Rescuing the Receiver

by Rachel Goodman

  Hazel twisted her fingers into my hair, tugging at the roots, and I groaned. Our kisses grew deeper, more urgent. With each passing second, the water in the tub seemed to become hotter, the bubbles more frantic. Every inch of me was on fire.

  I broke away and trailed my mouth along the sensitive spot behind her ear, the curve of her neck, the hollow of her collarbone, sucking and licking and tasting the sweat that had beaded on her bare skin. When I dragged my teeth along the column of her throat and massaged the tender flesh of her breasts with my palms, flicking my thumbs back and forth across her nipples, she gasped and arched into me.

  I drew a hard peak into my mouth, teasing it with my tongue, then did the same with the other side. Hazel moaned, lowering her hips and pressing her slick heat against where I was hard and throbbing. A low guttural sound tumbled from my lips, and oh fuck, I was ruined. Hazel rocked forward, sliding over me again, and whimpered. An uncontrollable hunger rippled through me, my breath hissing out through my clenched teeth.

  “How serious are you about erasing your boundary lines?” I asked, my voice ragged from what little self-control I still possessed.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her own voice no more than a raspy whisper. Hazel searched my face through hooded, glassy eyes, her chest rising and falling in sharp, unsteady bursts. Tiny scratches from my stubble marked her skin, and a flush covered her body.

  “I want to taste you . . .” I moved a hand between her thighs and pushed two fingers inside her, grinding my palm against her clit. “Here. Right now. In the cold air with you spread out on your back and bathed in moonlight.”

  Hazel gasped and dropped her forehead to my shoulder, gripping the nape of my neck to hold me close against her.

  “Is that a yes?” I continued to pump my fingers in and out of her as the hot tub water bubbled around us, no doubt heightening the sensation.

  “What about you?” she asked between pants.

  I furrowed my brow. “What about me?”

  Leaning back, Hazel peered into my eyes with genuine puzzlement. “I mean, what pleasure do you get out of it?”

  Of course it would seem incomprehensible to Hazel that pleasuring her brought me just as much pleasure. Once again she’d confirmed that no matter how much we’d talked about it, Hazel still adhered to a single guiding principle: Other people’s needs come first.

  “Let me show you,” I said, brushing the wet, tangled hair off her shoulder.

  She bit her lip, then nodded slowly. Picking her up, I laid Hazel onto the stone deck, drinking in her gasp as heated flesh met the ground, then gently pulled her toward me, so her ass barely hung over the edge of the tub. Steam rose off her, and the water glistened on her skin. I could only imagine how the harsh juxtaposition of changing from the hot water to the night air felt on her exposed body.

  Kneeling on the bench, I gripped the outside of her legs, spreading them apart, and dipped my head between her thighs, covering my mouth over where she was wet and aching.

  “Oh god,” she said, threading her fingers into my hair and rocking her hips up into me. I groaned, my gaze locked on the way her back arched, showing off the length of her neck and the curve of her breasts. Damn, she was gorgeous and all mine. I could devour this woman over and over and never grow tired of it.

  A slow stroke of my tongue caused a gasp, and the light scrape of my teeth over her clit elicited a moan from deep in her throat. I set up a steady, persistent pace, licking and sucking, biting and plunging. Sounds of pleasure fell from her lips, and Hazel writhed against my mouth, abandoning all control.

  Fuck, I could come just like this, driving her insane, banishing her inhibitions, silencing that pesky desire to take care of everyone around her except herself.

  Soon the tendons in her thighs tightened, her whole body going rigid, as her desperate noises became high-pitched and strained. Hazel was right there. All she needed was a soft, slight shove and she’d tumble into the abyss. I slid my hands up around her waist and along her ribs, ghosting my fingers across her taut nipples, then thrust my tongue deep inside before circling her sensitized clit.

  That was all it took.

  Hazel cried out as her hips jerked wildly and her orgasm exploded through every inch of her body. If I experienced only this one moment for the rest of my life, I’d die happy.

  There it was again, an emotion so intense and so foreign it eclipsed all else. I loved her. With soul-crushing certainty, I loved her. And I’d never felt more out of my element—or more alive.

  * * *

  It was a fact of life that whenever you were dreading something, the time before the event seemed to pass faster than normal. So I shouldn’t have been surprised that my judgment day with the commissioner’s office arrived at rapid speed—a week after the calendar shoot.

  The hearing didn’t start for thirty minutes and already a crowd of reporters had formed at the entrance to the Blizzards training center. Fabulous. Gatorade splashed onto the thigh of my suit pants as the town car rocked over the rows of speed bumps leading to the front doors.

  “Damn it,” I said, cleaning off the orange liquid with a napkin.

  Scott cursed under his breath. “The vultures are circling.”

  Yeah, and so were my nerves, spinning so endlessly in my gut that even Gatorade couldn’t settle it—I’d emptied the contents of my stomach twice this morning.

  “Remember, chin up, shoulders back, expression neutral. We don’t want anyone interpreting guilt in your body language,” he said, as though we hadn’t discussed this a million times. “But keep your mouth shut. Leave the talking to me. Understood?”

  “I got it.” My voice was sharp, my knee bouncing rapidly to the rhythm of the music filtering through the speakers. Why else was I paying Scott 15 percent of my earnings if not to protect my best interests?

  “And whatever the ruling, don’t lose your cool. Save the anger for the privacy of your own home,” Scott instructed, as if speaking to a tantrum-prone toddler. “The NFL Players Association will handle any appeals.”

  I nodded, though I couldn’t guarantee I’d comply with his request. Like I’d told Hazel, I refused to be made an example of or used to advance the commissioner’s agenda.

  The town car pulled up to the curb. Here we go. I adjusted my tie in the rearview mirror and stepped out, cameras nearly blinding me as the media fired off questions from every direction.

  “Chris, if your punishment includes a suspension, do you plan to appeal before the season is over or wait for the off-season?”

  What do you think, Captain Obvious?

  “With all the attention surrounding these allegations, how are you able to keep your mind focused on game fourteen against the Bengals in two days?”

  By pretending leeches like you don’t exist.

  “Are your teammates disappointed that you’re a distraction during such a crucial point in the season?”

  Is your wife disappointed with your stamina in the bedroom?

  “Chris, the Blizzards have somehow managed to salvage this season and position themselves for playoff contention. Are you concerned the results of this hearing could ruin your current six–seven record and the momentum Colorado has built?”

  Is that rhetorical?

  Per Scott’s instructions, I remained silent, focusing on my breathing and getting through the next couple hours unscathed. The moment I stepped into the reception area, calm washed over me. This place was home, where I belonged, and I wasn’t going to let today’s outcome jeopardize that.

  Scott tapped me on the shoulder. “I’m going to do some rounds, get a read on things,” he said, jerking his head toward where Kent McDougall and Coach Wallace were chatting beside the gleaming Lombardi Trophy on display.

  I glanced around the lobby, noticing that the majority of people milling about were Blizzards personnel and NFL Players Association spokespeople. No sign of representatives from the commissioner’s office, and I wondered if they were being held somewhere else.
Smart, separating the defense from the opponent’s offense.

  “Christopher, there you are!” My mother’s shrill voice bounced off the graphic murals painted on the walls that depicted various moments in Blizzards team history.

  Cold dread replaced the nerves tightening my stomach. What was she doing here? Ordinarily I appreciated my mother’s support and encouragement, but not now. Not today. Her showing up for the hearing made me feel like a little boy who’d been called to the principal’s office.

  “Sweetheart, you should have worn your navy suit with the silver-striped tie,” she scolded, her heels click-clacking on the marble floor as she crossed the room. “And really, do you own a comb? It looks like something’s nesting in your hair.” My mother kissed my cheek, and I smothered a groan when she wiped the lipstick mark off with her thumb.

  “Mom, you know you can’t actually be present in the room while the hearing is going on, right?”

  She waved me away. “I’m not clueless, Christopher. I’ll be leaving shortly.”

  Gwen lingered a few feet behind her. Of course my sister had to be here, too. When had my sister ever missed an opportunity to watch and cheer as my charm failed and consequences struck? But to my astonishment, Gwen wrapped me in a hug and whispered in my ear, “I advised Mom against attending, but she insisted. I figured it best that I join her in case she needs reining in.”

  “Thanks.” I pulled back and squeezed her arm. “Did you have to close Quince for this?” Gwen was dressed casually in black pants and a gray sweater, not exactly appropriate attire for working in a kitchen.

  “No. I’m just not heading into the restaurant until later. And since I own the place, it isn’t a big deal.” She shrugged and smiled.

  Except it mattered to me that Gwen had cared enough to shift her responsibilities to show her support. Despite being twins, Gwen and I had never been particularly close growing up, both of us on our own paths and pursuing our own passions. But ever since she’d returned to Denver from San Francisco last year, things had been changing between us. I was grateful for it.

  “Logan here, too?” I asked.

  Gwen shook her head. “He’s in Green Bay.”

  “Christopher, where’s your lady friend?” our mother interjected, glancing around the reception area, the corners of her mouth pulling down into a frown.

  “You’re joking, right?” Gwen asked, lifting a palm in exasperation.

  “Mom, seriously?” I said at the same time.

  “Enough of the attitude, you two. It’s a valid question.” Our mother adjusted the gold bangles on her wrist, the polished metal glinting under the overhead lights. “You can’t blame me for wanting to be introduced to the woman you’re dating, Christopher.”

  “I think my love life should be the least of your concerns at the moment.” I sighed. “And anyway, Hazel’s busy with appointments at the shelter.”

  “Actually, Chris . . .” Gwen tapped my arm and pointed to something over my shoulder.

  I turned, my eyebrows rising in shock at the sight of Hazel striding through the training center entrance. Hazel had asked if she could attend today, but I’d told her this was something I needed to handle on my own. But now that she was here, I was glad she’d ignored me.

  Meeting my gaze, Hazel began to walk over but hesitated, as if she was uncertain of her welcome where I was concerned. I smiled, and her shoulders relaxed, her expression softening. Yeah, I was damn happy she’d come.

  As Hazel wove her way through the crowd, I leaned over to my mother and whispered, “Behave.”

  She swatted my arm. “Relax, sweetheart.”

  I stepped forward to greet Hazel, but my mother blocked my path, plastering on her best beauty pageant grin, and extended her hand. “You must be Hazel Grant. I’m Rose Lalonde. I’ve heard so much about you,” she gushed, like champagne out of a bottle.

  My mother appraised Hazel up and down before nodding in approval. Could she act more blatant? Thankfully Hazel didn’t seem to notice—or she pretended not to.

  “Only good things I hope?” Hazel gave my mother a warm smile of her own.

  “Of course, dear. Of course,” my mother said, dismissing Hazel’s concern with a brush of her hand. “Christopher can’t stop talking about how smitten he is with you. I hope you’ll join me at the game this Sunday in the box designated for family of the players.”

  Hazel began to answer—probably to inform my mother that she already had a permanent seat in the most important box at Blizzards stadium, the owner’s box—but my mother cut her off.

  “And I’m so glad that you’ve been putting Christopher’s reputation to good use at the shelter,” she continued. “Though I do find it strange seeing my son half naked on that highway billboard every morning.”

  Kill me now.

  Hazel looked at me out of the corner of her eye, pink coloring her cheeks. Now I understood why I never mixed my romantic relationships with family—my mother couldn’t be trusted to filter her comments.

  “Boundaries, Mom. We discussed this.” Gwen rolled her eyes, then exchanged hellos with Hazel and whispered, “I swear she’s usually more subtle.”

  Our mother scoffed. “Well, excuse me for being invested in my children’s lives. I only spent fourteen hours in labor delivering you both.”

  Hazel laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a move I now recognized as something she did whenever she was uncomfortable or uncertain. “It’s okay. Must be a parental thing. And I’d love to join you at the game on Sunday.”

  “Really?” I asked her, not even bothering to hide the shock in my voice. Hazel had never seemed interested in watching me play or football in general, so I wasn’t entirely sure what this meant in terms of her feelings for me, but I knew it wasn’t insignificant.

  Hazel bit her lip and shrugged. “Sure. It could be fun.”

  “Excellent, dear,” my mother piped up. “We could drive to the stadium together, if you’d prefer.”

  “Umm, well, actually Ms. Lalonde, I should probably meet you there, because I have this thing I need to do at the shelter beforehand,” Hazel replied, her words jumbling together, her expression panicked. Clearly the last thing Hazel wanted was to be trapped in a car with my mother in addition to being trapped with her in a box suite.

  I caught Gwen’s gaze and mouthed, Can you please distract Mom?

  She nodded, her chin bobbing ever so slightly. “Hey, Mom, I think Coach Wallace is waving us over.” Before our mother could protest, Gwen grabbed her wrist and led her across the lobby, tossing me a wink over her shoulder.

  When they were out of earshot, I rested my palms on Hazel’s hips and said, “Sorry about that. Mom can be invasive sometimes.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “It’s fine,” she said, clearing her throat. “Listen, there’s multiple surgeries lined up at the shelter. As much as I want to stay for the hearing, I can’t. I only swung by to wish you luck.”

  Disappointment settled in my gut, and it was enough to ground me in reality again. Of course Hazel couldn’t hang around. And besides, my situation wasn’t her problem—or her battle to fight. It’s why I’d asked her not to come in the first place.

  “I appreciate it—”

  “Chris, they’re ready for you upstairs,” Scott interrupted. “I don’t want to keep the commissioner waiting.” His voice was hard as he scrutinized Hazel, clearly not recognizing her as Kent McDougall’s niece.

  “Yeah, okay,” I replied, then squeezed Hazel’s hand and said, “I’ll see you later, okay?”

  I started to follow Scott to the bank of elevators, but stopped at the sound of Hazel calling my name. I spun around. Her expression was serious, green eyes shining and analyzing—always analyzing.

  “Just remember that no matter what happens in that room today, it’ll all work out in the end,” she said, so full of hopeful optimism and faith.

  And for a moment, I believed her.

  * * *

  I rode the elevat
or up to the top floor of the training center alone, desperate for a few more seconds to gather my bearings. The steel doors slid open, and I inhaled a deep breath. Stepping into the empty reception area, I squared my shoulders and leveled my chin when I spotted everyone already situated inside the glass-enclosed boardroom.

  I’d faced worse, I reminded myself as I made my way over. I’d outmaneuvered entire defensive lines. Shrugged off three-hundred-pound tacklers. Stripped half naked for a giant highway billboard. At the end of the day, I was the only one who determined my fate—and my future—and not even the commissioner himself could change that.

  I entered the boardroom and a dozen heads spun in my direction. Kent McDougall and Coach Wallace nodded at me in unison. I settled into the vacant chair between Scott and the NFL Players Association’s representative, across the mahogany table from where the commissioner and his cronies were lined up in a row like a firing squad. Tammy, Kent’s s assistant, poured me some coffee and set the steaming mug on a coaster. I smiled but gently pushed the cup aside. Caffeine was the last thing I needed—I felt plenty wired on my own.

  Standing, the commissioner adjusted his tie and cleared his throat. “Chris, we appreciate you meeting with us today,” he started, as if I had a choice in the matter. “Let’s get the hearing over quickly—I think all of us are eager to put this incident in the past.” His voice was matter of fact, bordering on sympathetic, like he was doing me a favor, but his expression did nothing to hide the fact that he held me at his mercy—or that he enjoyed it.

  “Happy to be here,” I said, flashing a smile as fake as my tone, wishing I was anywhere else.

  Scott kicked my shin while the commissioner shot me a look that told me to shut my mouth. Apparently, I was here just for decoration. I swallowed back another smart comment and gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the outside practice fields and the west side of downtown Denver in the distance.