by Lia Riley
“That’s going to be a short-lived record.” He spun her around, grabbed one of her legs and propped it on the edge of the tub.
If he wasn’t in her in another second, he’d lose his damn mind.
“Look down,” he ordered. “I want you to watch me take you. There’s going to be no doubt who’s making you feel so good.”
“Tor . . .”
“That’s right.” He pressed the head of his cock against her. “When you’re screaming again, it’s going to be my name.”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky promise. I’ll watch. I’ll scream. But . . . will you?” Her eyes dared him.
It was a tight fit. She was still clenched from her recent orgasm and he wasn’t a small guy. He took his time, rocking his hips in short micropulses.
And she was a woman of her word. What he didn’t expect was how watching her slowly become undone would slay him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said.
Her eyes shone. “You’re the first person to make me believe it.”
He tilted up her chin—what he had to say was important and she needed to hear that truth to the marrow of her bones. “This confirms my long-held suspicion.” His tone was grave. “The world is mostly made up of idiots.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. “But all the better for me.”
He began to move, dissolving into her skin, his hands memorizing the topography of her body as if to mark the path—he was lost. Lost in her. In this slow, sucking grind. The slap of their bellies wasn’t subtle. It was the bass note to the song they were writing. Her soft cries, the chorus.
It was hard to keep the rhythm steady. The control he had cared about was gone. He wasn’t going to dominate her. The idea was a joke. Because the truth was he could never possess her without losing a part of himself. And he was willing to make the devil’s bargain.
His finger dug into the underside of her thigh. He gripped her roughly, trying to keep them balanced while getting them both where they needed to go.
His whole world was wet heat. The shower spray. Neve’s pussy. His stomach flexed as the need bore down. He’d never forgotten how good it felt to be in a woman. Maybe that was why he’d resisted for so long. It was his punishment for failing in his marriage.
But Neve already knew he wasn’t perfect. Hell. She’d seen him surly and snappish. Cold and calculating. And for some unfathomable reason, she was still here. Maybe she’d hate him again tomorrow. But he sure as hell wasn’t ever going to let her regret today.
And close as he was—his sac heavy and tight—he wasn’t coming without her. He stepped back. Nearly groaning when his cock slipped free. Before she could ask him a word, he flicked off the shower.
“Come here,” he ordered, stepping out of the tub. He grabbed a large plush bath towel, threw it open and sat on the floor. “Get on top.”
She looked at him, sex dazed and pleasure drunk. When she crawled onto him, draping her thighs on either side of his, he fastened his lips to her throat as she slid down, enveloping him. “Ride me rough, Angel.”
Her sex clenched as her eyes glittered. No tears this time. Just hot determination.
Tor rubbed slow circles into her perfect ass as she worked her body, using him while giving everything he ever needed.
He cupped her breasts, rolling and tugging her nipples. Steam filled the room from the hot shower, the condensation comingling with their sex. His lower back arched, tilting his pelvis so she could grind her tender flesh right where she needed. A tremor rippled through her, invisible to the outside but stroking his shaft.
He leaned up and sucked her tit, lavishing it with his tongue and gentle nips. He felt her groan in his core, at his goddamn center. He was primed as fuck but wasn’t giving an inch until her surrender. Hunger built. Release taunted. Blood roared through his ears. Her teeth closed down on her lower lip as if biting back a scream.
He gripped her hips, white-knuckled. Her ass bounced on his thighs.
“I need,” she gasped. “I need . . . I need . . .” She shook her head as if to clear it. “I just need.”
“I know, Angel.” He breathed as hard as she did. “I know.”
Her gaze never left his. An undefinable sense of rightness bore down. They were at the edge of a precipice.
When her pussy spasmed, he muffled a groan. She thrashed, bucking, riding him harder than cowboys in the spaghetti Westerns he’d watch as a child. Her thighs convulsed. His abs tightened.
This need for her was a drug. Heady and obsessive. Intoxicating.
She was close. So close. A strand in his threadbare self-control snapped.
“Come,” he ordered. His tone hard with the command. “Come for me.”
Her hands flew up and dug into his hair.
He quickened the roll of his hips. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
Her whole body jerked. With a throaty gasp, she froze into place, the stillness deceptive because inside she was clenching, her orgasm rolling over his cock from root to tip in an undulating, silken wave.
And then he was there too. Pleasure exploded from him in thick, hot pulses. On and on it went, wringing him dry, demanding nothing less than complete surrender. How many times had they warred with each other? And at last they’d found a battle they could both win.
She fell against him, utterly sated.
He didn’t ask her how it was, because he already knew. That was just the single most goddamn explosive sexual event west of the Mississippi. He rubbed slow circles into her back and time turned abstract. At last he nudged her. “Hey.”
“Hi.” She looked over at him with a sleepy smile.
“How about I draw you a bath, get you cleaned up?” He smoothed back her hair.
She gave a dazed nod.
He moved into action and it didn’t take long until the claw-foot tub brimmed with hot water and lemongrass-scented bubbles. After picking her up and cradling her in his arms, he lowered her into the tub. She let out a soft hiss as the warm water enveloped her body.
“I don’t feel like I have a bone in my body.” Her eyes remained closed.
He picked up a washcloth and dipped it into the bath, soaking it. Moving it over her body, he cleaned her with gentle caresses. No words were spoken. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say but that words simply didn’t matter. All that did was this simple act of caring. With every touch, he worshipped her body and what had just transpired.
“I need to be honest about something,” he murmured.
Her eyelids cracked. “You’ve got my attention.”
“When I invited you to come to Telluride, deep down, I wanted this to happen.” He took a deep breath. “I wanted us to happen. I know it’s risky for you. For me. But I wanted a weekend. Just one to remember.”
A frown tugged her pretty mouth. “You’ve never been straight with me about something.” She sat up, bubbles clinging to her breasts, covering her nipples. “The night the lockout was announced. Why did you say all those terrible things in the parking lot?”
The pain in her eyes twisted his gut.
“Because the world doesn’t get to know the secrets of my heart.” He reached out to take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “But that night was a mistake. I panicked and lashed out. When I saw the other reporters, I didn’t want them to think something was going on. That wouldn’t be good for either of us.”
“Not going to lie. It sucked. But you’re right about one thing. There’s a lot of risk here. I cover your team. I can’t exactly be with you and pretend to be fair and balanced.”
He pushed back a lock of hair from her cheek. “You could cover football. The NFL has a lot going for it.”
“That better be a joke.”
“I see, you prefer ice sports. What about curling?” He tickled behind her ear. “That’s cool.”
“You have some sort of a death wish, huh, wise guy?”
He sucked the lobe of her ear just long enough to make her ga
sp. “Just wanted to see that pretty smile again.”
But her answering grin didn’t reach all the way to her eyes. “My kind of job doesn’t just spring into being. I had to bust my ass to get where I am. Sports journalism isn’t a field rolling out the red carpet for a woman. Being here, with you, having, you know . . . sex? That’s complicated. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it. I’m not saying that.”
“Why did you come? I know it wasn’t for the bet, at least not alone. You could have found an excuse.”
“I’m curious. I guess I—”
A phone rang in the other room.
Chapter Thirteen
What the heck does Scott Miller want? Neve glanced at her phone. Her pain-in-the-butt editor had called three times in as many minutes, disrupting her bath. She took a deep breath. Look on the bright side. While annoying, maybe this call was the adult version of getting saved by the bell. She’d had her fantasy fun—time to get a taste of reality.
She stared at the screen, debating whether or not to hit Answer. Hard to switch gears when she’d just spent the past twelve hours getting up close and personal with the head coach’s baby maker. Right now he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. She could hear the scrub of bristles against his enamel. A spit. The sound of the faucet turning on as he rinsed his mouth.
She flicked off the screen and ran her fingers through her hair.
How was this happening?
She understood the concept of hate fucking. After all, love and hate were opposites, so a certain magnetic attraction made sense given the right circumstances. And Tor was sexy. It was an objective fact. Like the sky was blue. Or sucking hard candies was pretty much drinking flavored spit.
What she had done with Tor could be called many different things.
Passionate.
Tender.
Sweet.
IntensemindblowingcanIlockthehotelroomdoorandspendthenexttwodaysdoingitanddoingitanddoingitwell?
But it wasn’t hate sex. It wasn’t quick and dirty in some broom closet in the bowels of the stadium. She’d gone on vacation with him. There could be no slinking away into the shadows thinking, Good lord, that was incredible, and not only can it never happen again, no one can know.
Who knew what Scott was calling about, but she’d call him back downstairs, outside, before they went on the valley run.
Speaking of a run, she slipped on her tennis shoes, laced them up as Tor came out of the bathroom.
His running pants clung to his hard muscles like a second skin. His quads rose, thick and defined, while his hips were tapered. Abs flat. The merest suggestion of a bulge, if someone wanted to get their perv on.
Which, God help her, she did.
“Like what you see?” He gave her a wry look.
“I . . . just had something in my eye. Dust.” She rubbed her lids in an unconvincing pantomime. She wasn’t going to be winning acting awards for her “lady doth protest too much” routine.
“Dust. Is that what they are calling getting hot under the collar?”
“Hot under the collar? I think my granny Dee uses that expression.”
“Your granny Dee sounds like she has a way with words.”
She grinned. “My granny is also ninety.”
His mouth twitched. “I’ve been meaning to ask. How old are you?”
“I thought that question is off-limits once a lady passes the age of twenty-nine.”
Something like relief settled over his features. “So you are over thirty.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “I am thirty. Turned June 2nd. Gemini.” She threw out her hands in a ta-da gesture.
“I’m forty.”
“Congratulations?” She raised her brows. “Given the circumstances, it’s fair to say we are both of a certain age. Like in cavemen times, at thirty I’d be ready to call it a life after having sixteen kids and once eating a handful of berries, so have some perspective. It’s not like I’m fourteen and you’re twenty-four. Speaking of which, the year I was fourteen, that was a good time. The iPhone came out. The craziest news was that Brittany Spears shaved her head.”
“Simpler days.”
“No doubt.” She bent into a deep leg stretch, preparing for the upcoming run. “I’m more grizzled and the world harsher. And you sure as heck aren’t going to be able to do much to corrupt me and/or my delicate virtue at this point.”
He inclined his head. “Bet I can kick your ass in a sprint.”
“Oh, you didn’t go there.”
He made a show of glancing around. “Pretty damn sure I just did.”
And while what had happened with him in the bed, in the tub and, God help her, on the bathroom floor over the past few hours gripped her in uncertainty, on this point there would be no doubt: Tor Gunnar would eat her dust. She’d outrun her confusion and hopefully, at the end she’d arrive at clarity.
When they walked out of the room, an Adeline staff member moved to the side, pushing a room service cart down the hall. He gave a friendly smile before glancing at the room number.
“Room 309, huh? How’d you sleep?” He said the room number like it meant something.
Neve furrowed her brow as her stomach muscles tensed. How loud had they just been? Good lord, had the people around them complained? If so, she was ready to get a shovel and bury herself inside the nearest snowdrift. “I’m not sure,” she said hesitantly as the guy was clearly expecting an answer and not making idle chitchat.
“That’s good. Lots of the maids won’t even clean in there. They have to draw straws.”
“Why?” Tor asked in his usual no-nonsense tone. Even casually dressed for a run he had a way of looking in charge, aloof and cool—a master of the universe. Nothing like the guy who fell apart against her last night, a helpless look in his normally ice-blue eyes. Her mouth dried as she remembered his raw growl as he came undone in her mouth.
If she didn’t have a stubble burn on her inner thighs, she’d almost be inclined to believe it was all a dream. The sexiest dream she’d ever had, but impossible to conceive.
“They didn’t tell you at check-in?” The staffer seemed honestly surprised. “It’s often specifically requested by guests, as a test.”
“Test of what?” Tor asked, clearly inching toward impatience. His jaw was beginning to tighten and his gaze narrowed.
“The dueling ghosts can predict your love. Adeline Rose and Big Jim Cartwright.”
She and Tor exchanged quick glances.
“I’m sorry, can you please elaborate on this?” she asked. “I can’t say I’m familiar with dueling ghosts or love predictions.”
“There’s a plaque about it downstairs next to the front desk, but they say they only make an appearance if a couple is the real deal, so congrats! Now I’ve got to deliver these eggs to the bride before they get cold. There’s going to be a wedding tonight.” He whistled as he wheeled the breakfast cart away up the hall.
“I was bound and determined to get coffee before anything else, but I sort of think we have to go see this plaque.” She peered closer. “You look pale. What gives? Did you see Slimer floating around last night? Or maybe a giant Stay Puft marshmallow man wandering by the window?”
“No . . . but . . .” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Never mind.”
“Are you sure?” A chill stole down her spine. “For real, you’re starting to scare me a little.”
“Let’s go take a look at the plaque.” His tone was impassive. “Then we run.”
Down in the lobby, right near the check-in desk was a silver plaque beside a turn-of-the-century black-and-white wedding photo where neither half of the stern-faced couple appeared remotely happy.
“Why are people always so serious-looking in these old-timey photos?” she murmured.
“They had to hold still for so long. Forcing a smile might have been too hard.”
She pointed at the plaque and began reciting the text. “‘Adeline Rose and Big Jim were a famous bank-robbing duo known for their passionate
arguments and even more passionate makeups. After a bank heist in Grand Junction, they came to Telluride to hole up at Adeline’s sister’s brothel. But for reasons no one is entirely clear on, the feisty couple got into an argument in their room. The result was a duel in the street out in front of the brothel. They walked ten paces and each turned to fire. Neither aimed to miss.’ And get a load of this last part.” Neve nudged Tor. “‘But the two deadly lovebirds seemed to have found peace in the afterlife. Couples in love often find ghostly signs from the duo and take it as a sign of good luck.’ I guess that’s one way to spin a sketchy situation. Kudos to The Adeline’s marketing team.”
“You aren’t armed and dangerous, are you?” Tor murmured in her ear, his breath heating her skin.
“If anyone is packing a big weapon here, it’s you.” She turned and glanced between his legs with an arch look.
His laugh was short and gruff. “Your sexual-innuendo game is as strong as your sarcasm.”
She smirked. “And here I didn’t even know that I possessed this rare talent until spending time in your orbit.”
His frank gaze went wolfish. “I can’t stop wondering what other rare talents you possess.”
She had the grace to blush even as heat sparked between her legs. “I suppose you got a taste last night?”
“And here I am hungry for more.”
“You make me sound like your personal smorgasbord.”
“Must be the Swede in me,” he deadpanned before adding, “But look. Today we’re in Telluride together and on a truce. I’d like to spend time hanging out. And maybe with Olive.”
“Your daughter.” Before she could let the full impact of his invitation sink in, her stupid phone rang. Again. Scott.
“Ugh, I’m sorry. This is my boss. I have to take this. He is being relentless.”
“He’s being a bastard. But I get it. Work’s important. Go ahead and do what you need to do.” He paused before turning away. “Oh, and try to resist checking me out while I walk over here to stretch.”
That sense of humor, where had he been hiding it?
“Scott. You’re persistent.” She flicked on her phone, walked across the street and leaned against a streetlight. “I was about to call you back.”