by Jill Shalvis
As if he read her mind, he slid his hands down her arms to her hips, and then up again, over her ribs, then higher, to her shoulders, where from the inside of her jacket, he nudged it off, down to her elbows. With her arms caught, his palms swept down again, covering her breasts, his thumbs rasping over her nipples, which wrenched a gasp from her and another heartfelt groan from him.
“Not enough,” he muttered. “Not. Even. Close.” He worked open the buttons of her blouse, murmured a wordless thanks when he found a front hook on her bra, and flicked it open. With an inarticulate sound of hunger, he bent his head, nibbling the full curve of a breast as he crushed the hem of her skirt in his fingers.
“Wade.”
He looked up, eyes bright and intense.
She took a deep breath and searched her mind for a single coherent sentence. She had nothing. Less than nothing. “I forgot what I was going to say.”
Face still serious, he pulled her skirt up. “Let me know when you remember.”
And up . . .
When her skirt was bunched to her waist, he tilted his head down to take in her boy-cut panties and let out a rough breath. “God, look at you.” He ran a finger over her hip, then beneath the silk, his other hand joining the fray, and then he was cupping her bare bottom in those big, warm, callused hands, hauling her up so that her legs could wrap around his hips.
“I don’t—” She broke off as he rocked his hips, nudging his sex right up against the already damp crux of hers so that she cradled him between her thighs. “Oh, God,” she managed on a rough exhale of breath as he tightened his grip on her and rocked again, his tongue tangling with hers.
She really had no idea what she’d been about to say, none. Maybe that this quick, aggressive, possessive style of his was over the line, that he was pushing her too hard too fast, taking her where she hadn’t wanted to go again, but the truth was that it had a thrill rushing through her, exciting her to the very tips of her curling toes.
And she did want to go there with him. So very much.
He had his big body pressing her to the wall as he rocked to her, and she clung to him, breathing like she’d just run a mile. She didn’t know how she could want him like this, but she did, and every shift of his hips brought her closer to the edge, and that edge was in sight. Gasping, she gripped the front of his shirt. “Wade—”
“I know. Christ, I know . . .”
Suddenly terrified with the depths of what he was wrenching from her, she tried to shake it off, tried to hold back, but he kissed her hard, bringing her focus back to him. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said against her mouth. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel anything, when I can see that you do.” His fingers slid down, finding her hot and wet, and he tore his mouth from hers to groan as he dipped into that heat. “When I can feel you.” Lowering his head, he watched as he stroked her right where she needed him, right there with her.
“Wade.”
“Good?”
She gripped him tight, hips oscillating. “Don’t stop . . . Please, don’t stop—”
“I won’t. I’ve got you, Sam, I’ve got you.” He kissed his way to her ear, then sucked her lobe into his mouth, still working her with his fingers.
She pressed her head back hard against the wall as her muscles quivered, tightened. She gripped his biceps, tightening when he gently outlined her, then scrapped a callused thumb over her with exactly the right pressure, making her gasp and cry out. “Omigod, I need . . . I—”
“I know,” he whispered hoarsely against her mouth, his own breathing coming hard and fast. “Let go. I want to feel you.”
Her gaze flew to his. He was watching her, his eyes dark and tightly in focus.
On her.
He wanted her to come, wanted to see it, feel it, because it turned him on to watch her, and though it shouldn’t have, that knowledge turned her on as well.
Let go, he’d said. And she did. Her muscles still rippling and quivering when he reached between them to unbutton his pants.
“Condom,” she managed to say.
He went still, the “Oh, shit” look in his eyes unmistakable. During their elevator tryst, she’d admitted to being on the pill. But he’d also had his bag and had been able to access a condom, which they’d also used. She shook her head in disbelief. “Are you telling me that you came to a wedding without a condom? You?”
He groaned. “Contrary to what you might think, I don’t get laid every damn weekend. Not anymore.”
She stared at him for a moment. “I’m still on the pill.”
He stared right back. “I know you’re going to laugh your ass off, but I’ve never had sex without a condom. Ever.”
And he’d just had a full physical. She knew this because all the guys had, as they always did before spring training.
The sound of his zipper rasped loudly. Apparently it was full speed ahead.
He gave her a beat to disagree with the chain of events. When she didn’t, he bent his head and licked, sucked, and kissed his way over her collarbone to her breasts, paying special care and homage to her nipples until she was practically whimpering for more, which he had no problem giving. One shove and his pants slid down enough to free him. She stroked his hard, impressive length, reacquainting herself with what had for a few glorious hours in Atlanta been her favorite part of him.
He sucked some air in through his teeth, and with a quick scrape of his fingers slid her panties to the side, ripping another appreciative growl from his throat at the view he gave himself. “Wrap your legs around me, Sam—God, yeah, like that.”
And then, with his eyes burning, holding hers prisoner, he pushed into her, big and thick and so perfect she cried out, the sound so dark and needy she bit his throat to keep herself quiet.
“Oh, Jesus.” His breath hissed harshly in her ear. “You feel good. So damn good.”
She’d have thought herself spent, but one stroke and she was right back on that perilous edge. It was shocking, disturbingly so, how he did this to her, how he turned her inside out, exposing her like no one else ever had or could, but in that moment, she didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. “Wade.”
“Right here, I’m right here, Sam, right with you.”
She could feel it, feel him, and every time he pulled back and thrust into her, grinding his hips to hers, she whimpered for more, so filled by him, stretched so tight she could hardly stand it.
“Again,” he whispered, bending his knees to better align them as he surged into her. Lowering his head, he set his open mouth on her shoulder, kissing his way back to her ear, using his tongue and teeth as he moved within her, murmuring something wordless, the low, hoarse tone conveying the emotion, and that was it for her.
It came from deep within her this time, his name ripped from her throat as the sensations crashed over her. From far, far away she heard him follow her over, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he slapped a hand on the wall behind her to keep them both from sinking to the floor in a tangled heap.
It took her a moment to realize he was completely supporting her with muscles that were still trembling, and she opened her eyes and met his.
He ran the tip of his nose along her jaw as he let her legs slide down his body, holding her until her feet hit the floor and she nodded that she was okay.
When she wasn’t.
Turning from him, she tried to put herself back together, but her bra was hopelessly tangled in her blouse and she had to pull both off to start over.
The knock at the door galvanized her. “Um . . . just a second!” Horrified, she skipped the bra, dropping it to the counter to yank back on her blouse and her jacket, figuring it would have to do. She slipped into her heels, straightened her hair, and with a breath to fortify herself, turned to grab her bra.
Wade had rebuttoned and zipped, and was standing there silent, studying her.
“My bra,” she murmured, moving close to him again because he had his hand in his pocket and she
could see the little piece of lace peeking out.
The knock came again, stopping her in her tracks.
“Hello?” a female voice called through the door. “I really need to get in there.”
“I’m nearly done,” Sam said and held out her hand to Wade.
“It’s really amazing, how you do that,” he murmured softly. “How you pull yourself together in the blink of an eye.”
“What choice do we have?” Taking a deep breath, she gave up on her bra and pulled open the door.
A woman stood there with a little girl, both of whom stared up at Sam and Wade, mouths open.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I—”
“It’s fine.” The woman tightened her lips in disapproval at her and Wade as they moved out of the bathroom.
“Mommy? Isn’t this the women’s bathroom?”
“Yes, baby, it is,” the woman assured the little girl, shutting the door hard.
Wade reached for Sam’s hand.
“Don’t,” she said very quietly. “Please, don’t.” She backed away. “I need a minute.”
“Sam.”
“Please,” she whispered.
He studied her for a long beat, then with a reluctant nod, let her walk away.
Wade made his way back to the reception. That Sam needed a minute didn’t surprise him. She wasn’t one to let go of her famed control without a fight, and though she’d put up a good one, she hadlet go.
He pulled out a chair at the Heat table, turning it around to straddle it. Pace and Gage were using the silver-ware to create a makeshift diamond. A wadded napkin was the mound. “Seventh inning,” Gage said.
“Henry’s homer tied the game at the top.” Pace shook his head. “But we couldn’t go ahead because the Phillies threw me out at the plate to end the frame.”
“Then the rain halted the damn game,” Gage said in disgust. “It wasn’t even that bad, they should have let the game go. When we finally got back to it, you didn’t blow the save, you locked down the eighth.”
“But then they got a tying run in scoring position, and Wade fucking popped out—”
“Hey,” Wade said, grabbing Pace’s beer for himself.
“Well, you did,” Gage told him with a shake of his head. “You sucked.”
“Again. Hey.” Wade propped his elbows on the back of the chair, dropping his heavy head into his hands. “We won that game. I came back in the ninth, broke my bat on a base hit to right field. Henry stole home, and I followed, locking down the win, thank you very much.” He sighed and lifted his head to find both Pace and Gage staring at him. “What? I did.”
“I remember,” Gage said. “Everyone dived on you at the plate and you cracked a rib. What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
Pace raised a brow. “You disappear with Sam for an hour, then only you come back, and nothing’s up?”
Wade scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And it wasn’t an hour.”
“Forty-five minutes.” Gage looked him over. “Your shirt is half untucked, your tie’s gone, and probably you want to lift your collar to hide that bite mark on your neck. Either you got jumped by some fan girls, or you just got laid.”
Wade tucked the rest of his shirt in. There was nothing to be done about the tie. It was wadded up in his pocket along with Sam’s bra. He lifted a spoon from the table to use as a mirror to check his neck. Yep. He had a doozy of a hickey going.
Gage shook his head.
Pace grinned. “Nice.”
Wade sighed. “Don’t you have a fiancée to worry about? And you,” he said to Gage. “Where’s your date?”
“They’ve gone on a little girls’ room run. They seem to do that in pairs.”
Yeah. Most women did.
Not Sam.
She’d been in there all alone until he’d come along, though he had to say, they’d made a nice pair. Speaking of, where the hell was she? He craned his neck and looked around—
“Lose something?” Pace asked with mock politeness.
Wade ignored him, still searching through the wedding revelers for Sam.
“You know, I was going to keep my nose out of this one,” Gage said. “But—”
“Oh, Christ,” Wade groaned. “Not the but.”
“But,” Gage continued undeterred. “I don’t think you two are a good idea.”
“We’re not a two,” Wade said. “You more than anyone know that this whole weekend is pretend. Make-believe. A complete fallacy. Hell, it was your idea.”
“And a bad one,” Pace muttered.
“No shit,” Wade muttered back.
“But only because you are a two,” Pace said patiently.
“And have been ever since Atlanta.”
“Atlanta?” Gage asked, eyes narrowing. “What happened in Atlanta?”
“Nothing.” Wade shook his head and glared at Pace. “Nothing.”
Pace leaned in close to Wade. “You remember right before the playoffs, when I fell hard for Holly and couldn’t admit it? You made me face it.”
“Yeah? So? You were being an idiot and needed a friendly shove.”
“Consider this . . .” Pace gave Wade a good, hard shove on his shoulder, nearly knocking him off the chair. “The same.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Gage told Pace. “He’ll just fuck with her head.”
“Sitting right here,” Wade said, feeling more than a little tense.
“I’m sorry, man. But that’s what you do. Fuck ’em and leave ’em.”
“Not always.”
“Always,” Gage said firmly.
Wade opened his mouth to refute that and Gage just gave him a long, even look. “Name one time you’ve been ditched, Wade. One time.”
Wade said nothing, but he counted in his head. His mother. His father.
Sam.
Not that he’d say so.
“She deserves better,” Gage said.
Wade looked at Pace. “You think so, too?”
“She deserves to be more than the pretend girlfriend, I’ll give you that. Because it’s Sam, you know?”
Yeah. He knew. Sam, who they all cared about. Sam, who gave so much of herself to the team. Sam, who’d just given herself to him, and he had a feeling it was far more than she’d intended.
As it had been for him.
He sat there with a headache brewing and the certainty that he’d already fucked it up without even knowing exactly how. “Well, this has been fun, but I’ve got to go.” He pushed away from the table and strode through the reception one more time, but he was certain.
Sam wasn’t here.
He headed inside the main lobby and headed straight for the elevators, punching the button, suddenly afraid he was already too late.
The elevator didn’t come. He hit the button again, swore, then headed for the stairs. He made it to their eighth floor suite three minutes later, running on adrenaline as he burst into their room. “Sam.”
But he knew even before he called her name that she was gone. The note on the bathroom mirror confirmed it.
Take the limo back, I grabbed a cab.