“Aiden, please,” I beg, clutching his hair, pushing his head as his wet mouth closes in on my pussy. Then he licks in one long stroke, penetrating his tongue deep into my folds, sweeping over my throbbing swollen clit and I cry out. As I buck into him, he takes my hips into his shaking hands and holds me until I vibrate. He sucks my clit into his mouth whole and swirls his tongue around it, then flicks it hard and fast.
I scream in mindless bliss as a throng of pinpricks coalesce into one intense vortex of hot convulsing pain-pleasure until everything goes black for an impossible instant.
Then the universe explodes into a million stars behind my eyelids, my body quivering, clenched tight, sweat and tears streaming down my temples and running together.
Aiden raises his head and his warmth and energy leave my pussy. My eyes fly open to see him, his face, those eyes, hovering above me. I reach out and pull his head down until his lips, glistening with my cum, cover my mouth and I drink him in, drink us in, that pleasure filling me. He half moans, half groans into my mouth and shame floods me at my sheer selfishness.
My hand shoots down to take his throbbing cock with its creamy tip into my grip and I squeeze. Then, opening my legs, I pull his tip to my opening, blindly needing him there, knowing his need, feeling it in the jump of his cock in my hand as I urge him inside me.
Aiden pushes himself up off me, his voice tight. “Babe. Condom.” He pulls himself upright with a pained groan as if he’s being torn in two. And he leaves me. As I watch him reach for his pants, horror floods me. Shame sobers me and I sit up.
“Fuck. I-I don’t know—”
“Shh. Babe, it’s okay. I got it.” He returns to me, hands shaky as he kneels on the bed over me, in between my legs. I watch him slide the condom over his impressive straining cock as it protests, making the job difficult, making the anything-but-clumsy Aiden Liam Cavanaugh look clumsy and uncoordinated, as if this were his first time.
But it’s our first time and I welcome him into my arms as he lowers himself to blanket me with his magnificent body, his cock lying heavy between my legs. I arch into him, my pussy demanding to be filled, impatient and salivating.
He reaches down between us, taking his cock, moving it to tease my swollen folds.
“You ready?” he whispers in that lust-drunk rasp of a voice that sends another shiver of anticipation through me. My heart taps at my chest wall like a frantic dancer stuck in an endless loop, waiting for the end of the song to explode into a shattering crescendo.
I clutch his sinewy ass, desperate to force him inside me, and he smiles like a rakish pirate debauching a willing maiden. Removing his hand from his cock, he runs a finger through the wet folds of my pussy. He brings it up to his mouth and as he licks the glistening juices from it, he thrusts in one long smooth slow glide inside me.
My epic moan of pleasure comes from my soul. “Aiden . . . oh, Aiden.” He moves inside me as I arch up and his cock hits the farthest spot, my most sensitive place. Dizziness swirls my mind and I close my eyes, holding onto him as he pulls out to the tip. Then I arch up to meet him as he thrusts in again, strong and steady and swift, to the hilt. The dizzy pleasure in me shoots through my body, more intense than before. I can feel the quiver in his arms as he holds himself above me, taking the brunt of his weight, yet covering me.
“I want more.” I’m not aware of saying the words, but I hear myself.
“You’re so hot and tight, Allie. I’m going to lose it fast.” He rasps the words as he moves in and out again, quicker, but under control. I bring a hand up to his face and hold his cheek as I kiss him. He darts his tongue into my mouth as he moves his cock in and out of me, faster now.
The movement, filling and emptying me, plunging and hitting that wildly dizzying spot deep inside, heats me. Incinerates me. I hear his growl, feel his tension, and as he slams into me hard, I hold him inside, forcing his eruption to mingle with my explosion, that final blinding eclipse where all I see is red and all I feel is him and the ultimate ecstasy of orgasmic pleasure.
He bursts, repeated spasms releasing all he has as he says my name over and over like a prayer of thanks. My own voice is lost in a silent breathless scream of joy. Until I hear it, loud and clear.
“Aiden, my love . . .” And there’s nothing to stop me from spilling what I feel from my soul.
It takes a long time for the shaking to stop, for the passionate tension to uncoil. Aiden holds me, kisses me, tells me how magnificent I am. His words are soft, tickling my ear, but I want to see his face, so I gently release him and nudge him off me. He slips one arm under my back and holds me to him and I throw an arm over his still heaving chest, feeling his heart thud wild with excitement.
We say nothing as our hearts slow, but not because it’s awkward. I feel more satisfied, more comfortable than I ever have with a man. Am I ready to confess that to the Boston Brawlers’ MVP? No. I haven’t lost my mind completely. Not yet. But I know it wouldn’t take much from here. He gets to me when he shouldn’t. He’s too goofy, and yet he’s not. He’s funny and strong as hell and responsible and confident to a fault. And even though words uttered in the throes of passion can and are routinely easily dismissed, I spoke the word love. It’s more surprising than alarming. Because right now, I’m too blissful to be alarmed. Not even by the increasing assault of the wind against the trees and house.
Chapter 10
Aiden
The rattle of the windows does nothing to rattle me and, more surprisingly, Pink doesn’t even flinch. But to be fair, I don’t think she has the ability to move because I’m pretty sure I sucked the last ounce of energy from her with that last orgasm. We’re tangled together, warm and breathing normally now. Contentment travels through me as I stroke the soft pliable skin of her breast for no reason except that I can.
“Why did you agree to puppy-sit with me this weekend?” It’s an odd thing to say, but I ask because we both know she didn’t need to do it. She didn’t need to cave so easily to Chelsea’s mild pressure.
She licks her lips. I think it’s my favorite horrible habit that she has. Or at least it tortures me the most. Except now that I’m lying in bed with her and we’re sated and naked, I don’t need to hold back. So I don’t.
Rolling to my side, I face her. Then I caress her cheek and kiss her with all the tenderness in my heart. Slow and gentle with our passion spent, I explore her mouth, like I’m exploring the gateway to her soul, like I’m testing how I feel. I don’t know what the connection is that we have, where the chemistry comes from, only that it exists. Ending the kiss on a sigh, I can’t let her get away without answering my question.
“Why did you agree when you knew I’d be here? You knew I could handle it on my own.”
“You ask a good question,” she whispers, her mouth a breath from mine. “What if I don’t know the answer? Truly? What if I can’t even figure out my own head, my motives? Because it’s so unlike me to act impulsively.”
“Maybe you wanted to do your friend a favor.” I need to hear her deny it.
She snorts a laugh. My second favorite terrible habit of hers.
“I’ve been doing Chelsea favors for years. Ever since I’ve known her. She owes me her first, second and third-born child by now. But who’s keeping track?” She shrugs one pale shoulder, that little tease curving one side of her well-kissed mouth. Not quite a smile, more like a smirk, like she’s been hanging out with me too long or that she can’t allow herself too many smiles. “I love her like a sister,” she says finally. “I don’t mean sorority sister, though we started out that way. More than that. Neither of us has a real sister. Maggs too. We were like the three Musketeerettes, bound forever as the sisterless sisters, all beset by brothers. Except Chelsea’s brother died and that makes me grateful for mine and protective of her.”
I nod. The notion of her giving freely to her friend sends a shaft of pain through my chest. I recognize the feeling. Longing. It’s never been so strong, so specific to one woman. But there�
�s no way to shove it aside, ignore it or pretend it away. She looks at me, brushes her hair from her face, all her heart on display in those serious eyes turned tender.
“I know I’m rambling, not making any sense.” She waves a hand like she always does. Another lovable habit. “Maybe I came because I love dogs,” she says, a teasing note in her voice accompanying the taunt on her lips. Those juicy lips. My dick loves her lips so much it jumps.
“Some people have called me a dog,” I say.
She laughs out loud. And then she pushes up on her elbow, her face over mine, and kisses me like she means it. More than lust infuses the mingling of her lips with mine. There’s no keeping track of time as it travels from the evening dark to the blank of full night in this storm. I only know I fight sleep as long as possible, drinking up every bit of her passion and giving everything I have until we slip into that half dream state. And then just before oblivion settles, I remember the prediction of tidal waves in the morning. I’ll need to get up early to get out the sand bags.
Chapter 11
Pink
I sit up abruptly. Monday morning comes with the sound of surf thundering like the water’s crashing close by. Aiden is gone from his spot next to me in bed. The downdraft of emotion sucks the air out of me. I shiver.
When I try to stand I almost fall to the floor, the muscles in my legs screaming for mercy. Every muscle in me complains and other parts too, awakened by the all-night-sex marathon. And in case my mind is too fuzzy on the details, my body reminds me as I walk across the room. The full dawning of my shameless passion from last night colors me as I rush to throw on clothes.
Did I actually have a one-night stand with Aiden Liam Cavanaugh? It didn’t feel like a one-night stand, but his absence this morning begs to differ. He’s a Brawlers hockey player. Notorious. The MVP. Player as in heartbreaker. Man-whore. Playboy. Lothario. Whatever other label fits. Pirate. He’s the least likely guy on the team for a relationship. Not that I’m looking for a relationship, but I’m not into being a notch on someone’s belt and I’m not into collecting my own notches.
Maybe that’s a good thing after all. He won’t take this seriously. One night in bed is business as usual for him. And a one-time excusable mistake for me.
Right?
Wrong. This is why I don’t do one-night stands. I’m not built this way. I can’t help feeling tenderness toward him no matter how much I try to hide it from myself. I’m not sure if he can tell but I hope to hell not. Probably not. He’s too used to the women who throw themselves at him every time he goes out with no expectation beyond a night to brag about.
This is the reason the guys on the Brawlers are off-limits no matter how hunky they look. They’re shallow and easy. The players take home puck bunnies on a routine basis—a practice I wouldn’t have believed if I hadn’t witnessed it firsthand for the past couple of years since we’ve all been hanging out. It’s been easy to call them off-limits. They’re hounds. Every last one of the single guys on the Brawlers and Aiden has been king of the bed-‘em-and-leave-‘em crowd.
For fuck’s sake, he was already on the phone with another woman when I came back from the ferry not an hour later. What was I thinking last night?
I was thinking about how he told me about Jillian, that she meant nothing, that she was a puck-fuck chaser. A puck bunny, a disgusting turn of phrase that makes me shudder, unsure what that makes me right now.
But mostly I wasn’t thinking at all last night. I was feeling. All that pleasure I’d been lacking I got in spades. Time to give myself a break. Time to get rid of any notions of more of the same. Time for distance from the hunky man who’s exploited my weakness.
That’s not fair. In truth, he’s been a perfect gentleman and I’ve been weak without much provocation at all. But no more. I’ve had my fun, broken the drought. Exploded the fucking dam of man-induced orgasms in spectacular Technicolor fireworks.
Throwing open the patio door, I rush outside and look around. It’s still windy, but the rain has stopped. The sky has some brightness and I hope that means an end to this weekend, finally.
Mostly. Looking around, I see Aiden at the edge of the patio lifting a giant bag and straining. I rush down to him, remembering. High tide. Fifty-foot waves. Didn’t he say if the waves got to fifty feet they could compromise the rock seawall?
I rush toward him. The crashing surf is already close to the wall and the tide is coming in. There’s a stack of bags on a hand truck and he’s already laid some of them to shore up the patio wall against the alarming surf. The bags look impossibly heavy, but there must be some way I can help. He’s been working while I slept.
“How long have you been out here?” I shout over the clamor of the wild ocean, guilt rising above any dismay about last night.
He looks up at me and a big smile, the kind where his eyes squint with true pleasure, transforms his face from the serious concentration that held it a second ago. His eyes travel down the length of me and his brows crease. I forgot, in my rush to join him, that I’m barefoot and wearing nothing but an oversize shirt and panties.
“What the fuck, Pink? Go put on some proper clothes.”
“This is no time to worry about my wardrobe. It’s high tide. We were warned about the possible storm surge this morning and it’s here and then some. We can’t let the water get into the house.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not going to argue with you. I’ll lift the bags off the truck and you see if you can position them.”
We work to drag the sandbags into place and get out more from the storage room, further shoring up the patio wall against the waves. Cold sea water splashes over the wall, soaking us.
“Go inside and put some dry clothes on,” he says again, his breath heaving. I shout back.
“If you can stand it, I can. It’s now or never to get these bags out there.” I heft the end of a bag up and into place against the stones.
Wiping seawater or sweat or both from his brow, he comes closer. “You’re stronger than you look.” He’s serious and the look in his eyes sends a shot of desire through my gut right down to my amazingly resilient pussy. There’s seriously something wrong with me. I’ve had my fun, quenched my thirst for passion and then some last night. I couldn’t possibly need more. But maybe I want more.
I was once a ballerina,” I joke, deflecting his scintillating look, the admiration too real, too disturbing. “Plus I work out when I’m not working.”
He goes back to the job, lifting the last bag from the truck. He grunts and I’m not sure if it’s derision or the weight of the fifty-pound bag he’s just tossed on top of the wall. He’s already dragged more than two dozen bags out here and I can see the sweat mingling with the ocean spray on his bare chest. The clouds on the horizon swirl darkly, signaling that it may rain again.
“I think the brunt of the storm is past us. I can tell,” I say watching him straighten and push the hand truck back up toward the house.
“You an amateur meteorologist?” he says as I follow him.
I’m not. But I’ve seen storms come and go before, haven’t I? I wave a hand.
“Are we finished? Do you think it’ll hold?” I look back at the wall and the waves splashing up against it where we were standing a minute ago.
“It’ll have to do. We’ve used all the sandbags they had.” He stops and looks at the waves, probably thinking the same thing I am.
“The storm is over,” I reiterate.
Okay, so it’s wishful thinking. I have no clue because we’ve been cut off from all communication here since late last night. A cell tower must be down. But if the last reports were right, this should all be over in a few hours. Right after the storm surge of these ungodly high waves subside.
“Okay, Pollyanna,” he says. Then he looks me up and down with that appreciative wolfish way he has, those panty-melting eyes sending all kinds of tingles wherever they fall as if he’s shooting sex-rays from them. “How about if we get out of these wet clothes?” T
here’s nothing subtle about his suggestion and my body is all-in, twitching and swelling and ready even after a night like I’ve never had before.
“We need to get ready to leave at the first opportunity. Time’s run out to get off this island. For both of us,” I remind him. Based on the sobering look on his face, I hit my mark. He nods and pushes the truck ahead with renewed vigor.
Shit. Disappointment hits me like unexpected collateral damage.
Chapter 12
Aiden
Relegated to dressing in the guest room into the clothing I wore three days and a lifetime ago when I got here, I’m not sure how to read Pink today. I’d expected major softening in her attitude toward me after last night. Maybe it was a mistake to get up early and leave her. But I knew I needed to get those sandbags out at the wall. No way I’d be able to look O’Rourke in the eye if I didn’t at least make the effort to prevent water damage.
With the gusts of wind getting wilder by the minute, I’m not sure if our efforts will work. I’m also not sure when or how we’re getting off the island, but today we have to. Pink was right about that. Throwing on my Brawlers zip-up hoodie over the T-shirt, I’m all packed and ready to go.
Until I hear a sickening crack, loud and long, followed by the more sickening sound of a crash and crunching metal. The sound came from out front. I drop my duffel and run for the front door.
“What was that?” Pink yells. Half dressed, buttoning up her shirt, she follows me in one of those half-runs hampered by her heels.
Throwing the door open, I run outside and come stumbling to a stop when I see the source of the crashing sound.
“Fuck.” I don’t care how loud my shout is. A gust whips around us as Pink comes to a stand next to me, one hand covering her mouth, her gorgeous expressive eyes showing the shock I feel.
He Has MVP: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Boston Brawlers Hockey Romance) Page 7