The Right Fit

by Daphne Dubois

  Moving his mouth down her throat, Antony started to unbutton the front of her dress, kissing the skin as he undressed her.

  “Not here,” she said, motioning to the beaded curtain at the back of the room.

  The kiss started again as she led him across the room. It was like a sensual dance; hands and fingers working buttons and unfastening belts, while their mouths stayed connected. She stepped on his toes a few times when she helped him take off his shirt.

  He pressed her up against the doorframe. She could feel the length of him; it excited her even more. He turned on the light switch, illuminating the cozy area. “Tu me fascines,” he whispered. “Je veux te voir jouir.”

  Maxine had no idea what he was saying but it sounded dirty. “Do whatever you want with me,” she said. Then she kissed him hungrily and turned off the light.

  He pulled back. The light came on again. “Je veux te voir jouir,” he repeated. Then he translated. “I want to see you come.”

  “You’re incredibly sexy.” Then she flicked the light shift off. “But no, we’re doing it in the dark.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, instead she pulled him over to the couch. Maxine started to unzip his jeans, but he dropped to his knees, pulling down her leggings and underwear in one slick movement.

  She stepped out of the clothes, already grateful for the darkness. Her dress was long enough to cover her upper thighs, the part of her body she loathed the most. They eased down on the couch, Antony hovering over her. Maxine’s hands roamed all over his bare back and chest. “Even your muscles have muscles,” she said, delirious with want. She pulled him closer, wanting to feel his mouth over hers.

  He resisted and began to move down her body. She felt him spread her knees apart.

  Her hands were on his shoulders. “Do you have a condom?”

  “If I can’t see you,” he said. “I can’t make love to you.” The tease in his voice rattled her nerves.

  “I beg your pardon! Then what are we…oh…oh God.” The feeling of his breath against her thighs interrupted her. Antony started to leave kisses there, at the hem of her dress. The graze of his stubble working up her inner thigh set of a trigger of undulating throbs down the full length of her body.

  Maxine collapsed back on the couch. “Oh, God,” she sighed, realizing what his intent was.

  Antony pressed his mouth where her flesh was aching the most. His tongue worked slowly at first, teasing her most sensitive part. Maxine took a breath and held it, gripping the edge of the couch. The feeling of his head between her quivering thighs shook every nerve with a tremendous force leaving her helpless. Her breaths escaped in between whimpers as she felt him push into her harder, tasting her more deeply.

  He only relented once. “So sexy,” he whispered. Then he started again, the stubble on his chin rubbing against her, nearly sent Maxine over the edge.

  She’d never experienced anything so erotic. Soon her sensitivity had been heightened to the point of his touch being unbearable. “It’s too much,” she gasped, trying to move away from him, overwhelmed.

  But he wouldn’t let her go. Antony wrapped his arms under her thighs, clamping a hand over each hip, anchoring her in place. She was trapped in his grasp as his mouth moved, insistent and ravenous. He moaned, his lascivious tone matching her own sighs.

  “Yes,” she gasped. The spasms built upon each other inside Maxine. “Oh God, Ace!” There was a burst of pressure deep inside as she took in mouthfuls of air. The relief was utterly complete, leaving her limp and joyfully placid.

  It took a few moments for the air to calm around them. She felt Antony’s weight lean back, his breathing matching her own. Smiling in the dark, Maxine crawled over to him, straddling his waist. She kissed his face, still wet from her own body. “I’m helpless around you,” she said, knowing the allure he embodied was something too powerful for her to fight.

  “You own me,” he said.

  “I called you, Ace,” she lightly joked. “Sorry, Antony.” Reaching down between them, Maxine found his belt buckle. She unzipped his slacks and grabbed his erection by the base.

  I’ve done that to him, she thought deliriously amazed.

  “Ace? I like sex nickname,” he teased. His hips began to rock against her touch. A trail of French words fell from his lips. Maxine wanted to eat those words right out of the air and swallow them down whole. Purposely, she brought her mouth down over the tip of his erection while her hand kept moving. Then she took all of him, her tongue memorizing the ridges.

  There was a pleading edge to his tone, practically begging her. The power over him was intoxicating, but Maxine was too groggy to tease. She felt him tremble, then a shudder ran the length of him. Antony let out a strangled version of her name as he came.

  Maxine held him in her mouth, until he stopped. Then she sat up, tilted her head back, finishing the act. His fingers caressed her throat, then he kissed her there. They collapsed together, legs and arms entwined on the couch. She watched him trace invisible lines along her arms, her eyes now adjusted to the dim room.

  His voice was thick and sleepy. “Come to Florida with me.”

  “What?” she leaned back, checking his face, certain he was teasing.

  His eyes were intense. “I buy you ticket. Call work, call in sick.”

  “I can’t just—”

  Antony cupped her face and interrupted her with a kiss. “Please,” he said. “I need you there.”

  Maxine pushed on his chest putting him at arm’s length. “No,” she said, almost laughing. “I can’t. It’s too crazy.”

  His intense expression resolved. “Yes, crazy. You make me lose reason.”

  “You make me lose reason, too.”

  They traded weak smiles.

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “I will miss you.”

  “You’re home on Friday?”

  “Oui.”

  “Bring a condom when you come over to my place that night.”

  “Lights on?”

  She tucked into his side. “We’ll see.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Keep playing this way and you won’t have anything to worry about.” Jax leaned back in the leather chair, taking a sip of her scotch. She traced her signature white streak of hair, tucking it behind her ear.

  Antony loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. Even though he’d stayed in the shower post game for an extra ten minutes, his body was still overheated, acting like he was on the ice, still fighting for the win.

  Before the game, the tension in the locker room was thick. Even Luca who was mostly cool, jumped every time Chase cracked a stupid joke, splitting the air with his piercing laugh. Coach Foster was already sweating during the pre-game pep talk.

  The Tampa Bay team had been gunning for this series since the last time they’d lost both games in overtime in Toronto. Antony hadn’t been near the puck either of those games last month, but he did have an on ice fight with their new defenseman, a big Russian player, and it got them both ejected from the game. It was worth it though, that guy purposely picked on Luca, one of Toronto’s top scorers.

  Antony was nervous enough, busy trying to drone out Chase going on about how hot the puck bunnies were in Florida, but when Jax showed up at the game unannounced, asking Antony to meet her at the hotel bar after the game, his radar had been turned up to the paranoid setting.

  Even so, he still managed to score, a miracle he thought, considering his career might be over. Now, he was tired, and hot, and staring at Jax drink while he nursed an iced tea. “You’ve never come to game before,” he said to her. “I see you, I worry.”

  “Worry about keeping up your shooting percentage, I take care of the rest.” She took the last swallow of scotch then raised her empty glass toward the bartender. He nodded then winked at her and made a great display of bringing her fresh order over himself.

  “Thanks,” she said. She watched him walk all the way back to the bar.

  Antony cleared his
throat and leaned closer to her. “You’ve heard something,” he said. “Tell me if I go to minors.”

  She shook her head. “Over my dead body. You’re better than half the useless goons on the ice. You’ve got it all, Antony; skating skills, you’re tough, you make plays…you score!” She took a sip, leaving a red lipstick mark on the fresh glass. “The only contract I’ll be getting you to sign will be for three years and five million.”

  “Seriously?” The irony left him dumbfounded. Even if he was lucky enough to stay playing for Toronto, he was dreaming of a fifth that much. He’d be able to take care of everyone—for life; his parents back home, and Marc could have his own private care worker… maybe finally move out on his own.

  This money meant freedom to Antony.

  Jax finished the second drink and picked up her Blackberry. “You’re playing with passion,” she said, her eyes never leaving the screen while she scrolled through her messages. “Coach Foster even mentioned it to me. Don’t lose it.”

  Antony stared at the neglected ice tea, the condensation running down its side and dampening the hotel coaster. His passion was a three-hour plane ride away.

  “Good luck tomorrow.” She gathered her leather briefcase and slipped her cell phone in the side pocket. “I’m flying out on the redeye tonight.” The bartender came over with her bill.

  She added her signature, then leaned over and gave Antony a kiss on the ear. “Be good,” she warned. “That Chase Stanford is becoming a whore, don’t party with him. Sponsors care about backing a player with a clean reputation. And if I haven’t told you enough, a sponsorship deal is as good as a golden retirement package.”

  “Yes, Jax.”

  With that final lesson, she sauntered out of the bar.

  Antony glanced at his watch. It was only ten thirty. Chase was his roommate this trip and had gone out for supper with a few of the boys from the team. With another game looming for tomorrow, he made his way through the opulent hotel lobby to the elevator.

  The VIP status the professional teams enjoyed was a far jump for him. Growing up, the only time Antony stayed in a hotel was for hockey tournaments and that was usually as the guy who carried Marc’s gear, plus his own.

  A sharp pain of guilt scissored through his chest. He swept it away, burying it under layers of remorse he knew would always be there weighing him down. He entered his room and sat down on the edge of the hotel bed, taking off his shoes.

  He saw Marc had added a new text since the last one he’d sent right after the game. Mostly the notes were about plays he’d missed, scoring possibilities that had gone unnoticed. This new text was about the defenseman he’d fought last month, Bachlahov.

  If they put him on other line tomorrow, watch out.

  An image of the hefty Russian known for taking out key players had been on the ice tonight, but his line was never on the same time as Antony and Luca’s.

  His thumb hovered over the screen, trying to compose a reply. But he imagined the conversation would go back and forth for at least another hour.

  Antony closed his eyes. He had to at least get an assist tomorrow while dodging the only guy who was bigger than him.

  Don’t lose your passion.

  His thumb scrolled past Marc’s name until he found hers. An automatic smile played on his lips. Maxine had been there on the edge of every thought he’d had today, constantly in the periphery. He wanted to come up with a plan to tell her the truth, but he was afraid she’d be upset that he’d lied, that he wasn’t the guy she thought he was. He couldn’t risk it yet…not yet.

  He was in this invisible contract with her that she didn’t know about; the relationship could only continue if he kept lying. But he wanted more, he wanted her in his life for real. Antony was desperate to find a loophole.

  He glanced at his watch again. There was no time difference between Florida and Toronto. He hit the contact button and hoped she’d still be up.

  It rang three times then her voice was on the other end, as flirtatious and warm as she was in person. “Bonjour, Ace,” she said.

  “Mademoiselle.” He put a hand over his heart. “Qui est la musique à mes oreilles.” He waited a pause then said, “That’s music to my ears.”

  She laughed. “How’s the convention?”

  “Ah, bored…boring. It is lot of truck stuff and…yeah.”

  “At least you’re in Florida. I saw that it was seventeen degrees and sunny there today. We had a wind chill of minus twenty-four. You win.”

  A swell of happiness lifted his sprits knowing she was thinking about him too. “Of course, I win, I scored—uh, I scored this trip at winter time. So…” He slipped off his jacket and tie. “You taking French lessons?”

  “No.” She laughed. “Everyone knows bonjour.” There was a crinkling sound in the background.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Mmm, oh, sorry.” She smacked her lips. “Eating a Winkie. It’s my dessert…sort of.”

  “What is Winkie?”

  “It’s like a really light cake with a creamy filling.” There was another crinkling sound, then the running of water. “Sorry,” she said again. “I’m in the kitchen.” Dishes clinked then there were footfalls. “Okay, now I’m settled in my bedroom.”

  “Winkie sounds like loukoumades,” he said. “Little honey balls of dough, you fry them. Mon Dieu, melt in your mouth.”

  “Those sound way better.”

  “I make for you, oui?”

  Her voice went up a note. “You’d make me dessert?”

  “Oui, supper too,” he said. “What you like?”

  She snorted. “Um…you’ve seen me. I like everything.”

  “French or Greek, or maybe both.” Antony’s words came out rushed, eager. “Poulet Basquaise, Pissaladière, Aligot, Coq au Vin, baklava, and…the cheese and bread…I’ll make all for you.”

  Her breathing came across the phone and he placed it closer to his lips.

  “Oui?” he prompted.

  “Oui,” she said. “Very much, oui. But my kitchen is sort of small, and I’m not sure if the oven works, I use it to store my frying pans.” Her voice changed. “Maybe I could come over to your place?”

  “You no cook?” Antony tried to remember the size of her kitchen, but all he could picture was the table covered in makeup and magazines. Then he said, “No problem. I visit you, in case oven works.” He imagined Maxine arriving at his apartment and seeing all his hockey paraphernalia, plus there was Marc. An unexpected shiver swept over his skin—Marc knew all his secrets.

  “Friday night?” she prompted.

  Friday night.

  The familiar burden of consequence pulled on his heart. Antony wanted to tell her the truth, to make things clear between them, but the fear of losing her was too great, overshadowing any scrupulous intentions. Still, he couldn’t resist her. He’d become an expert at convincing himself the gratification was worth the betrayal, no matter how deeply it stained his conscience.

  The mental debate left him exhausted and hopeless. He wanted to reach through the phone and touch her. “Je souhaite que nous étions ensemble,” he said, hanging his head.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I wish we were together,” he translated. Together, in every sense he thought. In each other’s lives for real instead of this stupid game he’s pulled her into.

  “Me too.” There was a soft laugh on the other end of the line. “Where are you now?” Her playful tone got his attention.

  “In the hotel room, on the bed.”

  “Are the lights on? I know you have a thing for illumination.”

  There was no mistaking her tone. Antony had to concentrate to get the words perfect. He said, “They will be Friday night.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maxine, you tease me.”

  She made an exasperated noise. “I’m not a tease! I’m shy. And damn it, isn’t it obvious? You’re a hot chiseled guy, and I’m a fat blob.”

  “Not blob.”


  “It’s okay, I know I’m fat.”

  “I like your curves and girly parts.” She didn’t answer. “Maxine?”

  She sounded far away. “Yes.”

  “You remind me of…how do you say, needle up girl?”

  It was quiet, then she said, “Pin up girl?”

  “Right,” he said. After a small hesitation he began, “I was young, only thirteen…found her under box of old camping magazines in mon grandpapa’s basement.”

  “This is getting interesting.”

  “She had red hair and sweater that was too small…or no, wrong, knitting. She was knitting, and it showed her…” He was surprised to feel himself getting hard.

  “And it showed her what, Antony?” she asked, impish and suggestive.

  “Um…her big seins. Wait, is that English word?”

  She burst out laughing. “No, but I think I know what you mean. So this calendar girl stole your heart?”

  “She was my first, uh…first time I…”

  “Saw the face of God?” she finished. Maxine gave him a nervous laugh. “Hmm, I have to admit, I’m a little bit jealous.”

  “Non, you’re my pin up girl now,” Antony said. He shifted his position on the bed, pulling his shirt lose from his pants. “Your seins are better.” His growing hard on agreed.

  “See ends? I guess I know another French word, now. That makes me practically bilingual.”

  Antony could hear the smile in her voice. “Start lesson tonight?” he proposed. “Qu’est-ce que tu portes?” He waited, then repeated in a softer voice, “What are you wearing?”

  “A…a bathrobe.” She was hesitant, but there was a hint of anticipation. “I wish you were here,” she whispered.

  “Close your eyes,” he said. “Je suis avec tu, t’embrassant…I’m with you, kissing you.”

  Over the phone, her breathing matched his own racing heartbeat.

  There was a pause on the other line, then her voice came through so clear, he was certain she was lying on the bed next to him. “Where are you kissing me?” she asked.

  “Déshabille-toi—take your clothes off.” He made sure to keep his tone even, to let her know it was a statement, a demand…not a request.