Hard Stick

by Paige North

  I’m not really sure how I make it through the rest of the surveys, but I do. As I’m stepping out of my shoddy little office, Professor Morgan is there, the standard expression of disappointment on his face. The instant I see him, I blush wildly, thinking it’s because of my latest screw-up. But really, if he knew what Flynn and I were up to, he wouldn’t just be disappointed.

  I’d be without a job, and have no chance whatsoever of getting my Psychology degree this December.

  “How did these surveys go?” he asks as I hand him the laptop with the survey results on it.

  “Oh, f-fine,” I stammer. Get a hold of yourself Savannah! “I mean, really good. I think the anonymity made their answers much more candid.”

  That’s a bunch of crap. I barely paid attention to any of their answers, especially after Flynn’s visit.

  “Good,” he says, nodding.

  I turn to leave, when he suddenly says, “Oh, Miss Shaw?”

  “Yes?”

  I’m sure he’s going to tell me that my lipstick is smeared or that my clothes are askew or something that I’ve done wrong. Instead, he says, “Good work. Have a good night, Shaw.”

  Wait, was that a compliment? I think it was. I stare after him as he walks away, something new stirring inside me. I’d have normally killed for a compliment like that from the toughest professor on campus. I would’ve felt so much pride in my work. But for the past few weeks, it’s been nothing but Flynn, Flynn, Flynn, driving me, twisting everything so that wrong seems right and up seems down. Now, I feel nothing but guilt.

  Even so, as I’m heading back on the T to my house, I’m not thinking about the survey. I’m only thinking of Flynn. So what if he’s bad for my career? Shouldn’t I go with what moves me, what makes me happy? And god, being with Flynn moves my entire world like nothing ever has before. Even if it is just sex. Even if it is going to end after the semester ends.

  Even if it winds up destroying my career.

  Wait, no. That’s wrong. I force myself to think of my parents, and everything they’re doing to ensure my future. And really, Flynn was a total jerk. He invaded my workplace, made me come there because he knew it was against the rules. He’s toying with me, making me choose between him and my work.

  Total, complete, jerk.

  With that thought firm in my mind, I reach into my backpack and pull out one of my textbooks, intent on studying it and getting some non-Flynn thinking in for once.

  But then my phone dings. That was the best survey I’ve ever been a part of.

  I grin so big and stupid on the T that people must think I’ve won the lottery. I type in, I’m sorry, it was anonymous. Which one were you?

  He comes back with Smartass.

  And a second later: So Freckles, when can I see u again?

  Despite having done my best to swear him off as a jerk, shiver of excitement travels up and down my spine. I know resistance will be impossible. I still want him. Just sex, I whisper to myself. I take a deep breath and let it out, then type:

  Whenever you want to come by. My roommate will be home all week, though. She has midterms.

  His response: Shit.

  Well, I type in, What about your place? Do you room with guys from the team or something?

  No.

  Okay, the truth is, I never really asked him about his place before. He said it was in Southie, which means absolutely nothing to me. I wasn’t even sure if that was actually in Boston. I assumed it was probably pretty swank, since I’d read online that AHL players made pretty good money. And I also assumed that he lived with some guys from the team, which was why we always went to my house. But now he’s making me curious. Have a wife or live-in girlfriend something?

  Nope.

  Hmm. Before I can come up with any other hypotheses, he comes back with: Meet me behind the arena. Service entrance A, in an hour.

  I read the text over and over. Besides the fact that we just came from the arena, that sounds like where they get deliveries and throw out their garbage. Not exactly romantic. Actually, kind of shady and scary. I type in That sounds dangerous.

  But you’re starting to like danger.

  He’s right. He’s so on to me.

  Then: I’ll be waiting for you.

  I type in an “ok” and then make it back to the apartment, take a quick shower, throw on some jeans, and hurry back to the T again. To think, I used to be nervous about public transportation. Now, I’ve worn a steady path between my house and the arena, even if I really haven’t had the time to do any other sightseeing. Part of me wishes Flynn could take me, because he must know the city so well, but I know that’s impossible.

  Plus, that sounds like something boyfriends and girlfriends do. And that’s not Flynn. When I meet with Flynn, it’s for one thing only.

  Mind-blowing sex.

  Whoever thought that little miss good girl, Savannah Shaw, would be okay with this?

  Instead of going through the main entrance to the arena, I walk around the block, to a chain link fence with a gate and a thick chain with a rusty, broken lock. I hurry through, into a parking lot with loading bays and concrete bunkers, looking for the service entrance in the dim sulfuric glow one faraway streetlamp. I make it nearly all the way to the end of the backside of the arena, not seeing any sign of a service entrance, when someone reaches out and grabs me from behind.

  I jump, then push on his chest as he reaches his hands under my coat, his fingers skimming my bare waist. As much as I want his hands all over me, I swat him away. “You’re a jerk.”

  He gives me an innocent look. “Why’s that?”

  “Because of today,” I remind him, wondering if he really did forget. “You know that we shouldn’t have—“

  “Something tells me you enjoyed it just fine, Miss Shaw,” he says with a teasing lilt. He takes my hand and yanks me closer to the building. “Come on.”

  “This is really nice,” I mutter as we pass through a stone archway. It’s just like I predicted—gross. There’s a dumpster in the corner, overflowing with black trash bags. The smell of garbage makes my eyes water. “You know, sightseeing Boston with you. I love being back here with the dumpsters.”

  “Only the best for you,” he deadpans in that low, honey-smooth drawl of his. He leads me down a staircase to a deserted parking deck. There is a door, but he has the key. When he pushes it open, I hesitate.

  “Are we supposed to be here when there’s nothing going on in the arena?”

  He thinks for a moment. “No. But that never stopped me before.”

  Well, sure. Danger pulses in his veins, but I’m a stranger to it.

  I take a deep breath and let it out. “So you take girls back here a lot?” I can see my whole life flashing before my eyes, and I’m already formulating just what I’ll say to explain this to the police who arrest us. I didn’t know, officer. I’m not from here. Plus, look at him. He’s gorgeous and positively dripping with sex. How can I not do everything he says?

  “You’re the first.” He looks back at me as we walk farther into the dark garage. “Live a little. Ain’t that why you left Shitville, Ohio?”

  “Bourneville,” I correct. “And living doesn’t have to mean doing illegal things.”

  “Sometimes I think illegal things are the only things worth doing.” He squeezes my hand tight. “And I get the feeling, Freckles, that I can break you. That I can make you love danger.”

  I swallow to hide the fact that I have more than that feeling . . . I know he can. Maybe he has already broken me, because he could tell me to strip naked in front of an entire arena, including Professor Morgan and Coach Jacobsen, and I would do it, if it meant his hands being on me. That’s how much I want him right now.

  He stops suddenly I nearly crash into his broad back. We’re at a giant, shiny wall. No . . . it’s the side of a bus. He pulls out his keys and strains to find the right one in the minimal glow of the flood lamps on the perimeter of the vast garage.

  I take a step back and see t
he familiar Argonauts’ star logo. “This is your tour bus?”

  “Yep.” He twists the key in the lock and pulls open the door, letting me inside. When I hesitate again, he says, “I know you think I’m some criminal, but for the record, I have permission.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. Sort of. Coop, our driver, just brought it back from being cleaned. He’s always letting players have the key, usually on road games. You know, when they want to get laid without having to worry about sneaking the girl into the hotel.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Are you hoping to get laid, Mr. Taylor?’

  He shrugs innocently, but even his innocent look is wolfish. I can tell he wants to jump me. And even as nervous as I am, I want it, too. So I climb inside. Once I get past the driver’s seat and the co-pilot’s seat, there’s an area with two sofas on either side, and a big television set. Above the sofa are really small, cramped bunks. Beyond that, a little kitchenette, and what looks like more bunks. “Where do you sleep?” I ask him.

  “Wherever I find a place,” he says, motioning me toward the back of the bus, past rows and rows of bunks stacked three-high, to the far end, with a giant television set and a C-shaped leather sofa. “Most of our trips are only three or four hours each way, so those ain’t too bad. It’s the ones to Raleigh or Columbia that suck.”

  I turn around. “It’s nice,” I say.

  He’s very close to me, so close that I can almost hear our hearts beating in unison in the quiet. He pushes my jacket off my shoulders and says, “I’m glad you approve,” and lowers his mouth onto mine.

  Chapter 16

  His hands climb up under my sweater, skittering over my ribcage before encircling behind me, finding the clasp of my bra and undoing it. I find the courage to pull myself away from his mouth and whisper, “Wait. What are we doing?”

  “Well,” he says, reaching his hand up and pulling the tie out of my ponytail, letting my hair fall loose around my shoulders. “I’m going to strip you naked and fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. For starters.”

  I tense.

  He looks up, at my brow, then runs a gentle finger over the creases that must have been multiplying there. “Uh-oh. Savi’s not happy.”

  I shrug. “It’s just . . . we can’t go on proper dates, to the movies and dinner and stuff. We can’t go out and get to know each other. All we ever do is go to secret places and . . . you know.” I sigh. I can’t even say the word fuck around him, with him staring at me like that. “I’m not used to it, and I wonder how it’s going to end, with me leaving in another month.”

  He cages me in his arms, leaning his forehead against mine. “You know we can’t do those things, Savi.”

  I nod. “I know, I’m insane. But I want to. Sometimes I just want you so much, I can’t help it.”

  My face reddens. I may have bared my soul, said too much. I wait for him to laugh, but he doesn’t. He rubs the pad of his thumb gently over my cheek, and his voice is gentle as a breath. “Sweet Savi. You know what I do, whenever I’m uncertain, and I don’t know which way to go?”

  I shake my head. “What?”

  “I let my instincts lead the way,” he says, pushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. “What are you instincts telling you?”

  I don’t need to think. “This,” I say, shrugging off my coat. I pull my shirt over my head, shake my hair out. “Every pore in my body wants you. All the time, Flynn. I can’t help it. Touch me.”

  He reaches out, gently tugging one camisole strap off my shoulder, and then the other. It falls to my waist, revealing my breasts, which he takes in, a hungry look in his eyes. “Savi, you’re so beautiful. You’re perfect. And you don’t deserve to be treated the way I’ve been treating you. You deserve to be worshipped, like the fucking goddess you are.”

  My knees buckle, and I nearly crumple in his arms. It’s all I can do to remain upright as his fingers graze my skin, sending bolts of electricity through my nerves. He rubs the pad of his thumb over one of my nipples, and it peaks instantly under his rough touch. Then he draws it into his mouth. Softly caressing the other, his tongue trails sweet, lazy circles on my breast, until I’m gasping and shuddering. Then he gives ample attention to the other one.

  “I want to kiss and lick every inch of your body, Savi,” he murmurs, delivering blazing-hot kisses down the center of my breastbone. He unbuttons my jeans, sliding them to the ground, then wraps his hands around my ass, kissing the V where my thighs come together. “You don’t have to do a thing. Let me do that for you.”

  He does as he promised, kissing every single inch. He lays me down on the stiff bunk, starting with my chin, then moving on to my shoulders, my breasts, his stubble rough against my sensitive skin. He kneels between my legs and kisses my breasts, sucking each one into his mouth until my nipples are stiff. He delivers a series of tiny, nibbling kisses down to my navel, across the curves of my hips, and down over each thigh. He spreads my legs wide, and I wait desperately to feel his mouth on my core. But he doesn’t. Maddeningly, he continues down, kissing my knees, my shins, right down to my toes. By then I’m writhing, senseless with need. The only thing I want is him. “Fuck me, Flynn,” I murmur. “Please, fuck me.”

  He stands up, pulls his shirt over his head and sheds his jeans. “Come here,” he says, sitting down on the bunk and hoisting me onto him so I’m straddling his lap.

  I suck my lower lip into my mouth, slightly embarrassed. It was one thing when I thought I’d never see him again, but now . . . I’m not so sure I can do it. “I’ve never actually been on top,” I say.

  “Look at me, Savi. There is no wrong way, baby. I want you to fuck me,” he growls staring, intense, into my eyes. “This is all you. Your ride.”

  So I do. I prop his hard, rigid cock upright, plant my hands on his shoulders, and lift up, so that his tip is right at my entrance. Then I slam down on his cock, taking it all in at once. His jaw tightens in surprise, and that wicked grin returns.

  “Fuck girl, take it easy,” he groans, cupping my ass with his hands. “On second thought, don’t. Do your thing. I love the way you look, goddess, with your tits bouncing up and down and your hair all wild like that. Fuck me.”

  I pull out, slightly, then sink back down onto him. Again, and again, and he’s right. I have the power, now. It’s mine. Now, I’m the one who makes the rules in what happens between us. I grind my cunt into him, setting the pace, rubbing myself up and down upon him, and he leans his head back, a look of euphoria on his face. “You never done this before?” he says, astonished.

  I smile. Spurred on by his confidence in me, I go harder, finding the spot and hitting it every time, and oh yes, how could I ever have had doubts? My orgasm is hovering, so so close, but I find I can stretch it out, hold onto it by moving in different ways, waiting for just the right moment. I can tell he’s close when his muscles tighten and he closes his eyes, straining against my every thrust. He grips me tighter, and I fall forward, against his shoulder. My breath is ragged as I whisper, “Come for me.”

  And he does, tensing, grabbing the edges of the cushion for leverage and thrusting hard into me as he growls. And I do, too, coming apart completely. I arch my back and we both cry out together as he buries his face between my breasts, delivering hot, hot kisses to my breastbone.

  “You’re right,” I whisper. “I like going with my instincts.”

  He leans back, grinning. “I like when you go with your instincts, too. You should do it more often.”

  I slide off of him. “Jen won’t be around all next weekend,” I say to him, hopefully. “She’s going to her boyfriend’s for Thanksgiving.”

  “You ain’t going home?”

  I shake my head. “Too expensive. I’ll see them in a month, anyway, for Christmas.”

  “Aw, fuck, you’re going to miss out on the turkey,” he says. “That’s no fun.”

  Truthfully, it does sound kind of miserable, being here alone while everyone else is with family. Part of
me was hoping he’d want to spend Thanksgiving with me, which would make things infinitely more tolerable. But when he doesn’t suggest it, desperation starts to creep in.

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll be away from home, too. Got a game in Portland.”

  My spirits plummet. Now I really will be all alone. Not that I expected to spend time with him. Like we already established, dates, or being out in public, are an absolute no-no. “Oh.”

  “I’ll be back in town Friday morning, though. And as much as I like this bus, I love fucking you in your own bed more. So it’s a date.”

  A date. I guess, that’s about the only kind of date I can have with Flynn. It’s thrilling, and exciting, and full of worlds of pleasure I’ve never experienced before. And yet . . . why do I want something more?

  Chapter 17

  Thanksgiving is as utterly depressing as I figured it would be. Jen goes off on Wednesday night with Pat, leaving me alone in the house once again. And since Boston has so many colleges, it almost feels like the entire city clears out to spend time with family. On Thursday morning I watch the Thanksgiving parade in the morning, eat dry turkey, watery mashed potatoes, and salty stuffing at the dining hall, then have an excruciating phone call with my mother. She has twenty guests coming over, all my aunts and uncles and cousins, and she’s made her famous apple pie for dessert. I’m so desperate, I can nearly smell it, taste the cinnamon. The thought of it nearly brings me to tears.

  After that, I flip on the hockey game. The only good thing is that Flynn’s streak appears to be continuing—he scores one unassisted goal and has two assists. Afterwards, Boston’s local sports channel interviews him while still sweaty and out of breath and he says, “I’m happy, having a really good run right now.”