by June Winters
“I'm fine.”
“You're not fine. I know you want me to think you're a tough guy, but you're actually cut pretty badly. You might even need stitches.” She found a kit in the closet. “Here. Sit on the bed.”
Lance threw off his jacket, loosened his tie, and sat at the edge of the bed with a sigh. Paige approached with a wet, warm washcloth in one hand and a first aid kit in the other.
“Aren't you going to take your coat off first?” Lance asked. “Feels like you're about to run out the door.” He lowered his voice. “You know. Like you did the first time?”
Paige groaned. “Fine.”
Lance watched with interest as she unzipped her parka. She'd forgotten what she'd worn beneath it, and when her busty Burger Stand t-shirt was revealed, her insides were crushed with embarrassment. She wished she'd refused and kept her coat on instead. But the cat was out of the bag now … the athlete now knew she was a waitress.
Or maybe he didn't know. Because Lance was too busy trying not to stare at her cleavage—and totally failing. He looked like something had gotten lodged in his throat.
“They make us wear these,” she said, self-consciously folding her arms over her chest.
The spell was magically broken, and Lance woke from his boob-induced trance. “Who?”
“The Burger Stand. You know, the shirt I'm wearing?” She pointed directly at the words so he couldn't possibly miss them. “See these words, right here? Right next to my tits?”
“Oh. Oh. Right, yeah. I didn't even see that text.”
“They never do.” She rolled her eyes. She stood over him and began to dab at the gash on his brow. “Anyway, that's the restaurant I work at.”
“So you work at a restaurant, huh? Are you a server?”
“Yep.”
“How do you like that?”
She laughed as she gently began to dab at his wound with the warm cloth. “It's not exactly what I imagined I'd be doing with my life. But it's where I'm at right now, and it's what I have to do.”
“Well, what would you rather be doing?”
An ironic laugh escaped her. “This.”
Lance didn't quite follow; his other brow arched. “Hm?”
“Nursing. I was a nursing student at Vanderbilt when we met.”
“Oh. I didn't know that.”
“We didn't know anything about each other when we met, Lance. Not before or after.”
“But wait, you can't find a nursing job? I thought nursing jobs were in high demand.”
“I had to take a break from school, because—” She gritted her teeth. I can't yet. I'm too nervous. “Because some family stuff came up. I've still got one more year to finish.”
“Oh. Damn. Well hey, you'll get there.”
He watched quietly while Paige held the warm cloth to his gash. Paige was used to Irie's screams of bloody murder anytime the child had a wound that needed treatment. The silence was nice, the moment nearly sweet.
“Does that hurt?” she heard herself ask quietly, her embarrassing maternal instinct on full-display.
Lance snickered. “You do realize I play hockey, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Good. See all these scars?” One by one, he pointed them out: on his chin, hidden in the hair of his other eyebrow, one across the bridge of his nose. Really, they were his only imperfections, and as much as Paige wished he didn't have them? Somehow, they made him more handsome.
“We get hit with sticks and pucks all the time,” Lance continued. “The trainers stitch us up right on the bench. So this is nothing. But hey, I appreciate it.”
“Sorry,” Paige apologized, “I'm just used to …”
He stared at her, expecting her to finish the thought. “Used to what?”
“Nothing.”
She wanted to tell him about Irie so badly. But each time the opportunity showed itself, her stomach turned to knots and she thought she might get sick and she chickened out. She had to build towards it slowly instead.
She began applying one butterfly bandage after another to his cut, wondering how to work up the courage to tell this man that they had a beautiful daughter together.
“Honestly, Lance,” she quietly began, “I didn't know you were a hockey player when I met you—”
Lance cut her off with a sparkle in his eye. “I always wondered about that. Because you wouldn't ask me what I did, and any time I tried to tell you, you stopped me. I couldn't tell if you were fucking with me or not.”
Paige bobbed her head. “I could tell you wanted to tell me. I guess I got a kick out of denying you. I was kind of … in a bad mood that night.”
“See, I thought you were giving me a tough time because I was an opposing player. Because normally, if a girl doesn't know who I am, I'm not taking her to my hotel room after just one drink, you know?”
Paige hung her head in shame. “Oh, yeah, don't worry. It wasn't anything like that. We met, you bought me a drink, and I spread my legs for you. You could've been anybody. I'm just that easy.”
“Shit, hey, I didn't mean it like that.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “It's not like I knew you either. So I'm just as 'easy' as you are. Right?”
Guh, Paige thought. That wasn't very comforting.
“It's different for a woman,” she said.
He puffed. “How?”
Because, y'know, we can get pregnant, she thought, but she didn't answer.
“Nevermind.” Paige put the last butterfly bandage on his brow. “Anyway. There. You're all patched up.”
She tried to move away, but Lance still held her hand and wouldn't let her go. He pulled her closer until she was between his massive legs. Gently, he lowered her into his lap. She felt ridiculous—but then he wrapped his giant, muscle-bound arms around her and squeezed. It felt nice. It felt really, really nice—to be the one being comforted for once. She'd needed this. She basked in the manly strength of his arms and the ginger-pepper scent of his cologne.
“Hey. Paige. I'm sorry. I swear I didn't mean anything bad. And honestly? I'm happy you didn't know who I was. It makes what we had a little more special, you know?”
If you had any idea how special it really was, she thought with a gulp. She rested her head against his.
“And I've felt that way for two years,” he continued. “Something about you really stuck with me, Paige.”
You're telling me.
“That's why I always drag my teammates out to Zickell's when we're in Nashville. Like Radar said. I was looking for you.”
She glanced at him. “Really? You were?”
“Yeah, babe.” He grinned. “Radar's the only one that knows, though. If the others knew, they'd never let me hear the end of it.”
Knowing that he still thought of her gave her the courage she needed to finally tell him. Paige took a deep breath.
But before she could let it out, he put his finger to her lips. “Two years, I've been looking for you, Paige.”
“Yeah, me too, bec—”
Lance leaned forward, pressed his lips to hers, and kissed her.
Paige wanted to resist at first, but she was shocked to remember what a sweet and passionate kisser he was. Gently, she began to kiss him back—and in a sudden rush, the memory of his taste, his scent, the way his lips moved, all came rushing back to her. Her heart felt feather-light, her knees weakened, her thighs throbbed, all the same exact way it happened two years ago at Zickell's—
So she forced herself away.
“I've been looking for you too, Lance,” Paige whimpered, “but—”
“Shhhh.” His fingers, so rough and calloused, circled her lips so smoothly and gently.
And before she could think better of it, her lips parted. Slowly, he pushed his thick finger deeper into her mouth, and she welcomed him in. She sucked him and teased him with her tongue, knowing full well that she was making him drunk on desire.
His eyes flickered with embers of lust. “I want you so bad, Paige,” he growled.
>
He tossed her to the mattress and pounced on top of her, just like he had two years ago.
Chapter 10
Paige
What am I doing? Paige wondered. She laid beneath the hockey player, trapped between his muscular forearms. He lowered his weight to her, pressing her against the mattress. He kissed her again, their tongues touching and twining. Oh God, what am I doing?
She'd had more than one chance to tell him about Irie—but each one had vanished just as quickly as it had arrived. Shame filled her—shame that she'd been too weak to seize the opportunity and tell him the truth. And she felt even more shame, because with each kiss, Lance roused a part of her that hadn't seen the light of day in far too long.
The athlete kissed her fiercer and deeper, his body rocking against hers in waves. His desire grew with every kiss—and so did he. She could feel him lengthening in his trousers. His firming manhood rubbed against her crotch, and her pussy clenched and heaved with a desperate longing.
Her needs and desires had come in second place for so long. Yes, she needed to tell Lance about his daughter—she knew that.
But she also needed this. Badly.
And nothing's stopping me from telling him after …
Who knows? Maybe it'd even help.
Lance pulled her Burger Stand shirt over her head and flung it aside. A second later, her bra was added to the heap on the floor. His eyes hungrily feasted on her perky breasts. “God damn, babe. Your tits are even better than I remember.”
He lowered his mouth to her nipples. But before he could suck, she quickly pushed his face away. “No. Don't.”
His brow grew heavy. “Why not?”
She couldn't possibly tell him the real reason why—not now, not like this. “I'm, uh, too sensitive. Sorry.”
Paige could see it in his eyes; he knew something wasn't right. What's more, she knew that lies and rejection in the bedroom could quickly turn a lover suspicious and ruin his mood. Eager to make it up to him, she dropped to the floor and crawled to the edge of the bed, between his legs.
She unbuckled his belt and wrestled his trousers from his muscular thighs. His cock eagerly sprang out, towering high into the air and jumping with his pulse. He still wore his piercing—a gold ring through his glans.
She licked her lips at the sight of him. She never thought she'd care for a dick piercing, but something about the gold ring on the head of his cock made him look so yummy. She loved to play with his ring, just like she had two years ago. She ran her tongue through the gold piercing, closed her lips on it and tugged, until he yelped with a mix of pleasure and pain.
“Look how hard you got me,” he whispered.
She dragged the very tip of her tongue up and down his penis, ruthlessly teasing him until a glistening trail of pre-cum trickled down his glans.
“Suck me,” he growled, “I can't take it anymore! I want your mouth so bad.”
She was happy to obey. Truth was, she wanted him in her mouth worse than he did …
Paige parted her lips and let his thickness in. She swiveled her tongue over his glans, slurping up the sweetness of his excitement.
She sucked his salty male flesh faster, harder.
“Oh my God,” Lance gasped. His grunts and groans were like music to Paige's ear. She loved to make a man whimper, to reduce him to a panting mess, and lord knew, it'd been far too long since she'd heard that particular song …
And then she heard a new song: loud, annoying, electronic. It was Lance's cell phone.
“Shit. Sorry.” He grabbed the phone off the nightstand, looked at the caller ID, and rejected the call. “I'll talk to him later.”
The cell phone was returned to the nightstand, and Paige wrapped her lips around his cock again.
But a few seconds later, Lance's cell phone was screaming again.
“God damn it, leave me alone,” Lance swore, rejecting the call a second time.
“That ringer is awful.” Paige wiped at her lips. The annoying interruptions were killing the mood. “Is that your team? Do you have to go or something?”
“It's not the team, it's some other asshole. Whatever he wants can wait. I'll just turn my phone off.”
“Okay …”
Lance scooped her off the floor easily and tossed her onto the bed. “Anyway, it's my turn to go down on you.”
He pulled her leggings off. The panties she'd worn to work weren't sexy at all, and Paige once again felt a wave of embarrassment, but Lance didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care. He tugged the panties down her legs, bunched them into a ball in his fist and tossed them over his shoulder.
And then the muscle-bound athlete spread her legs, lowered himself between her thighs, and began to lick at her heat.
“Oh … my … God,” she panted as Lance painted perfect brushstrokes with his tongue.
She'd forgotten something: Lance was really good with his tongue. He sucked and licked at her folds, her clit quickly hardening into a sensitive nub.
“You're so good at that,” she cooed, keeping a tight fistful of his short hair in her hand.
He stuck his wide finger in her opening. His finger alone filled her better than her ex ever could. He thrust his finger in and out, filling her inch by inch, his talented tongue always lap-lap-lapping at her clit. A brightness began to glow in her belly and a trembling rattled her limbs.
“You're so creamy right now, babe. I fucking love it.”
“That's because I'm about to come,” she said with a tremble in her voice. She laid a shocked and embarrassed hand over her eyes. Her muscles tightened, her whole body clenching with the promise of a coming climax.
Lance finger-fucked Paige deeper, harder, faster. His wet, hot tongue swirled on her clit with the perfect pressure.
“Oh my God, Lance, I'm coming!” she shrieked.
The tension boiled over, and waves of pleasure exploded through her body. Lance never stopped licking or fingering, and one wave of ecstasy after another crashed over her. Paige's pleasured moans turned to screams, and her legs helplessly thrashed against the mattress.
Gently, Lance began to slow, guiding her through the blissful storm and back to her senses.
When she opened her eyes, Lance was cuddled next to her. His arm was possessively wrapped around her waist. His body heat was like a furnace against her side, and she felt him poking against her thigh.
He started to chuckle. “Paige. Oh my God. That was so hot. Just like I remembered it.”
“Yeah …” She could barely speak. Her nerves were still thrumming like the strings of a guitar.
“You're so flushed.” He put his hand against her cheek. “You're on fire, actually.”
She wrapped her fingers around his thick forearm. “Kiss me, Lance.”
He didn't need to be told twice. An immense heat ignited between their juicy, sweltering lips. And Paige knew it now. She wanted him. Again. She wanted the father of her daughter inside her, now more than ever.
“Condom,” she whispered.
Not that protection really worked the first time, but hey.
Lance nodded. He reached into his pants, drew a condom from his wallet, tore the package open, and rolled the rubber down his impressive girth. Paige beckoned him with her finger, come hither, and gave him her bedroom eyes …
But both their heads jerked to the side when a sudden noise interrupted them.
It was a pounding at the door.
Chapter 11
Lance
“Who is it?” Lance snarled, hoping that whoever was on the other side of that door would figure out real quick that this was not a good time.
Because he wasn't about to jump out of bed for one of his teammates' dumb pranks. Not with a rubber on, and certainly not with this little Nashville hottie all wet and ready for him. Hell, the girl was flushed bright red—her skin burning hot to the touch—and Lance could only imagine how hot and tight her pussy would be …
But then he heard the only words that could k
ill the mood.
“Lance, it's Mr. Tremblay, open up right now!”
Startled, Lance sat up. Shit, does this have something to do with those Kip Sterling phone calls I rejected?
“Can you give me a few minutes?” Lance asked, suddenly sounding a lot more polite.
“No! Open up, now!”
“Fuck,” Lance hissed quietly.
“Who's that?” Paige whispered, pulling the bed sheets up her naked body and covering her breasts.
“That's the general manager of my hockey team.”
“Fantastic.” Paige buried her face in her hands. She looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “Are you in trouble, Lance?”
“Might be,” Lance said with a sigh as he hopped out of bed. He stuffed his erection into his trousers as best he could. He went to the door and cracked it open. Mr. Tremblay didn't look happy to start with, but he looked even less happy when he realized Lance wasn't opening the door any wider.
“Lance, I told you, open up. We've got to talk.”
Lance shook his head. “I can't. You caught me at a bad time, Mr. Tremblay.”
But Mr. Tremblay—a former player back in his youth—had a short temper. He didn't like being told no once he'd lost his temper. He summoned the ox-like strength he was known for in his playing days, lowered his shoulder, and charged. Mr. Tremblay bowled through the door, and Lance staggered backwards.
“Hey, what the hell, Mr. Tremblay!”
“I said, we need to talk!”
“I told you, this isn't a good time.”
Mr. Tremblay, intruding in the hotel room, suddenly saw why. His head tilted as he saw the red-faced girl cowering under the bed sheets. “You've got a girl? Oh, that's just great, Lance.”
Paige stared back at Mr. Tremblay, her eyes huge, her mouth drawn open in shock. She couldn't possibly look any more mortified if she'd tried. Thankfully, she was fully covered, but still …
“Sorry to intrude, miss,” Mr. Tremblay said. He seemed to stare at Paige for a second too long.
“Sure,” Paige said with a defeated sigh.
Lance grabbed Mr. Tremblay by the shoulder and turned him around. “Okay, let's give her a little privacy, yeah?” He walked his boss back to the door. “Give me a few minutes. I'll get dressed and then we'll talk.”