by Jessa James
He came out wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.
“Sit beside me,” I said, patting the couch cushions.
“I’ll get us a beer,” he said.
When he returned and handed me one, he sat next to me and I felt the warmth of his body, reminding me that I was naked under that oversized jersey.
He lifted his beer bottle and smiled. There was I hadn’t seen before, but I couldn’t place it. It was almost congratulatory. “Did you get what you wanted?”
I took a long sip of the cold beer. It helped. “What do you mean?”
“Having me naked.”
“It helped the story.” And me, I thought, but didn’t dare admit that.
“There were a lot of things that would’ve worked just as well.”
I was uncomfortable that I’d been so transparent. “It was more dramatic that way.”
He sipped his beer. “You, Chloe, are a liar. And in this case, you aren’t even a good liar.”
“Okay, I was testing you. I wanted to see if you’d follow my directions even if they meant a woman was making you strip. I wanted to see if you’d handle a role reversal.” He slid an arm behind me, held my waist. I knew I should tell him to move it, but the words were frozen in my throat.
“Did I pass?”
I nodded, not sure how to answer. “Seems so.”
“Now you’re uncomfortable. Feel off balance.”
I was more in heat than off balance. I looked at him to see if he was teasing. “Off balance?”
“It surprised you that I didn’t jump your bones.”
“No.”
“It didn’t surprise you?”
I trembled and before I could answer his hand was hot, melting hot on my thigh. I was looking at his face and his eyes were boring into mine. He moved close and kissed me. It was the public kiss all over again, with his tongue in my mouth, my brain locked in an agonizing battle over whether to encourage him or shut him down.
The arm around my waist pulled me up onto his lap. My bare ass rubbed over his hard cock through his pants as his hand moved between my legs. I shivered. He broke the kiss and moved to nibble my earlobe. I gasped as his fingers reached my pussy and stroked it with a shockingly delicate touch. I moaned softly as he traced the line of my pussy lips, then worked a finger between them.
“Wet,” he breathed into my ear. As if to prove his point his finger moved inside me, spreading my juices around the tender folds. His fingers were electrodes, stimulating me as they danced inside my pussy. His mouth attacked my ear, sucking the earlobe in his mouth, then kissing my neck, tasting the flesh. And all the time he used those thick fingers in my pussy, fucking me with them.
“Oh my God!” I cried because I was coming.
He held me, his face against mine, his hand still between my legs. My breathing calmed slowly and I was limp in his arms, waiting for whatever he’d do next. “I guess we better order that pizza,” he said. He put me on the couch and I lay back against the armrest. The shirt was up around my waist and his eyes were on my swollen pussy. “I’ll give them a call.”
I watched him in wonder. What the hell was he doing? Why didn’t he fuck me? Did he just make me come to prove a point that he could switch back to having control over the situation in a blink of an eye? Or in this case, a flick of my clit?
When he put down the phone I stood up, trying to get myself together, trying to think. “I think I’ll go now,” I told him.
“I thought the young lovers would be screwing most of the night,” he said. I heard something odd in his voice.
“You never know what young lovers will do, when it comes to it,” I said. I walked into the bedroom to dress and go home. I needed distance.
Chapter Nine
Blake
I hated the way we left things. It had torn me up inside to not run up to her and take her in my arms and fuck her right then and there. I hated to see her go, but it was important to make my point, that I could stay focused. I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d let me take it that far, and it had taken every bit of strength I had to keep from screwing her. Up until that moment, I had never practiced so much restraint in my entire life, it just wasn’t my nature.
But she hadn’t asked me for it.
I wasn’t sure why I was insisting on that, even at the expense of passing on what I was certain would be an exceptional fuck. Maybe I was angry. The money people were using her to manipulate me, so she was part of that. I resented her using her beauty, her sex appeal as leverage to control me. An internal part of me wanted to get back at her for that. She was being paid to hold me by the balls and I wasn’t taking it very well.
I spent the next morning with my trainer, working through my fitness program. The workout helped me release some of the angry torment I was feeling. After that I went to the rink and worked out with the team on some passing drills—basic, but critical stuff. By the end, I was feeling a lot better from all the distractions of the day. I remembered what I really was in all this for, the game. I was on my way home when Chloe called, surging me back into the heat of the other game I was playing. “We’re going to an art opening tonight and then out to dinner. I’ve made reservations in your name.”
“What kind of art?”
“For charity,” she said, sounding puzzled.
I wanted to laugh. She had no idea what kind of art it was. She’d merely scheduled an event. She wasn’t selling herself very well to me as a person who had feelings other than the robotic motions of her job. She told me what time I was supposed to pick her up and what to wear. It was a tux, of course, and it was my job to agree with everything she said through a clinched and forced smile.
I’d wear one for Chloe even though it wouldn’t get me laid, but it would keep me on the hockey team. Getting her off had been exciting and thrilling. I’d made the ice queen break down her barriers. She hadn’t begged me to do her, but she’d been plenty pleased to have me finger her to a lovely orgasm.
From the gallery, we went to a French restaurant that I enjoyed despite an almost total lack of conversation from my “date.” “I thought we were still doing the young lover thing. Shouldn’t you at least smile at me once in awhile? They’re going to catch on and will stop buying it if we don’t make it believable. This is your game Chloe, remember?”
“Sorry,” she said. “You’re right.” Then she chatted to me about the art we’d seen as if I remembered any of it, but I pretended to be interested anyway, because I was good at holding back my true emotions.
After dinner, we went to my place. While I got out of my tux and into sweats, she kicked off her heels and turned on the television. She sat in a chair while we watched some movie, barely even looking at each other. At least I was out of that uncomfortable tux. When it was over she got out her phone and announced she was going home. There she went with the robotic nature again. This broad had me so confused. “I’ll call a cab,” she said.
“And tomorrow?” I asked.
“Game day.”
“What’s the schedule, boss?”
“What do you normally do?”
“I get there early and spend time getting my head right, then warming up.”
“Then I’ll go directly there on my own. Take a cab to the arena and I’ll meet you outside the locker room.”
“Sounds good, ma’am.” I said sarcastically.
I walked her to the door when the cab came and made a production of kissing her goodnight. I wasn’t doing it for the press either. I needed a fix, I needed to touch her and I needed that kiss to get me through the night.
Chapter Ten
Chloe
Sitting in the owner’s box gave me a false idea of what it was like to go to a hockey game and get the full experience, but nonetheless I was impressed. There I was in a lovely setting, with a wet bar, a buffet of really nice nibbles, and comfortable seating. But the seats below, around the ice were packed with enthusiastic fans, many wearing Blizzard or Winnipeg team jerseys, eagerly waiting fo
r the start of the game. Maybe I could get to have the enhanced experience of the game down there in the trenches with them at some point.
Everyone treated me well and was very polite and friendly. Of course, everyone there but Tom Lassiter, the owner, thought I was Blake’s fiancée. Tom knew the score, but I had to wonder what he might think if he knew how I was starting to feel about Blake. The game we were playing, creating the story about being engaged was taking me, at least, onto slippery ice. He gave me curious looks at times, almost as if he didn’t believe I could pull all of this off.
His daughter Daphne, who was eighteen, introduced herself and took a seat next to me. A waiter brought a mimosa and a plate of cheese and crackers. I looked down at the rink where the players were warming up, skating around, taking a few practice shots. We had a great view of it all from comfortable seats, plus there were large screens that showed close-ups of the action.
“Elegant,” I said. “I could get used to this.” I took a swig of the mimosa and let the alcohol sink into my veins.
Daphne chuckled. “The action is better down behind the boards.”
I looked at Daphne closely. She was a slender young blonde with unusual dark eyes and a marvelous face—the kind of girl that became more beautiful as she matured.
“Is this normal?” I asked her, referring to his adrenaline pumped fan club.
“It is when Blake’s playing,” she said and curled her lips up in a half smile as we watched a girl throw what I was certain was a pair of panties at Blake. He casually used his hockey stick to push them over to the side where a referee picked them up and stuffed them in his pocket, as if he was used to that type of thing happening all the time. I was perplexed.
Daphne leaned over. “I think Blake will be a great husband.”
“Really? With his reputation, most people have been telling me what a mistake I’m making.” Daphne gave me a funny look so I quickly added, “Of course, I try not to play into all that noise, and people don’t know what he’s really like behind closed doors and all…”
“It’s probably jealousy,” she said. “You know there have been a number of women who’ve tried to win his heart, but all they got was a wild ride.” She grinned and chuckled. “I’m not saying you won’t have a challenge, but you’re a stronger woman than he’s used to. All those groupies will pale when he accepts that a strong woman can like him, that he doesn’t have to settle for the easy ones, the ones who fall all over themselves to get him into bed.”
I laughed. “What makes you such an expert on guys like Blake?” I felt slightly uncomfortable having this type of conversation with the team owner’s eighteen-year-old daughter. I hoped I wasn’t being set up in a trap.
She tipped her head. “Do you really want to know?”
Suddenly, I did. “Yes.”
“I had a crush on a player a few years ago. When Daddy found out…well, let’s just say that he hated the idea and ultimately it didn’t work out.”
“You broke it off?”
She scowled. “He left. Moved on.”
“Sorry.” Clearly Daphne had her heart broken at a young age and I hurt for her.
“One good thing that came from it was that mom and I had a long talk about guys like that—like Blake Collins. She pointed out that it made sense to fall for them—the ones that are such hunks. I mean some of them are so hot; some are even charming off the ice. She said that the problem is that so often they get so much attention, get so full of themselves that they act out with women. They think you’ll love them no matter what sort of shit they pull.”
I thought her mom made a great point. “So, she warned you off them?”
Daphne grinned. “Actually, no. She said that those guys had a lot to recommend them. That for some women, a macho guy, a real alpha type made life good. But…”
“But what?”
“Well, she gave me this strange smile and told me that Blake Collins reminds her a lot of Daddy—how he was before they got married. He was a hot shot player too, and she said he was as wild as they came.”
“That’s hard to imagine. He’s so… I don’t know… dignified.”
“She said that’s the result of good training.” She winked. This conversation was getting stranger and stranger.
“Training.”
“She said you need to have the guts to stand toe-to-toe with a monster like that and set down the rules.”
“The rules?” I wanted to laugh. I was also a little shocked that Daphne’s mom used the word “monster” to refer to her own husband.
“Mom said if a guy like that turns you on, the last thing you want is to change him. The thing is to let them know what you expect and see if they’re willing to play by your rules, just like they have to on the ice. And when they don’t…” she grinned, “…you need to resort to the penalty box.”
“And that works?”
“According to Mom it does. Daddy remains a bad boy in the ways she likes.” I found that hard to believe, but only nodded along in agreement.
“I see. And do you have your eye on a hockey player now?”
She smiled wistfully. “Not now. I decided to play things slow.”
“You have time.” She was still a baby in my opinion. When I was eighteen, I hadn’t even been in a serious relationship yet.
“Speaking of time—it’s time to drop the puck.” She pointed to the screen. “The opening face-off. Blake will be lined up on the center’s left shoulder where he can get a good line on the puck.”
We watched the two teams line up behind their centers, each man tense, ready. The puck dropped, sticks clashed, the puck shot out toward Blake who flicked it to a teammate and the game was on.
“You can breathe again,” Daphne laughed. “Sit back and enjoy whatever happens.”
Chapter Eleven
Blake
It was crappy anytime you lost a game, but when the team was in the playoffs, every game was critical. “What the fuck was wrong with you out there Collins?” the coach bellowed as we went into the locker room.
I didn’t have an answer. “I couldn’t get the pace.” I hadn’t played badly. I’d made no mistakes, but I hadn’t played well either. I felt like I’d let my team down.
“You treated them like visiting royalty. You get paid to kick their asses, not to let them do what they want. They walked all over you.”
“It won’t happen again.” I looked him in the eye. I meant it. I’d probably spend half of the next game in the penalty box, but they’d be bleeding.
The coach glared at me with a look of fire and brimstone, looking to see if I meant it. “If it does, I’ll find someone who wants to play hockey, not go ice skating.” My heart flipped, and then I felt a surge of humiliation.
When the coach stormed off, probably to get his ass chewed out in turn by Tom Lassiter, Randall came over and slapped me on the shoulder. “It happens,” he said. “A little fresh pussy fogs the brain. If you’ve decided to marry this one, she must be special enough to keep you busy every night.”
I shook my head, not really knowing how to respond to that.
Fresh pussy? Truth was, Chloe was messing me up on multiple levels that had nothing to do with my dick. Randall had seen us at the restaurant and jumped to the conclusion I was screwing her. It was logical. He’d teased me about that at practice. Now that we’d announced the engagement, he was a happy boy. More groupies might steer his way if I was “taken.”
When I came out of the locker room, I found Chloe waiting. She was a sight for sore eyes the way her wavy blond hair fell over her shoulders.
I opened my arms and she slipped into them, molding in a perfect fit, and I realized how great it was to have her there, waiting for me. Her hair smelled like coconuts and it drew me in even more. As my teammates came out, passing us, some laughing, I kissed her. I didn’t even care what they thought about me in that moment. My eyes were clouded by Chloe, her perfect feminine scent and beautiful curves. Those warm, soft, lips touched mine
, sending a tingle through me that was sexually potent, yet more than that. There was some sort of connection I felt to her that went above lust and wanting to fuck her. Happiness filled me when she was around.
Around Chloe I was beginning to realize I’d never had a real relationship with a woman before, I didn’t even know what it had felt like. Not a complete relationship. I wasn’t sure I’d known it was possible. There were women you knew and did business with, even chatted with, and then there were the ones you fucked. I couldn’t anticipate a feeling that I’d like to have a relationship where there was sex but also talking and friendship added in the mix. I’d thought I’d cross the line with Chloe, get a woman I did business with to spread her legs for me. Instead of that, the boundaries were blurring. I wanted her, but I also wanted to be with her and wanted her to care for me, the way she pretended to. I didn’t want it to be just for the cameras anymore, I wanted her for real.
It was unsettling. It was intoxicating.
“Come with me,” she said, her voice sensual and sweet, like honey.
She led me out into the parking garage. The usual crowd of women were there, clinging to my teammates. One saw us and shouted, “You don’t deserve him, bitch!” Chloe winced but said nothing. I admired her dignified form against the crazy die-hards. We pushed through the crowd as a limo pulled up. The driver hopped out and opened the door for us. I felt a new rush of sexual energy as I studied her bare legs. Her skirt hiked up as she sat down, making my fingers tremble to touch.
I realized the ache inside me was longing.
The driver shut the door and Chloe turned and kissed me. Women beat on the windows, furious. “They don’t want you taken out of circulation,” she said.