by Rhonda James
“Scott,” I whisper, grinding shamelessly against his erection while his hands work beneath my shirt, fondling my breasts.
“Skylar. Fuck.” His hands slide down to my hips to still my movements. “Babe, you better stop, or I’m gonna blow my wad right here in my pants.”
I blush and clamber off him as best as I can given the fact I’m wearing metal blades as shoes. I wait until he’s finished lacing up his skates, then he leads me out to the ice.
“Wait here one sec.” He sets aside the puck and two sticks he grabbed on the way out of the locker room then skates over to a booth located behind the Plexiglas divider. Swinging the door open, he goes inside and fumbles with something I can’t quite see from where I’m waiting. A few seconds later, the overhead lights go out and I realize he’s playing with the control panel. He starts flipping switches, and one by one, designated accent lights flicker on. He flips one more switch, and music begins to play. I know the song. I love this song. Scott skates back my way and holds out a hand for me to hold.
“Skylar Dennison, may I have this dance?” he says with a very serious face.
A warm sensation pools in my belly when I slide my hand inside his. “I thought you’d never ask.” Together, we step out onto the ice just as Brantley Gilbert starts to sing “Fall Into Me.”
“You better not let me fall on my ass,” I warn as we move beside each other.
“Never.” He moves behind me, placing his hands on my hips and settling me in the safety of his strong arms. With my back pressed against his chest and his arms around me, I’ve never felt more protected as we skate around the rink in time with the music.
“I love this song,” I confess, feeling so very blessed to be sharing this moment with him. The second chorus starts, and Scott’s lips caress the shell of my ear as he very softly begins to sing to me.
The lyrics to this song are so powerful. So moving. I listen closely, and as they come to an end, I know without a doubt that I am deeply in love with this man. I’m still hopelessly and helplessly in love with Scott Rivers, and in four days, I’ll be leaving him again.
“So, you ready to take a shot on goal? See if you can get one past me?” he teases and skates over to retrieve the gear he stashed by the bench on our way in. He comes back and places a stick in my hands.
He takes me by the shoulders and guides me over to the blue line, where he proceeds to drop the puck before moving off to stand by the net. “You remember how this is done?” He smirks.
“I think I can manage,” I reply, adding a heavy dose of sass just to prove I’ve got this. “Let’s just hope I do it without falling on my ass,” I mumble silently.
He holds a hand to his ear and gives me a confused look. “What was that?”
“Nothing. I just said, get ready for me to kick your ass, Rivers.”
He laughs like he doesn’t believe I can do this but is trying to give me the benefit of the doubt. “I’ll let you take the first few shots on an empty net, just to let you warm up and then—”
I fire the first shot before he finishes his sentence, and it veers off to the right side of the net but still makes it inside.
“Goal!” I give the air a fist pump and do a little dance on my skates. I’m pretty sure I look like a complete goof, but holy shit, that felt good!
“Alright. Guess you don’t need a warm-up after all. But you better be ready for me, Blondie. You’re about to go up against the best, and I’m going to make you work for it.” He moves in front of the crease to take up position. Even from this distance, seeing him in jeans and his skates, legs spread in a deep crouch, I find myself wanting to tear off his clothes, drop to my knees, and take him in my mouth. Cold knees be damned.
Our eyes connect, and we have about ten seconds where we stare each other down. Right now, I could take the shot and it would probably bounce off his stick and he would gloat. But I have a better idea. I kick off with my skate and use the stick to guide the puck from side to side, moving slowly down the ice toward where he’s waiting for me. Shaking his head and laughing. I draw back my right arm like I’m going to take the shot, but instead, I keep skating straight into his arms, catching him off-guard. We both go down laughing, and I end up stretched out on top of him on the ice. I don’t give him time to react; I just sink my tongue into his open mouth and proceed to kiss that smug smile right off his sexy face.
When we come up for air, he doesn’t make a move to get off the ice. He merely glances over at the puck lying just beyond the net. “Looks like you didn’t get the goal this time, Blondie.”
I drop my lips back to his ear as a sexy smile spreads across my face. “I may have missed the net, but I still think I’m about to score big.”
I shimmy down his legs, soaking my knees in the process, and press the softest of kisses over the prominent bulge behind his zipper.
“Wait.” His hand goes to my head and he looks around and lowers his voice. “You hoping to score right here? ‘Cause that’s like number five on my list of things to experience before I die.”
“Oh, really?” I raise a brow. “You expecting to die anytime soon?”
The hand on my head tightens its grip as my lips brush over the denim. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to risk death from frostbite to cross that one off my list,” he answers on a groan.
I clamber up his body to whisper in his ear. “Well, Captain, get ready to have a red ass, because today is your lucky day.” I wink at him just before lowering his zipper.
CHAPTER 22
SCOTT
Me: Do u have plans this morning?
Her: Why? Miss me already?
Me: Duh!
Crap! I don’t want her thinking that sex is all I’m after.
Me: But that’s not why I’m asking.
Crap! I also don’t want her thinking I’m not interested.
Me: Wait. Was that an offer?
Me: Shit! Never mind.
Her: Cracking up over here.
Her: Scott, did u want to take me somewhere?
Me: Yes. Heading to pick up those helmets. Care to join me?
Her: I’d love to. Give me 5 to change.
Five minutes later, I’m standing outside her door. She answers wearing skinny jeans and another one of those sexy-as-hell tank thingies like she wore in Chicago. It looks great on her, and I love that she wears it without a bra, because, hello… But the holes under her arms are cut low. I mean really, really low. Her boobs may be small, but they’re still a nice handful, and this shirt shows enough side boob to a) Make me want to bury my head under her shirt and tease the shit out of her perky nipples with my tongue, and b) Give other men the same fucking idea.
“You know you could have saved yourself some time and just come over here to begin with.” She laughs happily.
Her boobs look even better in that shirt when she laughs.
“Yeah, well, we’ve been together for the past four days. I was trying to give you a break,” I answer, still scowling at her shirt.
Her hand goes to her hip and the movement gives me a fantastic glimpse of what’s hiding behind the flimsy material. “You getting tired of me already, Rivers?
“No,” I grumble, unable to take my eyes off that fucking piece of dental floss she’s walking around in. “I just didn’t want to bother you.”
She steps forward and lifts both my arms, guiding them around her middle. “But I love it when you bother me.” Sensing my sour mood, she cups my face in her hand and traces her thumb over my scruff. I was planning to shave it off but, the other night, she sang its praises while my head was between her thighs.
Need I say more?
“You seem a little tense? Everything okay?”
I run my hands up her sides, intentionally brushing up against her breasts with my thumbs. Her breath hitches and she arches into me. “This what you’re wearing?” I crush my mouth against hers, claiming her lips with every nip and tug of my teeth.
“Uh huh,” she breathes against my lip
s before coming back for more of what I’m giving her. She slides her hands under my shirt to rake her nails down my back. She teases her pelvis over mine in the most sensual way. “Is that a problem?”
I drag my knuckles up and down her sides before covering each breast and kneading them between my fingers. “These are mine.” She mews and coos at my touch, and when I flick a nail over the hardened peaks, she curses softly. “I don’t want everyone seeing what’s mine.”
“I’m not changing,” she murmurs against my lips. “Besides, I’m wearing it for you. I know how much it bothers you.”
“There you go, bothering me again,” I groan into her mouth. My hands get lost in her hair as I make slow, sweet love to her mouth. When we come up for air, I’m still grumpy about the damn shirt, and by now I’m packing a raging boner that I don’t have time to attend to. If the last four days have taught me anything, I’ve learned that there’s no such thing as a quick fuck with this woman. Not that I’m complaining. Hell to the no. But I need to get to Wicked Saves before five o’clock to pick up the helmets Gary has waiting for me. Port Huron is an hour away, which means I should have left fifteen minutes ago. Guess the shirt’s staying on.
For now, anyway.
SKYLAR
The helmets turned out amazing. Better than Scott ever expected. He pays the guy at the shop and thanks him for getting them done so quickly. We’ve almost made it back to the apartment when he informs me he’ll be dropping me off but will be home a little later.
“You’re not coming in with me?” I make a pouty face. “I thought we were going to pick up where we left off earlier?”
“Believe me, that’s exactly where I want to be. But right now, I have someplace else I need to be.” He reaches across the console to thread our fingers together. “I promised Coach I’d drop these helmets off tonight. I’ll run in and drop them off then make it back here before you know it.”
We pull up in front of our building, and I turn to stare up at my temporary residence. Throughout my stay, I’ve spent more time in his apartment than my own. I love his apartment, because when I’m there, I look around and see him everywhere. His apartment is warm and inviting and smells like him. The thought of going up to a cold apartment that smells of paint and new carpet is definitely less appealing.
“Do you mind if I wait for you in your apartment?” I meet his knowing eyes, and his only response is to pull a key from his keychain, place it in my open palm, and close my fist around it.
“I’ll be back in an hour. Be ready for me.” He gives me a quick kiss before I get out of the car and watch him pull away.
There was no need to explain my reasons for not wanting to go back to my place; Scott has already told me he likes coming home to find me there. What’s really scary is that I actually had a dream last night where he asked me to stay in Detroit with him. Although the dream was pretty amazing and left me with a lot of feelings to sort through, in no way do I expect that kind of commitment from Scott. Not this soon. I completely understand that. But when I woke up this morning, I found myself wondering if we really do have a future, or have we somehow gotten caught up trying to recreate the past?
I stop by my place first to grab my toothbrush and a change of clothes. It may be presumptuous to assume that I’ll be sleeping over, but if the last few nights are any indication, I think I’ll be okay. I grab my laptop and camera bag, because I need some way to pass the time before he returns home; might as well go through some of the photos I’ve taken so far. I also need to type up my recorded notes from my interview with Brantley.
I’m on my way out the door, hands completely full, when I glance down at the floor by the front door and see my rubber boots. My subconscious gives herself an inner fist pump for the idea she’s just placed inside my head.
CHAPTER 23
SCOTT
I know I told Skylar I’d only be an hour, but while I was dropping off the helmets, I ran into Mrs. McLain, the mother of the kid who was injured in the accident. She stopped by the arena to let Coach Bishop know that Josh had been rushed into emergency surgery two days ago. He got a serious infection in his leg, and they weren’t able to save it. Thirteen years old, and the kid is an amputee. Although his mom assured me that Josh’s spirits are good, the news still hits me hard. It’s late by the time I dial Sky’s number on my way out of the parking lot.
“Hey, babe. I thought you’d be home by now. I’ve been so worried. Is everything okay?”
“No,” I reply, nearly losing it at the thought of her being worried about me. “Not really.” Somehow, I manage to hold my shit together as I relay everything Mrs. McLain just shared with me.
“Oh, my gosh. Scott, I’m so sorry. It makes me sad for him, but you know kids are so resilient. They bounce back and are capable of much more than adults give them credit for,” she answers softly, and for a moment I wonder if she’s referring to her own situation. Though it may be different, she still had to endure a lot in her young life, a lot more than anyone will ever know. “Do you need anything? What can I do?”
“You.” My voice ends up sounding like I’ve gargled broken glass. “I only need you.”
“I’m here, waiting. All you have to do is come home.”
***
I know I told Skylar to wait in my apartment, and I’m more than certain I made my intentions clear on how I saw the evening going. But nothing could have prepared me for what I find when I open the door and walk inside.
She’s standing in the center of the room, waiting for me. I stop in my tracks and stare at her, soaking in every last detail to be stored away into my memory for all of eternity. She looks like an angel in white, wearing one of my dress shirts that hangs down to the middle of her toned thighs. Her hair is wild and loose and spilling over her shoulders, face scrubbed clean of any makeup she’d been wearing. And on her feet are those stupid rubber boots.
Fucking yellow ducks.
Seeing her in those boots does things to certain parts of my body. My dick doesn’t just swell; it might as well be a third party in the goddamn room.
I cross the room in three steps, my arm going out to circle her waist as I dip my head to inhale her scent. Brushing her hair aside, I run my lips over the column of her neck, nipping and sucking all that exposed creamy skin. She coos under my assault on her flesh, hands falling to my ass to bring our bodies closer.
“Good God, woman. What am I going to do with you? You wear those goddamn boots, and I get all sorts of thoughts running through my head. Thoughts of me dirtying you up with my cock then cleaning your entire body with my tongue. And after I’m finished, I know I’ll just want to dirty you up again.”
She giggles as my fingers fumble with the buttons of my borrowed shirt. “Maybe I should wear a label. You know, like a bottle of shampoo? One reading: Orgasm. Rinse. Repeat.”
I growl my approval in her ear before licking around the shell. “You have no idea how much I need you right now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back. Not while you’re still wearing those damned boots.”
She looks at me coyly. “What is it about these boots that gets you so turned on?”
“Honestly? I have no fucking idea, but right now, all I can think about is bending you over that counter and taking you from behind.” I bite down on her lower lip, and she hisses.
She wiggles out from my grasp and begins unfastening the remaining buttons. I remain unmoving, watching intently as nimble fingers thread the tiny pearl buttons back through the narrow buttonholes. She slips the shirt off her shoulders and down past her wrists until it lands behind her in a heap on the polished wood floor. She’s completely naked beneath the shirt. Naked and beautiful, and at this moment, completely mine. She then turns, stretches her arms over the granite countertop, and thrusts her ass toward the ceiling. When she peers over her shoulder and smiles a devilish smile, I almost blow a nut.
“Boots on or off?”
Thank you, God.
I advance on her, hand al
ready working the button and zipper of my jeans. I’m naked by the time I come up behind her and tease my cock between the cleft of her ass.
“Oh, you’re definitely going to need those,” I growl. “It’s about to get really, really wet up in here.”
I reach a hand between her legs and find she’s already soaked. I draw a finger through her wetness, parting her slit to plunge two fingers inside. I press soft kisses along her spine, the only other sounds being my ragged breaths and that of my fingers moving in and out of her soaked pussy. She moans and rocks back against my hand, seeking more.
I tease the head of my hardened cock between her legs. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” she hisses, pressing her ass against my thighs. I give her a smack on the ass, and she cries out in surprise. I smack the other cheek, and that one elicits a needy whimper from her parted lips.
“Christ. Do you have any idea how fucking hot you look bent over like this, all pretty and pink and wet for me?” I slip on a condom before lining myself up and filling her in one stroke.
I hear her whimpering, but her cries are muffled by the granite countertop. I don’t stop. It feels too fucking good to stop. She turns her head, and I drop down to meet her damp lips, hips pumping to the rhythm of my rapidly beating heart. Our tongues get twisted and tangled up in the same fury. I reach a hand around and roll the tip of my thumb over her swollen clit until I feel her muscles tightening around me, and then I pull out.