Good Guy: A Rookie Rebels Novel

by Kate Meader

  “Jordan.”

  She pulled down his briefs and watched as he kicked off his pants and removed his shirt completely. The man was a flawlessly formed tower of muscle. Thighs she wanted to hug, abs she wanted to kiss, chest she wanted to caress, and the most interesting muscle of all. Perfectly thick and standing at attention, like a good, not-so-little soldier.

  “You’re … wow.”

  “Nice vocabulary, Ms. Reporter.”

  “Would you rather I commented on your rigid manhood, your swollen tumescence, your engorged—”

  “Wow it is.”

  Chuckling and more than surprised to be doing so in the presence of the artist formerly known as Mount Grump, she gripped all that wow and stroked, loving how it came alive in her hands.

  “Something’s wrong with this picture,” he murmured.

  “Not from where I’m sitting.” She tilted her head, taking him in Playgirl centerfold style. Having been out of the game for a while, she wanted to savor.

  “Jordan, you’re overdressed.”

  “Really?” She kissed the head of his cock, then swirled her lips around like a lollipop. Salty goodness triggered something in her sex-memory. It had been a long, long time.

  He cupped the back of her neck and held her away from him. “Strip. Now.”

  “Strip me. Now.”

  She lay back on the bed, waiting for him to take charge. With one knee on the bed, he leaned over and placed a hand over the V of skin revealed by her silk shell. There was something wonderfully possessive about it as the heat of his palm branded her chest. Something in his eyes, too, told her that the fun and games were over.

  Levi Hunt had spotted his prey.

  He undressed her, never breaking eye contact, as if sheer discipline required he shouldn’t look below her neck. Stripped to her bra and panties, she watched as he gently pushed her to the bed and hovered over her. His scrutiny rendered her breathless.

  “Levi, you can touch me.”

  His mouth quirked. “Oh, I can, can I?”

  “Yes. It’s just …”

  “It’s just what?”

  He still hadn’t explored beyond the necessary to remove her clothes. This was as frustrating as it sounded.

  “You’ve barely looked at me.”

  His brows slammed together and a few seconds passed before he spoke. “You’ve got a problem with eye contact?”

  “No.” Maybe. The way Levi did it was unnerving to say the least. Such intimacy with that hot gaze, the ultimate in eye-fucks. “But you’re allowed to move your eyes around the bod!”

  “I am? You mean, I can look here …” He removed a bra strap from one shoulder, his eyes scalding the same path as his finger. Then the other one, his midnight-dark gaze smoldering at the sight (a shoulder-smolder!). Finally, he unhooked her bra at the back and starting at the base of her throat, traced his index finger over her breastbone, down her cleavage until it met the apex of her bra cups, both still covering her breasts.

  With a slowness that killed her he pulled the bra down to reveal her nakedness, a reverse striptease where he was the one controlling the reveal.

  Predictably, her nipples went on high alert.

  His gaze magnetized to her breasts and she longed for the moment thirty seconds ago when he was all about the eye contact. Not that she was embarrassed by the girls, but it had been a while, and she wasn’t all that in the boobage department.

  He coasted a thumb over her nipple, yielding a delicious shiver. “So pretty.” His voice sounded rough and reverent, and then her voice sounded high and squeaky when he inclined his head and sucked.

  “Oh!”

  Strong, callused fingers plumped her sensitive flesh while he fed on her breast and scraped his teeth across the damp peak, the sensation so delicious and decadent.

  “Levi,” she moaned, enjoying the sound of his name on her lips. The forbidden shape of it, but more.

  His hand trailed down her ribs, over her hips, to cup her butt and squeeze. He hooked a finger under the thong’s band and peeled it down, not all the way, just to the tops of her thighs. That large hand curved around and covered her now-exposed mound, the palm separating her thighs except they couldn’t go far as they were cuffed by her panties.

  She wanted to widen her legs, open up to give him complete access, but he seemed to prefer it this way. The big palm inverted to two fingers—then three—stroking and slipping and sliding through all this wetness she’d created for him.

  “You feel so silky. So soft.” She heard that reverence in his tone again, an awe that made her feel beautiful. His mouth found hers while his fingers continued to drive her insane. Meanwhile on the all-important erection front, his was tip-tapping against her thigh demanding attention.

  Moving her hands over his amazing muscled chest, she skipped down and gripped his cock.

  “Fuck,” he grunted against her lips. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

  “Nice vocab.”

  He rubbed his nose against hers and something about that intimate gesture reached a part of her she’d thought inaccessible. No, that’s not with this night is about. It was about liberation, letting go, tapping into the needs she’d suppressed over the last few years. She shooed away the notion that this was more than lust.

  “You keep doing that, Jordan, and I’ll blank every word in my dumb brain.”

  She kept doing that. He kept doing what he did best, all while holding her captive with a Levi Hunt scorcher of a gaze. Look away, a small voice of protest demanded. This is too much.

  Perhaps, but it was spectacularly sexy. In this one amazing moment, she was the center of Levi’s world, and it was truly the most wonderful place to be. How had she ever thought him cold and unfeeling?

  There was nothing cold and unfeeling about the sensations streaking through her. Desire surged and ebbed, climbed and receded. He knew the right pressure, the right stroke, the right touch, and when he glanced a rough finger over her clit, she lost it right there.

  “That’s … yes!”

  Of course, in the midst of that lovely orgasm, she neglected her one job: make Levi feel good. But coming like that had left her weak as a kitten and frankly, not in any condition to finish what she’d started.

  Bad sex partner.

  He reached down to the floor and extracted a condom from his wallet.

  “I want inside you. That okay?”

  “You don’t have to ask.”

  “I do.”

  Consent check-in for the win. “I’d love that, Levi.”

  “Love what?” He tore at the condom wrapper, his scorching gaze still on her.

  “You.”

  * * *

  YOU.

  Damn if his ears hadn’t done a double take at that. Of course that wasn’t what she meant, but a guy could dream.

  He quickly rolled on the condom over his aching cock, hoping he hadn’t left it too long because there was a fair to middling chance he might embarrass himself. But the feel of her under his fingertips, all that slippery, sensual flesh as he slid through her soaking pussy was about the hottest thing he’d ever experienced. Guiding her to that orgasm was worth the wait.

  But he didn’t have any more wait left in him.

  He drew her panties down and off, then placed both of his palms on her inner thighs. “Lemme see all that sweetness, baby.”

  His heart pulsed hard along with his dick as she spread wide for him. She was majestic. Pink and wet and ready—and damn, she had more freckles dotting her pale skin.

  “Levi,” she panted. “I need you.”

  Christ, his dick was gonna get so mad at him. “And I need … a taste.”

  He’d waited this long—years, if he was being honest and now was probably the only time he would ever let his brain admit that—and he would take his sweet damn time.

  He kissed her pussy first, a ghost of a touch, though really he wanted to drink long and deep. She shuddered against his lips and shifted to begging position. Oh, he’d have her be
gging all right.

  With two hands gripping her perfect ass, he lifted her to his mouth and gave her one long, deep stroke of his tongue. So sweet and good.

  Unfortunately, his dick did not agree. Balls started getting in on the action, too, demanding their turn. The ache hurt something fierce now, sending waves of pleasure/pain racing through to every nerve ending.

  She yanked on his hair. “Levi.”

  “Kinda busy here.”

  “Levi. Please.”

  “Sounds like you and my dick are on the same page.” He walked his hands up on either side of her and kissed her slow, wet, and deep. “You taste so good, I had to have some of that honey.”

  She gripped his sheathed cock, lining it up at her entrance. “Well, now I have to have some of this. Don’t make me beg.”

  “You sure? Kind of like the idea.”

  “Levi!”

  He slipped inside in one smooth thrust, watching how her face changed, needing to see the effect he had on her. Her moan was as dirty as that laugh of hers he adored, while his own groan threatened to inform the entire hotel that he was one happy hockey player. Rarely was he this loud. Expressive. Containment was key to so much of his life. Sex was something he usually maintained a rigid control over. It was necessary, a biological function to relieve pressure, but with Jordan, he wanted to let go in a way he’d never permitted for himself. With this woman there was no staying inside the lines.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her skin glowed with freckles across the top of her pretty tits, and before the night was through he would kiss every single one. Watching her react to his touch, his body, his invasion was the best feeling in the world. She couldn’t hide her joy—it flowed off her like cartoon wavy lines. She was lusty and funny and a sensualist to her core.

  Another thing that surprised him: how much he wanted to talk to her. Listen to her. Connect with her. All the fucking time, even now, when he really needed to focus on his balls not exploding.

  “Feel good?”

  “So, so good.” She grasped his ass, giving it a chunky squeeze. “Don’t be gentle.”

  “It’s been a while for me, so I’m trying to go slow.”

  “It’s been a while for me, too, so I need you to go hard.”

  Jesus, did she have any idea what she was asking? And when she said a while, did she mean … no, not going there.

  Instead he’d go deep. He gripped her ass, relishing the feel of that curve in his palm and held her in place for the next thrust. And another. Harder and deeper than he would have thought possible. Each stroke consumed them both, yielding new sounds, new depths, new meaning.

  Pleasure checked him hard, the build like a jet engine taking off. Sizzling sensation rocked the base of his spine, filling his balls, thickening his cock until a single word from her—“Levi”—triggered first her release, and then his. Just hearing his name on her lips sent him into another dimension, falling, falling, fallen.

  And he had serious doubts he’d be getting back up.

  * * *

  “I SHOULD PROBABLY …” She thumbed toward the door. “I don’t want to risk being caught here.”

  Barely five minutes. That’s all she was putting into the post-coital segment of the evening. So this had placed her in an awkward position—okay, he had done that—but he’d hoped she’d at least spend the night.

  He stroked her cheek, marveling that he actually had the freedom to do that and annoyed that he might not for much longer. “I’ll protect you, Jordan. I’m not going to be gossiping with the boys.”

  “I’d deny every word.”

  Said with that saucy tone, yet it unsettled him. She had understandable self-preservation reasons, but it still bothered him that she wouldn’t claim him if it came to that. Seemed he’d already projected a future here and was disappointed that she’d dismissed it so readily.

  “Not that I’m ashamed of you, Levi,” she said in a nice stab at mind reading. “I’ve no regrets on a personal level but on a professional level, I have to be careful. This wouldn’t look bad for you, but for me …” She left it hanging, the words spoken with her bare back to him while she leaned over, looking for her underwear.

  He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, tasting a clutch of freckles with it. “I get it, I do. Just saying I have your back. And to be honest, I think you should stay a little longer.”

  “Oh really?”

  “It’s not even midnight and that’s the boys’ curfew. They’ll be filling the elevators and roaming the floors, so you might run into them. Better to sneak out in the early hours. I’ll set an alarm for you.”

  She hesitated for a moment, but then he saw when she became resigned to his plan. “And how will we fill the time?”

  “We’ll think of something.”

  14

  Time to step up, @ChiRebels, and show us where the money is being spent! @BigDogDawson breaks it down on @SportsFocus

  * * *

  ON HER WAY to the press box in the Spartans arena, Jordan’s phone pinged and she slipped it out of her purse. The text was from Coby Dawson.

  Want to meet for a drink after the game?

  Interesting. They’d texted a couple of times after crossing paths at the Rebels’ opener and the next day outside Harper’s office. He’d congratulated her for getting the Hunt gig, adding a few shamrock emojis to let her know she was lucky, she supposed.

  They weren’t in the same league professionally, but he was clearly angling to see if she’d discovered anything of note when it came to Levi. Great lips. Amazing body. Cock that could go all night. Probably should keep that scoop to herself.

  As for Coby Dawson, the old adage of “Keep your enemies closer” seemed applicable here. About to return his text, she was interrupted by someone calling her name. She turned to see the Rebel Queen approaching.

  “Oh, hi, Harper.”

  “How’s the profile coming along?”

  “It’s coming …” And coming.

  “Care to join us in the visitors’ executive box today? Get another angle for the story?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Once inside, she spotted Dante Moretti, several of the Rebels’ front office staff, and … surprise, surprise, Mr. Coby Dawson of ESP-fucking-N.

  “Hey, Jordan. Fancy seeing you here.” He smiled that superior grin she’d like to slap off his face. “Get my message?”

  “I did. Thought I’d see you in the press box.”

  “Harper asked me in to see how the other half live.” He gave a self-deprecating eye roll.

  Not buying it, dude.

  “You spent much time in the executive surrounds? Beats the crappy pizza in the press box.”

  “Not our press box,” Dante said a little stiffly. “I oversee those menus myself.”

  And fine menus they were. “Hey, I’m a fan of your pastry choices in the Rebels press box, Dante.”

  His eyes lit up. “A fellow mini-macaron connoisseur?”

  She nodded solemnly. “I would eat them three meals a day if society didn’t frown upon it.”

  He laughed. “What can I get you?”

  She pretended to think about it. “Got a pomegranate mojito per chance? If you don’t, scotch would be lovely. Lagavulin.”

  Dante grinned, all Italian hotness. “Got it.”

  She sat, taking in the surroundings and the excellent view of the ice. Warm-up had started and her eyes were drawn to Levi in his number 51 jersey, which reminded her of his tattoo and his chest and kissing his chest and moving her greedy mouth down, down, down … Quickly she averted her gaze when Dante handed off her drink, which she would sip slowly because loose lips sink relationships.

  One night only. Neither of them had said it, but it had definitely been implied. Her efforts to slip away as soon as those orgasms had screamed their way into existence was evidence enough. And when his alarm went off at 4 a.m. this morning and he checked the hotel corridor, then kissed her slow and deep, she’d known it couldn’t happen a
gain. Sneaking around with the subject of her story, no matter how wonderful the sex was, would be career suicide.

  Dante handed off her drink and Harper touched her arm. “Come sit with me over here.”

  Once they’d settled at a decent distance from Dawson, Jordan waited for Harper to get to the point of why she’d invited her to the box. The owner remained silent so Jordan filled the void.

  “Thought I was getting exclusive access.” She gave an unsubtle side-eye toward Dawson.

  Harper hummed. “You are. I just like to stay in the good graces of all our media contacts.”

  Was this some power move to make sure she provided a PR-friendly profile of Levi and the Rebels? Jordan wouldn’t put it past Harper to play both sides.

  She slid a glance to Dawson who was watching her with interest. He raised his glass and turned back to the game. Ass.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask,” she said to Harper. “Would you and your sisters like to come on my podcast? It’s called Hockey Grrl, so—” She waved a hand between them to acknowledge the obvious.

  “Sounds like we’re your prime demo. Let me run it by them. Isobel loves talking hockey, Violet not so much.”

  “If Violet doesn’t want in, that’s okay.”

  “She’ll show up to anything if wine and cupcakes are involved.”

  A woman after her own heart. Jordan’s phone pinged. Reflexively, she checked it and immediately wished she hadn’t. The purple-splotched truncheon couldn’t be swiped away fast enough, except trying to remove it enlarged it to proportions it likely couldn’t achieve in real life.

  “Well, hello!” Harper said. “Looks like you’re having fun.”

  “Uh, no. That’s not anything I’ve invited.” This pic wasn’t from Stroger, who was currently on the ice, but was courtesy of some catch called @LovePump99. Subtle. She shrugged it off, not wanting to upset her host. “Hey, it’s an occupational hazard.”

  “That’s from a player?”

  “Not this one. But that happens.”

  Harper stood. “Let’s take this outside for a second.”