Blocker (Seattle Sharks Book 5)

by Samantha Whiskey

  I turned my hand, slipping two fingers inside her.

  “Fuck, baby. You’re so wet for me.”

  “I’m always wet for you,” she admitted, grinding down on my fingers.

  Her pussy gripped my fingers like a velvet glove as I pumped them into her, then mimicked the action with my tongue as I claimed her mouth again.

  I ignored the blatant need screaming through my body and focused purely on her pleasure. Her hips rocked with my thrusts, chasing the orgasm I knew drew closer. Her thighs tightened. Her inner muscles gripped my fingers. Her movements on top of me became jerky and slow.

  I increased the pace, then pressed on her clit with my thumb and swirled.

  She came, and I kissed her cry from her, taking it inside of me the same way my fingers were deep inside her.

  With deep, shuddering breaths, she trembled over me before collapsing against my chest.

  “Holy shit, Eric,” she muttered, her mouth against my neck.

  Her breathing slowed as mine became more difficult.

  I slipped my fingers free as she sat up, her face flushed with pleasure. Her lips swollen from my kisses.

  Her eyes widened as I licked my fingers, savoring the clean, sweet taste of her. “Hmmm...dessert.”

  Her eyes took on a sheen I knew all-too-well, and I quickly captured her questing hand, which was making a bee-line for my dick.

  “Oh no. According to my calculations…” I jerked her dress down her hips and brought her to my side, covering her gorgeous legs with the blanket.

  The door opened, and the manager appeared, a thin, wide-eyed, teenage boy with him.

  “Ah! Good to see you’re already settled. We’ll get the movie started. If you need anything else, Chris will be at your service.”

  “Thank you,” I told him, my voice low.

  Within a few moments, Chris had dinner cleared, and the lights faded. Pepper settled in against my side, resting her cheek on my chest.

  “Whatever it is, I love it,” she said. “I’ve never had a more perfect Valentine’s Day.”

  I kissed her forehead before rearranging my throbbing hard-on. She’d said she’d always wanted to make-out in a theater, not get fucked in one. Besides, there was zero chance I was taking the risk of Chris seeing anything like that happen, and the kid looked our way every few minutes or so.

  When the Marvel logo came on, Pepper’s head popped up, and when the title displayed, her jaw dropped.

  All the planning, the requests, and the sheer money to make this happen was all worth it for that simple look.

  “This...this isn’t even in theaters until next month!” she exclaimed.

  “Well, it’s in this theater,” I said with a grin.

  “You are incredible.” She smiled at me, and I felt powerful enough to change the orbit of the earth for her.

  “Nah. That’s the Hulk. I always saw myself as more of an Iron Man.”

  She laughed and settled back down against my side. “You’re definitely my hero.”

  We watched the movie, and I savored every gasp, laugh, and tear she let escape. I had more fun watching her than I did the movie, even though I’d grown quite fond of the MCU.

  After the movie, I drove her back to her place, and once we were sure the paparazzi weren’t around, I parked in the garage.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” I told her one last time, kissing her gently.

  “Why don’t you come up?” she offered with an impish grin.

  “What?” Surprise got the best of me. I was never at her place. Ever. It was too risky to be caught by Ivy, or God-forbid, her dad.

  “Ivy’s out of town for her internship,” Pepper explained. “And tonight, I want you in my bed. In my room. I want to smell you on my sheets tomorrow.”

  “How the fuck could I ever turn down an offer like that?” I asked, consuming her mouth in another kiss.

  “Good,” she said, pulling back with another grin. “Because I could really go for some of that...dessert.”

  Holy shit. I was never going to get enough of this woman.

  Ever.

  Chapter 17

  Pepper

  “Okay,” I said, nudging my front door open with my hip. I toted in two full plastic bags and kicked the door shut with my boot. “I’ve got our two favorite men, Ben & Jerry, plus Twizzlers, and M&Ms.” I sat the bags down on the counter. “Oh,” I said, a bounce in my step as I pulled out another item. “I snagged some seaweed masks, too. We’ll look like Gamora. It’ll be awesome.”

  Ivy hugged a box of tissues on the couch. Her eyes red, puffy, and distant. “Thanks, Pepper,” she said, her voice hoarse from crying.

  That was Ivy. She never did anything half-assed—even falling hard and fast.

  My shoulders dropped, and I spanned the distance, sinking next to her. She leaned into my embrace.

  “I can’t believe him,” she said, her voice choking up again. “We made plans. Promises. We were going to travel. He said he didn’t need the Sharks anyway. That we would be fine and we would be…us.”

  “Oh, Ivy,” I said, sighing as I rubbed my hand up and down her spine.

  I hated this.

  Hated how many times I’d held her after she’d gotten her heart broken. After she’d trusted too quickly. Fallen too fast.

  Would she be holding me when Eric wised up and realized I wasn’t worth the hassle? The risk?

  A cold knife slipped into my chest at the thought.

  Eric is different.

  “Then,” she continued after wiping her face. “Then when he asked me to bed, again, and I said I wanted to wait, again, he…he…” a sob shuddered her body. “He dropped me. Right then and there. Like I was nothing. Said he couldn’t waste time on a lost cause. Especially one who cost him his career. Said he was going to go to Coach and beg for his position back.”

  My blood boiled but cool relief swept by in an instant. “You didn’t sleep with him?”

  She pulled back from the hug and shook her head. “Don’t look so shocked.”

  I closed my mouth and flashed her an apologetic look. “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean…I just…wow.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I wanted this one to mean something. I’m so tired of jumping from one man to the next, and I thought Crosby was different.” She swallowed hard.

  I marveled at her willpower. It had only taken a few fleeting kisses to shed my inhibitions with Eric. But, then again, what we had was something different. Something more. Right?

  “Maybe, maybe he was just upset? The stress of losing his job. Maybe if I talked to him, and then we talked to Dad—”

  “Ivy, no,” I cut her off. “Crosby won’t change,” I said. “He’s a known bed-hopper and has a chip on his shoulder on the ice—”

  Ivy bolted off the couch, her tissues forgotten. “Don’t pretend like you know him, Pepper.” She stomped to the kitchen and tore the lid off of a pint of chocolate-fudge-brownie.

  “Ivy,” I pled, standing to meet her on the other side of the kitchen counter. “I know his rep. I’m with the Sharks all the time. Even on the road. I hear them talk. And I saw the way he treated you.”

  “You didn’t,” she said, though her eyes said she was putting up a fight for pride’s sake. “Away from his boys, the rink, and the paps…he was kind. Sometimes. And fun. He took me to all the best bars…”

  “Bars?” I eyed her. “Ivy—”

  “Don’t!” She snapped. “Not every man whisks his girl off to Montana or rents out an entire theater for a date.”

  I gasped, my throat closing up.

  How? We’d been so careful.

  It was Ivy’s turn to flash me an unbelievable look. She reached around the counter and grabbed something from the small wooden drop station we had near it. “I’m not stupid,” she said, waving Eric’s black beanie at me.

  He’d let me borrow it two nights ago when I’d gotten cold.

  I’d forgotten to give it back.

  “We’re friends,” I
said, my voice small. “You’re his friend. He fixed my car. Of course, he’d leave stuff over here by accident.”

  “Friends?” She flung the beanie at me before shoving a spoon into her ice cream. “Really?”

  I held the beanie to my chest, gaping at her, the words tangled in my throat.

  “At least I never tried to hide Crosby,” she said around the spoon. “You.” She shook her head. “You sit there and lecture me when you’re doing the exact same thing I was.”

  Frozen.

  I couldn’t move.

  I was doing much worse than her.

  Because not only was I employed by the Sharks, I was risking Eric’s livelihood.

  I truly was a villain.

  “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. Talked to you about it the second it got real, but it happened so fast. I’m still reeling. And I’m lost, Ivy. I’m so fucking lost.”

  She set the ice cream down and came around the counter to hug me.

  That was the beauty of our sisterhood—even during a fight, we didn’t hesitate when one of us was crumbling.

  “Look,” she said, hugging me tightly. “I’m sorry. It was a low blow. I’m just…hurt.”

  “I know,” I said, choking back tears. “I’d do anything to take it away.”

  “I know,” she said, nodding against my shoulder before pushing me back slightly to look at me. “I’ve never seen you like this,” she said.

  I tilted my head.

  “Wrapped up in a guy. Let alone a player.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t control it. Eric is…” Pain flickered across her gaze. “Not something we need to talk about right now.”

  She sighed. “Be careful,” she said. “You don’t want to end up like me.”

  I smoothed some hair back from her face. “He’s out there,” I said. “Someone perfect. Someone way better than Crosby. Someone kind and strong and patient enough to put up with your sas.”

  She chuckled, a half-sob half-laugh.

  “Now,” I said, shoving all thoughts of Eric to the back of my head. My sister needed me, here, now, and free of any drama of my own. “Let’s go get green,” I said, grabbing the masks and tugging her toward the bathroom.

  “I love you, Pepper,” Ivy whispered as she followed me. “No matter how big of a bitch I can be.”

  “Ditto.”

  Chapter 18

  Eric

  “Eric!”

  “Eric!”

  “Gentry!”

  The press called my name with raised hands, and I called on a guy from NBC Sports in the front row for what had to be the fifteenth post-game question I’d answered.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Mark Whitman, NBC Sports. You played three remarkable games this weekend here in Nashville.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, leaning toward the microphone that sat on the conference table in front of me. “Was that a question, Mark?”

  A murmur of laughter rippled through the room.

  “Do you feel like the return of Crosby Stanton gave you that needed edge, and what do you feel led to his return so close to the trade deadline next week?”

  “Now you’re asking two questions.” I forced a grin and was rewarded with another hum of laughter. “Of course Crosby brings a lot to the table. He’s an excellent defenseman,” and a total asshole, “and we have that proven chemistry on the ice when he’s back on the line. I couldn’t be happier to have him back. As for the timing of his return, that’s something you’d have to ask Coach Harris about.”

  Because I honestly didn’t know. Crosby had been silent in the locker room, Coach wasn’t saying a word, and Pepper hadn’t come near me since we’d left Seattle on Thursday. Considering she’d spent Wednesday night with her sister, I hadn’t so much as kissed her in almost a week.

  Like a heat-seeking missile, my eyes found hers in the back of the conference room, leaned up against the wall with her arms folded under her Sharks jacket. Man, I wished it was my jersey on her back, my name and number in giant block letters proclaiming her taken. Mine.

  Fuck, I missed her.

  Not just the sex, though it was phenomenal. I missed hearing her laugh, holding her while we watched a movie on the couch, getting her opinion on decisions that had to be made.

  I called on the next raised hand.

  “Scott Harrington, ESPN. We’ve heard rumblings about you leaving the Sharks at the end of the season due to better offers in both Denver and New York. Any truth to the rumors?”

  Pepper’s head snapped up and her eyes widened.

  Awesome. Yet another discussion I hadn’t been able to have with her since my agent took both of those phone calls on Thursday. Gotta love the press.

  “All I can say is that my contract is up for negotiation, and I’m incredibly happy in Seattle.”

  I looked directly at Pepper, hoping she knew I had zero intention of going anywhere, and called the next question. “Last, one, guys. I’m starving. We farm boys like to eat.”

  Another murmur of laughter ran through the press corp.

  “Alicia Peters, Seattle Tribune. Can you respond to rumors that the Crosby Stanton issue was caused by fraternization with the team’s new statistician, Pepper Harris? Anything to do with that tabloid picture? And if so, how do you feel about your team’s season being jeopardized by such behavior?”

  My eyebrows hit the roof for a second before I caught myself.

  “Alicia, man, that was definitely not one question. You and Mark been hanging out?”

  She cracked a grin.

  I didn’t.

  A deep breath later, having collected my thoughts, I looked her square in the eye. “So, first, as I told Mark, anything to do with Crosby should probably be addressed to Coach Harris, or Crosby himself. Second, if you look at that picture, you’ll see that it’s not Pepper Harris, it’s Ivy Harris, who happens to be her twin, so there was definitely some failure in reporting there. Third, the only reason Pepper didn’t come out and say the caption was wrong, was that she has too much class to address tabloid gossip, which is what that was, and quite frankly, whomever Ivy chooses to date is her business. Fourth, I’m not in the habit of commenting on the love lives of my teammates, and that’s what Pepper Harris is—my teammate. And lastly, if you’ll check our record, you’ll see we didn’t lose any of the games Mason Hall played in, so that really makes your last question misleading. Let’s leave the gossip to the tabloids, shall we, Alicia?

  “Now that’s it for me, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll see you back in Seattle.”

  Pepper: In two minutes, open your door.

  Eric: ok

  I carried my cell phone to the door of my hotel room and watched the numbers change until two minutes had passed. Then I turned the handle and opened the door.

  About thirty seconds later, Pepper flew through the doorway, shutting the door behind her so quickly that it almost qualified as a slam. Her hair was up in a knot on the top of her head, and the tops of her breasts swelled above her tank top.

  My dick had no trouble reminding me that we hadn’t been together in nearly a week.

  “Hey,” she said, leaning back against the door.

  “Hey,” I answered.

  There must’ve been something fascinating on the carpet because her eyes hadn’t left it since she entered.

  “Pepper?” I prodded gently. “What’s going on? Not that I’m not happy to have you here, but I know how you feel about sneaking around during away games.” I backed up and sat gently on the edge of the large console table in the small entryway of my suite. It was all I could do to keep my hands off her—I was that desperate to connect with her physically seeing as we’d had almost no interaction other than text messages.

  “It might help if you looked at me,” I suggested. A feeling of unease came over me. That wasn’t the face of a woman who was happy in her relationship. That expression went along with phrases like we need to talk, and it’s not you it’s me. Leave it to pepper Ha
rris to reduce me to a junior high boy.

  Her gaze started at my feet and slowly rose over my legs, my hips, my bare torso, and finally, she met my eyes. She licked her lips and blinked rapidly before looking at the fire escape plan next to her.

  “Maybe you could put on a shirt?”

  “You’ve seen me in a lot less.”

  “I am well aware. So. Well. Aware. It just makes it kind of hard to think with all of that—” she motioned to my chest, “—going on.”

  “I can’t think around you no matter what you have on,” I admitted.

  We locked eyes, and that same palpable, electric current connected us, even over the five feet that separated our bodies.

  “Please tell me what’s going on, Pepper. You’re making me really fucking nervous.” If I wanted her to be honest, I had to give her the same consideration.

  “Ivy knows about us,” she whispered.

  “Is that it?” I asked, relief sweeping through me. The muscles in my shoulders loosened as I exhaled, feeling the weight of the world evaporate.

  “What do you mean is that it?”

  “I mean, is that what has you upset? What has you in my room at 11 o’clock at night, knowing any of the other players could’ve seen you walk in?”

  “Well, yes. Don’t you think it’s worthy of a little panic?” She asked, raising her eyebrows above those crystal-blue eyes. God, I could look into those eyes every minute for the rest of my life, and never be tired of them. She had to be a horrible poker player. She wore every emotion on her face, in her eyes. It was one reason we steered clear of each other during away games, knowing we’d be caught.

  “Do you still want me?” I asked, needing to hear the answer more than I needed my next breath of air.

  “Of course,” she answered softly. “That’s why I’m here. We’re in some serious trouble.”

  “Thank God.” I let my head roll back for a few seconds, ridding myself of the last of the tension that had struck me the moment she walked in. “I need thirty seconds before we can discuss this, okay?”