Hard Checked: Ice Kings, #4

by Lynn, Stacey

  This man, who was nervous thirty-six hours ago, has absolutely no reason to be nervous about anything, especially when it comes to his skills in the bedroom.

  Between the day at his house yesterday, spending the night in his bed, and then this morning, I can’t even believe I have any orgasms left in me.

  He’s a magician and every time he touches me he makes my body sing.

  “Sebastian.” I reach behind me and dig my nails into his hip, his ass. His thick erection prods my backside, sliding through my crease, eliciting so many sparks of pleasure and making me crave something I’ve never done. But not today.

  “How many times do you think you can come for me today?” He presses two fingers deep inside me and twists. I scream out, throwing my head to his shoulder and biting down on my lip. My legs are trembling, but it’s not the physicalness of all this. It’s not even the fact I’ve decided I love a man who’s bossy in bed.

  What’s the saying? A lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets.

  They need something like that for guys. A gentleman in the streets, a bossy alpha jerk in the sheets.

  Sign me up every time as long as the bossy jerk ends with the last name Hendrix.

  “If you make me come again, you might break me,” I huff out. He has one hand on my hip, the other deep inside me and every time I arch he pulls me back to him, holding me still, forcing me to take everything he’s giving without being able to take it for my own.

  Glorious.

  I’m not sure I’ve ever had sex like this before.

  “If I break you, I’ll put you back together,” he whispers at my throat, the sound so gravelly it scrapes across my skin and makes me shiver.

  “Please, I need you.” Definitely not just for sex, but I force myself to remember my promise.

  This can stay easy and non-complicated.

  “I like the way you beg.” As he says it, he continues sliding his fingers inside of me, twisting, pulling, creating a maelstrom of physical effects that start at my center and spreads out until my spine feels like it’s on fire and I bubble over, finally falling.

  “Sebastian. Oh God,” I cry out, my hand on the tiles slip. My arm bends until I collapse forward as he strings every wave from me with his fingers and before I’m done, a different part of him is right there, pressing in.

  Filling me so completely whatever breath I have left in my lungs is thrust out.

  “I can’t wait,” he says, gripping my hip, my shoulder, pulling me back against him as he takes me without pause. “Shit, you feel good. So tight. So hot.”

  He’s so much taller than me his legs are bent, but I swear it only adds more power to his thrusts as he bends me forward and takes me to the cliff so fast, so powerfully, it’s a beautiful pain mixed with extreme pleasure and it doesn’t take long before I’m thrust over into another climax, or perhaps it’s been the longest one of my life that might cause my heart to stop.

  He slams into me, bends over and buries his face into my neck and growls through his own orgasm.

  He’s not even done before he curses. Apologizing.

  Leaves me so abruptly I almost slip on the wet tiled floor.

  “Oh, shit, Gigi. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t wearing a condom.”

  Oh. Oh.

  “It’s okay. I’m on birth control.” I make a mental note to ensure I’m not late in getting another shot and inhale a deep, trembling breath.

  “Still. I’m so… I lost my mind with how good you feel. But I’m clean, I swear it. And well…” He makes a strange, almost choking like sound, and gently runs his hand down my side, over my hip. “Obviously you know I can’t have children so… no worries there.”

  “Hey.” I turn into his hold and his hand at my hip skims to my lower back. “It’s okay. I’m not worried. I swear. It’s fine. Really.”

  One brow quirks up along with a corner of his lip. “It was just fine?”

  Laughing, I playfully smack his bare chest. “Better than fine. Incredible, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t hidden how good you feel or how much I like what you do to me.”

  The tension in his eyes finally melts away and he bends down to brush his wet lips over mine. Reaching behind me, he turns off the water as he pulls back. “Let’s get dried off and get something to eat. But I hope you know I feel the same way about you.”

  I didn’t. I mean, men can enjoy a woman physically without a connection. It’s easy for them to get off.

  I didn’t know how much I needed to hear I affect him so much until he says it.

  “I do now.”

  “Good.” He opens the door to his shower and comes back with a towel wrapped around his hips, one in his hands, and he wraps me in it before I take it from him and dry off.

  This part after shower sex usually carries an awkwardness to it, especially with the way the sex between us just ended would make me think my natural reaction would be to hide myself from him.

  He doesn’t need to see the small lumps of my ass and thighs. The stretch marks at my hip or beneath my breasts. But my instinct to cover myself, to hide the imperfect parts of me, doesn’t rear its ugly head while I dry off my body and then wrap the towel around my hair.

  We take turns at the sink, me naked, him mostly so, brushing our teeth, and I help myself to a bottle of lotion he has on the counter and lather my legs and arms.

  Through it all, he watches me carefully, yet not sexually, just with the lingering haze of two people who have spent twenty-four hours having sex.

  Really great sex.

  When he’s done, he heads to his closet and from inside of it, he says, “I have to be at the rink at three for the game tonight. I take it you’re working?”

  Yesterday, when he told me to grab a swimsuit, I went a step farther and packed a small overnight bag. I dig into it and pull on a fresh pair of panties as I answer.

  “Yes. I should get there a few hours early since I didn’t do the prep ordering yesterday.”

  He comes out of the closet, tugging on a pair of black dress pants with nothing on top yet.

  For a moment, we both stand there, staring at each other.

  “Wow. This is a sight I definitely like to see in my room.”

  I blush from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair and since I’m wearing essentially nothing, there’s no way to hide it. I grin and bend back down to my bag. “Same for you, hotshot.”

  He snorts and the soft padding of his footsteps tells me he’s gone back to his closet.

  “Do you like the bar?”

  “Dad asked me to take it over the other night.”

  “Really?” He peeks his head out and by now I have a long sleeve pink shirt on and I’m pulling my still wet hair out from beneath it. “Is that something you want?”

  “I can’t imagine selling it. I practically grew up there.”

  “But is running a bar something you want to do?”

  “I thought so at first.” I pull out a pair of jeans and begin pulling them on. My toes get stuck in one of the frayed areas so it takes me a moment and I’m sure I look ridiculous, hopping around and balancing on one foot to get them on. Sebastian smiles at me, like my fumbling amuses him.

  I’ll fumble all over the house in all manner of dress to see that smile.

  “Let’s get you fed and we can talk about it.”

  “I might do my best thinking on a full stomach while I think out loud.”

  “Then I’m glad I can help you instead of it being the other way around.”

  He laughs softly, kissing me again and then slides his hand from my back to my stomach, gently shoving me out of the closet.

  I grab my bag and toiletries on my way out and once we’re downstairs, I let Bruiser out of his doggie room while Sebastian heads to the kitchen.

  Bruiser yips and spins and circles before gaining traction on the wood floor and runs toward the back door where I let him out.

  “Does he always do that spinning thing?”

  “Always. It’s
weird.”

  “It’s cute.”

  “That too. An omelet okay for breakfast, or would you like yogurt again?”

  “What are you having?”

  “Oatmeal and another omelet.”

  “I’ll have what you’re having. Need help?”

  “Not with cooking.” He gestures with a knife to a pantry behind him. “You can feed Bruiser. His food is in there. One scoop.”

  I turn back to watch Bruiser chase a stray leaf blowing and tumbling across the yard, yipping madly at it and decide to leave him to his business. While Sebastian starts making our breakfast, I fill Bruiser’s food bowl and let him in when he barks at the door and then fill two cups of coffee from Sebastian’s Keurig machine on the counter.

  “So the bar,” he says, whisking an enormous bowl full of eggs. “You need to do some more thinking about it?”

  “Probably. When Dad talked to me about it the other night I was so sure, but I guess since then I’ve been thinking. There were so many things I wanted to do with my life, so many grand dreams and whatnot. When I was traveling, I kept thinking about that. How I could make those dreams come true but then I came home and Dad was sick for a while. He didn’t have a heart attack or anything, but he was told to take it easy for a few months and I started thinking that the simple life I was living, a job that I could do and do well and then leave behind me without a lot of stress plus getting to supplement that income with my Instagram stuff seemed pretty damn easy. But do I want it forever?”

  “You make money off your Instagram feed?”

  “I get sponsors and ads for photography things. I only promote what I actually like or use, but yeah. It’s not a ton, but it’s a decent amount of fun money.”

  “That’s cool. And you know whatever decision you make doesn’t have to be forever, right?”

  I watch as he pours over half of the eggs into a frying pan and then the rest into another. I hope that smaller one is mine because that’s more eggs than I eat in a month in the larger one. How much protein does this guy need?

  “I grew up in the bar. His friends that are always there practically helped raise me. I did my homework in the booths and carved my math facts into one of the tables. Pretty sure the initials of me and my fourth grade crush are carved into a heart somewhere else, too.”

  At that, Sebastian grins, shaking his head at me. I’m pretty sure right now he’d call me cute.

  At my feet, Bruiser yips and scratches my ankles, so I pick him up and settle him in my lap.

  “After Mom died, the bar was the only place Dad and I hung for a long time. At home, he was quiet and grieving. But at the bar, he was always the same, like it brought him alive.”

  “You running it won’t end that. But why don’t you want it?”

  I don’t have a good answer for it. Except questioning the decision. “Perhaps I’m allergic to responsibility.”

  I am, after all, the girl with a failed marriage who skipped off to Europe.

  “Are you?”

  “When did you become a therapist?” I tease, winking at him over the rim of my coffee mug.

  “Perhaps a cute little bartender is rubbing off on me.”

  “I think you’re the one doing all the rubbing me off lately.”

  “Easy.” He points a wood spoon at me with a gaze so hot it could melt his granite countertops. “That kind of talk will only get you bent over this counter.”

  “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

  “Drink your coffee. I need to stop thinking about how good it feels to fuck you or I’m going to be playing tonight’s game distracted.”

  I preen under his warning. Personally, I like the idea of him thinking of me while he’s at work. But I also know how important his career is to him.

  “I’ll try to dial it down a notch,” I say, taking another drink of my coffee.

  “Only until I can see you again.”

  “Deal.”

  He’s distracted me from bar talk with all his threats and sex talk and we move on to his game tonight, playing Nashville and after we eat breakfast, and when it’s time to head out, I tuck a whining Bruiser into his doggie room with the promise I’ll see him later and meet Sebastian in his garage and Maserati.

  By the time I’m back home, I drop off my bag there, take a few minutes to change my clothes and head back down to the office to get work done before we open.

  Surprisingly, my dad is behind his old metal desk, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

  “Late night?”

  “Dad.” He hasn’t acted like an overprotective dad giving me that disapproving look in way too long for me to back down to it now.

  “He’s not in the right headspace for what you need, Gigi.”

  “You don’t know anything about his headspace.” In all honesty, his headspace is murky. There are moments he looks at me when I know he’s seeing me. Liking me. And then there are moments when I can see him thinking. Wondering if doing anything with me is the right decision.

  After this weekend, the only thing I think we’re both clear about is that we like each other.

  And the sex is amazing.

  Since I’m the one who brought up keeping it casual, I plan on sticking to it. For at least as long as my heart can handle keeping its distance. I can already feel the pull to him, but I’m the girl who’s getting the boy after a year-long plus crush, so I’ve already been emotionally invested.

  This is all new to him, and I understand what he’s going through to an extent. I’m willing to be patient.

  Staring down my dad and having the talk with him about choices in men is not going to happen.

  “You’re the one who’s been worried I’m not out with friends anymore. Or anyone, you know. Now I’ve found someone I enjoy spending time with. Leave it at that.”

  The tension around his eyes softens and he taps the pen to the desk slowly. “You know I love you.”

  “I’ve never doubted it and I never will.”

  “And you know I want what’s best for you.”

  “Dad—”

  “That’s it. That’s all I’m sayin’, all right, butterfly?”

  I lean across the desk and kiss his cheek, making an obnoxiously loud smooching sound. “I know. Don’t worry about me so much.”

  It’s not until later in the night that I realize he never once brought up the bar, and I didn’t have the guts to do it either.

  As soon as I hesitate, I imagine my dad pulling the deal and selling it to the next bidder.

  And I still can’t decide if it’s what I want or not.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Gigi

  I’m drying my hair with a towel, shoulders shaking with laughter as I watch Sebastian in the mirror, twisting and bending his tall frame in my shower that’s not sized for tall people.

  “Stop laughing,” he grumbles, glancing at me. “The things I do for you, woman.”

  He came to the bar last night like he’s been doing a couple nights a week when he’s in town for the few weeks. Every time he showers at my place before heading back to his, I’m entertained watching him contort his body to get clean.

  No shower sex here, folks. It’s in no way possible.

  “Trust me. I love all the things you do to me.”

  My eyes widen at my reflection as I realize what I said. That pesky four-letter word came out of nowhere, or rather, all the places I’ve been trying not to admit to myself—and definitely not to Sebastian.

  “Same here,” he says, either unaffected by my usage or maybe he misheard it over the water running. “Especially when you use your mouth and hand to—”

  “I get it!” I say it loudly, making sure he hears and hang up my towel. I’m already dressed for a stroll around Charlotte where I plan on grabbing coffee at one of my favorite little places near NoDa and spending the morning and most of the day taking pictures.

  Sebastian and I have been spending almost all of our free time together for the last three w
eeks. I’m learning during the season and with my late schedule, it doesn’t really leave a lot of time together. But, if I was forced to admit to anyone, I’d say the last three weeks have been three of the best weeks of my life. Better than the cooking classes I took in Italy. Better than strolling through the coastal streets of Saint Tropez in the French Riviera.

  Better than all the times I spent in Europe, alone.

  Sebastian and I, in some strange way I never expected or saw coming, fit. I’ve spent hours next to him, crammed on my tiny couch, books shoved to the side and flipped through photos I printed of my travels.

  I’ve spent hours in front of his fireplace, hockey on the television, snuggled up next to him on his much larger, and much cozier couch, while he flips through scrapbooks his mom put together over the years of his hockey career from Pee Wee through college.

  A pre-teen Sebastian Hendrix with his shaggy blond-ish hair and misty green eyes in full hockey gear.

  It’s a miracle my heart didn’t explode from how absolutely adorable he was.

  And when I called him that, he flung the book to the floor and took me on the couch, making me beg and plead for an orgasm and promise I would never use that word to describe him again.

  Needless to say, my mission to keep my heart protected from a guy moving on from a marriage and a wife he loved has failed.

  While I blow dry my hair, Sebastian finishes his shower and towels off, heading to my bedroom to get dressed due to the lack of space. Most nights we’re together I spend at his house, but even though there’s more space and he has a bed a thousand times more comfortable than my own, I like it more when he’s here.

  Possibly because it means I’m not having sex with a man on the same bed he shared with his recent ex-wife.

  Possibly it’s because I really like the smell of him all over my pillows and sheets on the weeks when he’s traveling, and I can’t see him. Although, he’s made up for that, too with ample FaceTime calls late at night or before his games.

  Which to me, says this is more than keeping it easy and casual because he seems to want to be around me as much as I want to be around him, and it’s not like it’s just for sex. We don’t always have it, but I do always fall asleep wrapped in his arms… in a position he puts me in.