It wasn’t too late. He had already said “don’t,” but he could follow it by offering her a drink or insisting on walking her to her car. That’s what he ought to do.
But she met his eyes, dropped her lids, and leaned in a bit to place her hand on his arm. She let out a ragged breath and he knew she felt the fire, too.
And there was that little heart-shaped wine stain riding her nipple—a nipple twice the size it had been from the cold. The stain was so small she might not even be aware of it. And it intrigued him.
Better not, a voice inside him whispered.
But I have to, he answered.
He slid his hand up her arm, and she turned her body just a little closer as his fingers met her bare shoulder. There were chill bumps on her shoulder.
All thoughts of Pickens Davenport and the Nashville Sound drifted away like smoke from a fire—probably the fire of a burning contract.
“You have a wine stain on your shirt,” he whispered close to her ear.
“Is that right?” She turned her head, not to look at her shirt, but to bring her ear against his lips.
“Yes. In the shape of a heart.”
And he bent and covered that wine stain heart with his mouth.
Chapter Three
A wave of something Tradd had never felt before—at least not this strong—hit her.
Tonight, she’d been worried, mad, and remorseful. Now, she was only riding the wave that gathered with Thor’s mouth on her breast and crashed into her belly.
Who knew? Thor, of all people—The Sound’s number one defenseman and the most feared enforcer in the NHL. She’d seen him beat men to a bloody pulp and laugh as he skated to the penalty box.
And his mouth was on her, sucking her nipple through the silk of her camisole. She hadn’t given him permission to do that. He must not have felt like he needed it. Tradd understood that, since she was used to being the one in charge.
But she wasn’t in charge now.
She seemed to be slave to a mouth and the two arms that gathered her up. Thor’s mouth and arms. Incredible—the feeling and that it was Thor, for God’s sake. She was used to the Brooks Brothers, sterling-silver-monogrammed-blazer-buttons type.
Hell in a hand basket. Here she was with this big Swede. She’d never even been to Ikea.
She put her arms around him. No Brooks Brothers blazer, with or without buttons.
“You’re half naked.” Tradd hadn’t expected her voice to sound raspy. “Barefoot.”
“Mmm.” He didn’t lift his mouth from her nipple, but sucked a little harder.
She gasped. He slipped a hand to her bottom and molded her pelvis to his very impressive erection.
Finally, he lifted his mouth, but the wave continued to crash and crash and crash.
He said something in Swedish and rubbed against her. Or she guessed it was Swedish. It was definitely rubbing.
“Say what?”
“I said that I could take you right here, but it wouldn’t be seemly. Seemly. That is the word? I have heard your mother use it.”
Tradd laughed a little. “That’s the word. One of Mama’s favorites. And I can assure you, Mary Lou would think there was nothing seemly about this.” She took a deep breath, reluctant to say the next thing that needed to be said, because it might make him stop and she found that she didn’t want him to. She’d been on this foreplay merry-go-round plenty of times, and it always proved to be disappointing—but the ride had never started out this strong. She wanted to see if it would end where people claimed it could. If she spoke, she might never know. But speaking was the right thing to do. “Pickens would not be enchanted.”
“Yah?” There was that accent again, a little thicker than before. He tilted his head back and shook the hair out of his eyes. “It’s not Pickens’s enchantment that concerns me just now. It’s yours.”
There didn’t seem to be a doubt in his mind that he could do that. And maybe he could.
“Then let’s go.” Had she ever said that before without knowing the destination?
Thor looked around.
Where the hell was he going to take her?
Even if he got her through the crowd in his house, there was no guarantee his bedroom wouldn’t be full of people—in fact, it was almost certain that it would be.
Then it dawned on him. There were buildings on this property—buildings he never went into or thought about. Garage, barn, pool house, little house at the tennis court, guest house.
Guest house! That was it.
“Come with me.” First, they needed to stop by the garage. He wanted to be at the guest house faster than it would take to walk. He took her hand and pulled her into the mostly empty structure. It would have held ten cars, but there was only the 2003 Ferrari that he never drove anymore, the Bentley that made more sense for a worn-out hockey player with a bad hip, and the Harley that he needed right now.
He threw Tradd his helmet—the only one he had. “Put this on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Guest house.” He climbed on the bike and started it. “Climb on.”
“But you don’t have shoes,” she said. “Or a helmet.”
“We aren’t going far.” To his surprise, she climbed on back. “Wrap your arms around me.” Her bare arms circling his bare waist sent another shot of hunger to his penis and muddled his mind. He hoped he remembered the code to get in the damn place. If not, he’d break a window. He needed to be there now.
After parking the bike and helping Tradd off, he put his fingers on the key pad and the numbers came back to him. 1717.
“Your jersey number twice?” Tradd said. “Someone could guess that.”
“Maybe someone did.” He threw open the door. “Maybe it’s full of hobos and space aliens.” But if there were any here, they were just going to have to witness him kissing Tradd Davenport and then giving her the fuck of her life.
He kicked the door closed and grabbed her to him all in one motion. Her mouth was warm, sweet, and welcoming—and she lifted her pelvis and rolled against his pounding penis. He savored the moment, but not for long. He wanted her too much.
He lifted her without taking his mouth from hers, and she wrapped her legs around him. If he remembered correctly, the master suite was to the left and the room with bunk beds was to the right. He would go left and hope for the best. If he was wrong, a bunk bed would do. He just needed a bed.
He lay her across what did, indeed, turn out to be a king-size bed.
“I’m going to turn on a light,” he said. “I want to see you.”
He didn’t undress her right away. He stood over her and took in her swollen mouth, hard nipples, the wet spot his mouth had left on her shirt, and the look of want in her eyes. The want stirred something in him that he hadn’t expected. The want was for him—not his money. Pickens Davenport could buy and sell him fourteen times. He could also fire him, but at this moment, Thor gave not a damn. Now he knew why he hadn’t called Philadelphia Gina again. Being with her had provided release, but it hadn’t felt right.
This was going to feel right. He was as sure of that as he was surprised—and Tradd was a surprise. How had he never noticed those perfect breasts and spring sky eyes before?
Tradd bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath. Deep breaths sometimes preceded words a man didn’t want to hear.
“I’m going to take your boots off.” They had to go before the pants, and he wanted her pants off yesterday.
“It’s harder than it looks. Do you have a bootjack?”
A bootjack? What the hell was that? He grasped a boot heel in each hand and tugged. They came off easily, and he threw them over his shoulders.
“Well. You are handy,” she said.
“About to get handier.” He undid her silver belt buckle and then her zipper. A little tug and she was left in nothing but her little top and a pink thong that might have been alluring if he hadn’t been so desperate for what lay underneath. He stood before her, disposed of
the pesky little bit of lace, and pushed her knees apart.
One look told him that she was wet, and one touch told him that she was swollen with need. She moaned when his fingers brushed against her. It was his intention to take her right then, to undo his pants and plunge into her without undressing. But she looked so sweet, so luscious, so tempting, that he changed his mind. There was something else he wanted first, had to have.
He slid his hands up her thighs, parted her further, and buried his mouth in the sweetness there. She cried out. He kissed, licked, and sucked; her orgasm was immediate, powerful, and seemingly unending—just as he intended.
He stood back and looked at her. She was a study in sultry, sexy splendor—messy hair, blushing chest, half-closed blue eyes. But what struck him most was that she looked surprised. Had she thought he had no skills? More likely, she hadn’t thought at all. Like he hadn’t, though he wasn’t about to start now.
Tradd let out a ragged breath. “That was … well, a word hasn’t been invented for what that was.” She held out a hand and dropped her eyelids a bit past halfway. “I want more.”
Her words went straight to his cock, causing it to jump. “I have more.” He dropped his pants.
She gasped. “Yes, you do.”
He joined her on the bed, nestled his penis between her thighs, and dropped his mouth to her breast.
Chapter Four
It had happened just like Tradd had heard it could—only longer, harder, and better. Life-changing better. Had it been a fluke or was it possible it could happen again? She’d had sex, but her orgasms had been solitary events—usually in the shower. No matter how hard she’d tried, she’d never been able to get there with a man, though she had become an excellent actress.
But with Thor it was different. With every pull of his mouth on her nipple, she felt a warm tug in the core of her, heating from the inside out.
“Lovely, so lovely,” Thor said against her breast.
“Really? Most men aren’t impressed with my breasts. Not enough there.”
Thor raised his head and his eyes blazed. “Stop! No talk of other men when you are in my bed. But if that is true, most men are fools.” He ran a hand over first one breast and then the other. “Perfect. Perfect for me.” He bent his head and sucked again, this time harder, and her hips bucked off the bed. “Do you feel it here when I do that?” He stroked between her legs.
“How did you know?”
“I know things.” He removed his hand and stroked her with his pulsing penis. “Feel that? Feel how much I want you?”
Indeed, he did have a penis of unusual size. She opted not to mention that, since the comparison might be construed as speaking of other men in his bed.
“I want you too.” She moved against him.
“But not so much as before,” he said against her ear. “It’s like enjoying a good meal. You are full, but you want to keep eating because it tastes good. When I feed you again, I want you hungry—starving—like before.”
“How do you know I’m not starving?” There was truth to what he said, but she was impatient to see if that magic thing would happen again.
“I know things,” he said again. “We’re going to lie close together and feel each other.” He gently and lightly moved his penis against her “Relax. Let yourself feel. Let the want build.”
With the way he was pounding and pulsating against her, it seemed like he’d already built.
“Uh, are you not … wanting to get on with it?”
He laughed against her ear. “Ah, älskling, if it were about my wanting, I would be deep inside you now. I want you to be desperate for me to be there.”
He moved gently against her and suckled her nipple. What moved through her was not a wave this time, but a ripple. She relaxed and let it wash over her and began to understand what he was talking about.
“That feels so good.” Her voice came out thick and soft, and she stroked her pelvis against him, mimicking his motions.
A moan came from deep in his throat. He worked his mouth up her neck, trailing his tongue and kissing as he went. “So wet and good,” he whispered beneath her ear. “Again, but together.”
And they moved slowly together for a long time, savoring, relishing.
“So good,” she said.
“See? Love the moment. Don’t hurry to the next part.”
“If there was never any more, this would be perfect … wonderful.” She wrapped her legs tight around him and stroked a bit harder.
He laughed, sweet and soft. “No, älskling. It’s good. So good I could spill on you now. But not enough.” He parted her and moved the tip of his penis against her most sensitive spot. The ripple built. He stroked again. The ripple became a wave and she cried out. The wave crashed as he entered her, filling her in places she hadn’t known she had.
He lifted himself high in the saddle and stilled. “Ride me, Tradd. Find your spot and ride me from beneath.”
She didn’t have to find it. She worked her hips up and down, slow but hard, until he moaned, slammed down to meet her, and convulsed inside her—as she convulsed against him.
So it could happen again. And Thor, hell in a hand basket, Thor. Daddy’s Fair-Haired Child who amused Mama when no one else could. Who knew? She definitely needed to plan a trip to Ikea. There could be all manner of glorious things there. Clearly, she had not given enough consideration to Sweden and things Swedish. She’d seen those Swedish fish candies but had never felt compelled to try them. Maybe she should.
Thor reached down and stroked her bottom. “Tighten your legs around me. I don’t want to come out of you yet.”
“But you came in me.” She was still riding on the joy of that, but something niggled at her. Had they forgotten something? She tried to work out what it could be, but it was hard to think with him still warm and wet inside her. There was no lust left—only sweet, sweet satisfaction.
But still, it was pleasant—wonderful—remaining joined and that he was allowing her to feel his penis as it slowly softened. He had been so hard before, and knowing that she had satisfied him made her made her feel powerful. She’d never felt anything as intimate as having him inside her just for the sake of it. She shifted her hips, hoping that would keep him there a little longer.
“You are ecstasy all around me.” His words were punctuated with hot breaths against her ear. “So tight, wet, and so fucking good.” She smiled against his neck. The first phrase was so poetic, the second raw. She liked both. “Am I crushing you?” He shifted his body upward.
She pulled him down again. “No. Stay where you are. I like—”
But when she shifted, something happened, something that wasn’t quite right. There was warm wetness spreading on the sheet under them. Was it coming from her? Was it because at long, long last she had finally come with a man inside her? She’d read tomes on the subject, trying to find her way to this point, and she’d never read anything about a woman’s orgasm producing more fluid.
A woman’s orgasm. Coldness replaced the warm afterglow she’d been feeling. No, a woman’s orgasm wouldn’t cause that—but a man’s would. What she was feeling was his semen flow out of her—semen that should be encased in latex.
Hell in a hand basket. What had she done?
She pushed him off her. “You didn’t use a condom!”
It took a moment for Tradd’s words to sink into Thor’s brain. One second, he’d been inside her, sated, warm, and connected. Then, without warning, he’d been shoved to the side like an empty Gatorade bottle.
“What?” he asked.
She scampered away from him, went up on her knees, and rocked back on her heels. She looked mad and terrified all at once—but she didn’t cover her body.
“You—we—didn’t use a condom!”
The truth of what she said closed in on him and disbelief set in. Never, ever had he had sex without using a condom—well, except for the years when he and Julia had been trying to have babies. He seldom thought about that anymo
re, but when he did, a flash of lightning-fast pain swept over him—like now. He packed it away. No time for that. He had a situation—a scared woman and no explanation as to why he hadn’t thought to use protection.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Damn, he hadn’t even had one. He didn’t carry condoms in his wallet like he had when he was fifteen years old, and there was no reason to think there were any here in the guest house. Despite the fact that he hadn’t had any call for one lately, there were plenty in the bathroom of the master suite up the hill—but condoms didn’t just come running when their owner got a hard on, now did they? “I have no excuse,” he said. “I wanted you very much.” Yeah. Wanted you like I’ve never wanted a woman in my life, and why? Forbidden fruit. Nothing else made sense. But wanting this woman—or any woman—so much that thoughts of safe sex flew out the window? That was just plain crazy. And he wasn’t crazy.
He took a deep breath. “If it’s any conciliation, I haven’t had sex without a condom since my divorce eight years ago. I also have a physical every year. You are not in danger of disease. Still, I apologize. All my fault.”
She relaxed, but only a bit. “Not all your fault. I didn’t think of it either.” She studied her thumbnail and bit her lower lip. “I was—”
“Preoccupied?”
“Yes, that.” She looked him in the eyes again. “No diseases coming your way from me. I’ve never had sex without a condom.” Her eyes widened with fear. “But—”
“You do not take birth control pills?” Not that it mattered.
She shook her head. “No. I’ve only had sex within exclusive relationships. Three, to be exact. I’ve never had a one-night stand, never unplanned.” She blushed. “Or I hadn’t. I guess never is over …” She put her hands on her abdomen and looked down. Even now, she was imagining a baby that might have taken root there—and she was afraid. He’d seen this before, but Julia had always had a different fear and a different hope. So had he.
If he had been a another kind of man, Thor would have kept his secret and let her sweat it out. After all, her fear would come to nothing. But he wasn’t a different man and he couldn’t do that.
Body Check Page 3