by Lia Riley
“Not taking you home, Vixen,” he said in a low voice.
She turned sharply. “Where are we go—”
“My place.” He gripped and regripped the wheel. The only body that had been in his bed for over a year had been his own. If he had a hookup, he preferred to keep it in neutral territory, like a hotel on the road. Or if in town, at the girl’s place.
“Oh. I see.” But it was clear that she didn’t.
He turned on music. A deep beat. Thumping. Hard. Mirroring what was happening inside him. Anticipation had honed his insides to a sharp edge.
Breezy reached out and flicked off the music. The uncomfortable silence that followed filled his ears to a deadening roar.
“I’m waiting,” she said quietly.
No more elaboration was forthcoming. He’d pissed her off. That much was obvious from the flush on her cheeks and the crackle in her eyes. And he’d been around the block enough to know that when a woman was angry and not saying why, then his ass was in a world of trouble.
“You’d rather to go home?” he ventured at last.
She made a small huffy noise that might as well be a game show buzzer. Wrong! Next choice.
He eased up on the gas. “Mind helping me out? I’m not great at the whole twenty questions thing.”
“Or asking, period.”
There was a hint in her testy tone. But shit, he wasn’t smart enough to pick up whatever she was selling.
Asking. Asking. Asking. He ran the word through his brain, hoping it would spark some idea. Some dim part of him realized he was panicking, that in his interest to get her home and strip her down to her socks, that he’d forgotten—
“Oh. Shit. I didn’t ask if you wanted to come over.”
She raised a brow, but didn’t disagree.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ladies and gentleman, we have a winner.
Trouble was, figuring out his blunder only got him to the playing field. This was going to have to be an apology knocked out of the park or he wouldn’t be getting to a single base.
She mashed her lips together, probably noticing him over here dithering. He was blowing this harder than a fucking popsicle stand.
There was only one way to salvage this. A straight up, from the heart, no bullshit apology.
He pulled the car over and turned off the ignition. Turning, he reached, taking one of her hands. She didn’t recoil. Progress.
“I should have asked you to come over. Not assumed, just because.”
“Look, Jed.” Her voice quavered on his name. “I get it okay. You’re like you or whatever. You. Westy. Big deal. And I am so happy to be here with you. I am. It’s just . . . being around my mom flushes my self-esteem down the toilet. And then it seemed like you were here, ready to make decisions for me and I felt devalued.”
Devalued. The word socked him in the gut. He’d done that. He himself alone.
“That wasn’t ever my intention. I don’t know how to talk about the hockey shit without sounding like a stuck-up asshole. So I’ll do the only thing that I know. Which is to call it like I see it. I’m on television. Yeah. All right. I play a professional sport game watched by lots of people. But I didn’t get into this work because I wanted to be a star. I did it for one simple reason. I love the work, or used to. Skating is my life. My passion. It’s in my blood. Or at least it has been, for most of my life.”
“I’m being touchy. And it’s hard to navigate. To be ordinary and to be with you, it takes time to get used to.”
“Let me tell you one thing. You need to quit saying that. You don’t have a drop of ordinary in you. You couldn’t be average if you tried.”
Her eyes welled with unshed tears, but her smile was something else. And the knot in his gut relaxed. He had a sense he was forgiven for some of his stupidity.
“You said ‘used to.’”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Used to love hockey. You don’t feel that way anymore?”
His hand went right to his head, the body language betraying him even as she looked on without a clue. “Slip of the tongue,” he lied smoothly. He liked Breezy. A lot. She was a good listener. A smart woman. But he wasn’t dropping that steaming pile of shit on her door. And besides, he had to be careful.
Last thing he needed was news of his injury reaching her sister’s ears. Jed West decides to leave the sport after one concussion too many? It wouldn’t take long for a reporter to do a little digging. Find out about Travis and reduce his private tragedy to nothing but a fucking sideshow. A cautionary tale about the dangers of having kids in sport. Helmet debates. The works.
Travis didn’t deserve to be a footnote to the Jed West story.
He’d been dealt enough shit cards.
And anyway, this could all be nothing. The symptoms a molehill, not a mountain.
He dug his thumb into his temple and rubbed. Please be nothing.
A slippery warmth skimmed his ear and he froze. While he’d been lost in thought, Breezy had clipped out of her seat belt and crawled over the console.
“Tell me you want to take me home,” she breathed.
The little hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. And his cock woke up fast.
He cleared his throat. “I want to take you home.”
His shaft thickened at her throaty giggle.
“And then? What will we do when we get there?”
Her tone was teasing, toying and he fucking loved every syllable.
Turning, he moved fast, grabbing the back of her head, burying his fingers in that silken hair and tilting her face to meet him. He couldn’t wait to see what she looked like freshly fucked. “First thing I want to know is this . . .” He gave her a slow, thorough kiss. “Do you taste as good between your legs as you do here?”
She sucked in a ragged breath. The flush in her cheeks crept down her neck and he’d bet a Benjamin that the blush kept right on going. Her creamy skin was so damn responsive. Held nothing back.
Which was good, because he was a greedy bastard. And hungry too.
She retreated a fraction.
“Too much?” he asked. A flicker of doubt lit in his chest. He’d never spoken to a woman like this. Maybe it was a mistake letting her peek into his depraved imagination.
Her hand rose to the corner of her mouth. When she nipped the tip of his pinkie finger, he nearly groaned out loud. There it was again. That fucking adorable giggle that made him want to fuck her sideways.
“Mr. West, I do declare.” She feigned an innocent Southern accent. She pointed forward. “Drive.”
He hit green lights the whole way home.
Jed parked in the condo’s private garage and barely got her into the kitchen. “Want the grand tour now, or later?”
“I’ll settle for the grand tour inside your pants.”
He shook his head, laughing. “You’re going to hell, Miss Angel.”
“That’s fine.” She wound her arms around his neck and ran her tongue along the edge of his jaw. “Long as you burn with me.”
One thing was clear. He was going to be coming in his pants like a teenage boy if he didn’t act fast.
“You have too many clothes on,” He fumbled with her jean button.
“Wait.” She grabbed his wrists. “Stop.”
The word froze him in an instant. He was dying and ready for salvation, but if she wasn’t ready . . . “What’s up?”
She bit into her top lip and drew in her brows. “I’m not wearing underwear.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“No shitting.” Her face blazed. “I was distracted about seeing you again. I forgot until I got to the bathroom at Aunt Shell’s place.”
He hooked his thumbs into the waist of her pants. “Then you’re killing me.” And offered up quiet thanks that his eyes were still working fine. This had gone so far beyond a distraction that he didn’t even know where he was anymore. But as she rose up on her knees, giving him space to lower her pants, he suspected it might be
heaven. Another inch and another and oh, yeah. Definite heaven.
She was bare. Pink pussy perfection.
“You’re staring,” she murmured.
“Got that right.” If he had a magnifying glass he’d use it. She was peach soft, and there was only one thing to do with such ripe fruit. “I’m gonna eat you.”
“Excuse me?” Her head jerked with surprise. Her breath came faster and Christ, he could smell her excitement. She wanted it.
Almost as bad as him.
“You heard me.” He leaned back on his elbows, dick throbbing. “Climb on my face, cowgirl. Let’s see what you got.”
Chapter Eleven
She’d never had sex on the floor, never mind the floor of an unfamiliar condo with a near total stranger who also wasn’t a stranger because she’d fantasized about him so much it felt as if she’d known him for years.
Except she hadn’t.
He’d just ordered her to ride his face. Technically, she’d won their game, and was in charge of what happened next, but when Jed West called the shots, every cell in her body was more than happy to obey. She kicked her jeans off from around her ankles, her stomach coiling in anticipation.
It wasn’t until she got situated into position that the doubt set in.
Holy crap, he looked perfect between her legs, the honey yellow flecks in his eyes, the hot-as-hell grizzle of scruff against her inner thighs. The smattering of freckles across his forehead.
If she could take a shot and immortalize it on Instagram without getting cited for pornography she’d post it with hashtags like #winningatlife or #dreamscancometrue or for Margot’s benefit . . . #magiccarpetride.
If her mom could see her now, she’d know that Jed didn’t prefer her sister. Except it was a very, very good thing that her mother couldn’t see her now.
Self-doubt gnawed at her. Because what was he seeing? Her sagging belly? Did her boobs look too big at that angle? What about her thighs?
But then he spread her open with two thick thumbs, more exposed than she’d ever been, and lapped her center with a slow, aching circle, and they locked eyes and something clicked.
He wasn’t cataloging her faults. He was here, appreciating, wait, even more than that. He might be a god, but tonight he worshipped her.
“That’s it, honey. Keep your eyes on mine.” He sucked harder, as if drawing her soul from her clit.
All up, not a bad way to go.
On and on it went, his mouth working her over in tight, tiny circles, his hooded gaze fixed on hers the whole time. When her inner muscles gripped, her hips pumping helplessly, his big hands framed her ass, urging her to ride rougher, gallop past insecurity, until she was free to take everything he gave. The lace from her bra put too much pressure on her aching breasts. She slid her hands over the curves, teasing her nipples, trembling when he growled in approval, the vibrations from his mouth radiating through her thighs.
“God.” She was so close. And he was so relentless. Wet. Deep.
She wanted to get there, to the desperate edge, to come harder than she had in her life. In the way she was made for, but that no one had ever demanded. But she didn’t want to get there alone. He had to be there too.
“What else do you need?”
She gasped, dancing on the edge of her sanity. “Let me get you off too.” She twisted as if to dismount, but his fingers dug in, locked her in place.
“Vixen, you already are. I got the best view in the house. Pull your hair up and show off those big, beautiful tits.” He groaned as she obeyed, playing her body like a maestro. He kept raising the crescendo, but somehow, skillfully, never let the build slip into actual climax.
She squirmed. Her thighs shook. Her arms trembled. She was wound tight. Need stretched all her muscle fibers tight. Her muscles clenched. If she didn’t come soon she might actually explode. That was an entirely possible outcome.
“Please,” she gasped. “Please have mercy.” She was half laughing. Almost crying. So turned on that it was possible she’d pass out or pass into some strange twilight orgasmic zone.
“Shit,” he pulled back. “I can’t wait anymore.”
“If you did, I might die.” She might sound teasing, but was dead serious.
“Nah, Vixen.” His eyes were dark, hooded and hot. “But if I do my job right, you’re gonna think you’ve gone to heaven.” He moved suddenly, sat up and stood, scooping her to him with superhuman strength. She wasn’t a delicate feather, but he didn’t even grunt.
Well he did. But in an entirely different way.
She slung her arms around his neck, locking them into place. “Where are we going?”
“When I have you the first time, I’m doing it right,” he growled. “In my own bed.”
She heaved a happy sigh.
He arched a brow as he walked, amused. “You like that?”
“You said the first time.” They ducked into a room. “That means there’s going to be a second.”
Laughter rumbled through his chest, a deep baritone boom. “Greedy girl.”
She didn’t have time to study the surroundings. Only register that his spicy masculine scent intensified and that the walls were painted a warm gray. A Hellions jersey hung framed over a black leather chair.
He tossed her on the bed, crawling over her before she’d had a chance to regain her breath. “Tell me.” He nuzzled her neck, sucking the sensitive skin as she arched, her breasts pressed tight against his hard slabs of muscle. “You want me to get inside that pretty pussy?”
Oh, lord. He was going to make her ask for it.
She nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”
His grin turned wicked as he leaned down and licked the hollow of her throat before blowing on it softly. “Say please.”
Scratch that, he was going to make her beg.
Little did he know that she was more than ready to crawl over broken glass, up a hill, in a blizzard as lava, ash and hellfire rained down.
“Pretty,” she whimpered, “please on a caramel fudge strawberry banana split with five cherries on top.”
He tugged open a drawer on the side table. She didn’t look down. Didn’t stare as he tugged down his boxer briefs to reveal his thick cock, opened the foil or slid the condom on. It was as if a perfect spell had been cast. She was afraid to move—to breathe—or the moment might disappear faster than a soap bubble.
Instead, she studied the small vein on his right temple. The one that made an appearance on television during stressful games, that one that indicated he was determined. That the other side was about to get destroyed. Except this time she was the opponent, and the idea of getting destroyed never felt so much like winning.
He held himself over her, bracing his torso on his forearms while his lower half sank onto her, hot and heavy. The hard swell of his cock nudged at her center. “You want this?” He bent, searching out her lips, breathing the question into her mouth. “All of me?”
Her throat constricted so tight that speech was impossible. The “yes” came out a muffled whimper as she gave a frantic nod and opened her legs, hands pressing on his lower back, right at the top of his rock-hard ass. Begging him to quit toying. To get closer. To hold nothing back. To be hers.
He didn’t enter, instead he rolled his hips in a shallow thrust that did nothing to quench her need. Her heart clanged. “Jed,” she gasped. “Jed, please.”
As if sensing she was about to fall apart based on pure anticipation alone, he gave in with a slow, decisive lunge. A half smile played on his lips even as the cords on his neck drew tight, but he never closed his eyes. No, they burned her inch by inch until she was consumed, burning from the inside out.
He held himself there, buried to the root, so deep it was impossible to say where her body ended and his began. Sweat slicked his chest, his body heat intensifying the cedar scent of his aftershave as feverish blood thrummed through her own veins. Everything was this moment and yet it was as if she’d drifted somewhere new, beyond time or reason. As short as a
breath, as long as a lifetime.
It was Jed who did this to her. Jed West. The man she’d lusted over for years from afar, separated by television screens or stadium seats, and her own starstruck awe.
But he was so much more than Jed West, hockey star. He was simply Jed, a man stripped to nothing but pure animalistic need. Need for her.
How extraordinary.
Extraordinary that in his arms she was anything but ordinary. Not an easy lay to be used and discarded. The way he stared down at her was full of wonder, reverence, as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
In fact, he shuddered. Not a lot. But as he eased out his cock and then buried it again in a tender push, a jolt ran through him. He was taking the moment achingly slow. Savoring it—no, scratch that, more specifically, savoring her like a delicious tiramisu, his last meal on Earth.
“Fuck,” he groaned softly. “Fuck, Breezy. So good.” His breath fell hot upon her cheek as he wrapped his big hands around her thighs, thumbs spreading her lips, and took his time: stretching, feeding himself inside inch by incredible inch until he had nothing more to give.
Until she’d taken everything and was filled, hips arching and heart brimming.
A dark lock of hair tumbled over his forehead. “Hey.”
The single word of greeting was so unexpected that a breathless giggle erupted from her chest. “Well, hello there.”
“This okay?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the single most amazing experience of my life, but . . .” She clenched her inner muscles. Good thing she practiced her Kegels on a regular basis because he gave a guttural moan, his fiery gaze like a lit fuse, threatening to incinerate her into the mattress. She licked her lips and locked her ankles around his muscular ass. “Put your back into it, Cap. Oh my God. Oh my good God. Give me everything you got.”
“Christ.” His gruff laughter vibrated through her as he inclined his head, rested his forehead on hers and bore down with his hips. “You’re something else.”
“Yeah.” She twisted, rolling over, rising up so she sat on him, ready to ride. Good lord, he was beautiful. Marvelously made and all for her taking. “Something you’re making feel pretty darn amazing.”