What?”

  A shift of his hips had her heels clacking to the ground, and he spent the barest amount of time possible making sure she found her feet, before dropping to his knees, unbuttoning her pants, and yanking them down her legs.

  They bunched at her ankles like handcuffs, but he didn’t give a fuck.

  Not when her pussy was there at nose level, not when it was in matching red lace, not when he could see that red lace was darkened with moisture.

  Fuck.

  “I—”

  He slid his hands in between her thighs, separating them as much as her pants would allow, and pressed his mouth to her pussy. Her sweet scent alone nearly sent him over the edge, but her against his tongue was even more dangerous to his self-control. Honey with notes of tartness, she was the most delicious meal he’d had the pleasure of tasting.

  And the way she reacted . . . the scream when his tongue hit just the right spot was even better.

  He didn’t give her slow, he didn’t take his time learning everything that made her sigh and shiver and moan. Instead, he moved fast, yanking her up the cliffside, propelling her toward an orgasm with his fingers, tongue, and teeth, stroking, licking, nipping until she stiffened and cried out.

  “Fuuck,” she groaned. “Holy fucking shit.”

  Kevin slipped off one of her shoes, then one leg of her pants. “Not yet, baby,” he murmured and rose to standing. “That’s now.”

  He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and the condom from inside it. “You don’t need—”

  Fuck. No, he didn’t.

  He dropped his wallet to the floor. “I’m clean.”

  “I know.” A beat. “You wouldn’t do this if you weren’t.”

  And fuck if that didn’t hit him right in the heart. This woman, his woman knew he’d protect her, knew he’d never risk her, knew—

  This wasn’t making her forget her name.

  So, he tucked the pleasure of her words away, stowe
d it safely to think about later, then he got back to making Rebecca forget her name. He reached behind her, flicking open the clasp of her bra, yanking it down to expose her breasts, and bending to suck one of those perfect nipples into his mouth. Not gentle. Not slow. And once again, she exploded, cries emerging from her lips, fingers curling into his biceps, pulling him closer. Kevin switched sides, cupping her breasts in both hands, working one with his tongue and the other with his thumb until she was shivering, lips parted, words of pleading pouring off her tongue.

  Straightening, he lifted one of her legs back around his waist then the other after he’d unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his cock. A beat as he waited for her to meet his gaze with a raised brow because no matter how fast they were going, he wouldn’t ever take something that wasn’t on the table.

  Her answer came in the form of her hand snaking down and positioning him at her opening.

  A tilt of her hips, a tilt of his . . . and he was home.

  Fucking home.

  He stroked into her, knowing this was right, that nothing would ever feel as good as sliding in and out of her.

  “More,” a gasped-out demand that was easy to accommodate.

  He moved faster, harder, his pleasure ratcheting up, and he knew that he wouldn’t last much longer, but then she stiffened again, her hips bucking and a long, low cry of pleasure bursting from her lips.

  And thank fuck for that, because one, two more strokes, and he was exploding, heat tearing down his spine, incinerating him, lacing his body, his heart, his future with Rebecca’s.

  Because he was never letting her go.

  Fucking never.

  Seventeen

  Rebecca

  She came to, spine aching from being pressed against the door, shirt torn open, bra askew . . . and her pants hanging from one leg.

  One foot still had a heel on, the other was bare.

  And she’d just had the hottest sex of her entire life.

  Kevin was flush against her, heart pounding, skin slick with sweat . . . and still hard.

  “Baby?” she asked.

  “Mmm?” He nuzzled her shoulder, pressed a kiss to her collarbone.