by Lynda Aicher
She increased her pace, always conscious of his injury. Her leg was braced far enough away to keep from nudging his injured side, and her thighs complained at the workout. She was used to that though.
Damn, she loved riding him. Seeing every change that crossed his face.
She flicked her hair away, back arching as she rested her hands on her thighs and worked her inner muscles around the length of him.
“Holy…” His hips jerked and his instant wince had her freezing. He shook his head. “Don’t stop.” He yanked her head down until his lips were a breath away, his eyes piercing hers with their heat. “Don’t ever stop.”
His kiss consumed her, her hips returning to their movement almost without her consent. There was no way she was stopping. She pulled away from his kiss, lungs inhaling air in heaving gulps. She straightened and focused on the building crescendo within her.
His hands were all over her now. Caressing down her thighs, up her side, over her breasts. He played with her nipples until she whimpered.
“I want to watch you come,” he said. She barely caught the words over the roar in her ears. “You’re so close.”
Her skin throbbed wherever he touched her. Her thighs begged her to stop, which only drove her to keep going. To take him as deep as she dared. The need for control kept her from completely disengaging from the moment. She had to be aware of him and his every reaction.
Flames ignited across her front when he trailed his hand down to find her clit. She choked out an empty sound, teeth clenching at the shot of bliss that blew through her. She wanted to cry out her approval, beg him for more, only her voice was gone.
“Come, Samantha,” he urged. The deep edge of his need raked over her in his strangled tone. “Let me see you.”
See her. Damn it. He already did.
Her orgasm rushed up to contract her muscles in a long burst of ecstasy that flooded her with pleasure. She jerked, rocked and clenched around him with every aftershock that left her shaking from the intensity.
And still she remembered to hold herself up. To stay off his hip. How, she had no idea, because every brain cell was fried.
Moisture dampened her skin, the cool air welcoming as she sucked air into her deprived lungs. Slowly she became aware of his tight hold on her hips, of the heady scent of sex with every inhalation.
She pried open eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed to find him studying her. Lines were etched across his brow, his mouth clamped tight in a panting expression of pain.
“Oh, God.” She went to lift off him, but he held her firmly in place. Her heart pounded with her accelerating concern. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She’d told him this wasn’t a good idea.
He shook his head, fast and decisive. “It’s not my hip,” he gritted out. “I need to come.”
Oh. Oh! Understanding dawned fast and clear.
Still careful, she started moving on him again, a rise and fall timed with the low rumbles and groans that changed with his features.
She reached behind her to find his heavy balls, squeezing lightly. His head thrashed on the pillow, hands fisted in the covers. She took it all in with an extra awareness to his hip. Remarkably, he kept his pelvis still. The usual thrusting or jerky movements were absent, and she marveled at his control. Marveled at him.
She rolled the globes in her palm and increased her pace, her own heat rising again. Her clit ached for a touch, so sensitive and swollen with desire.
“Fuck.” His curse was low and garbled. He arched up, eyes wide. She held his gaze and plunged down on him, rising quickly.
He flopped back, cock thickening within her. His cry filled the air, and she pleasured herself, rubbing her clit as she raced to join him. Her orgasm hit in a sharp jolt that held then slithered away in a slow wash of spent energy. Her breaths came in big gasps and her muscles slackened in time with his.
His sated expression was one of complete bliss. Softened now, the usually sharp line of his jaw was relaxed beneath his parted lips. Eyes closed, he almost appeared asleep. Her heart did a little flip that caught her breath. When had she fallen so in love with him?
She slumped to his chest, his skin slick against hers. A smile formed on her lips when his arms came around her. She could stay like that forever, secure with him, if only the real world didn’t intrude.
With the light turned off and the blankets tucked around them, she curled into his good side, his arm holding her close. She kept her legs away from his but found a comfortable spot on his chest to rest her head. There was the press of a kiss to the top of her head that had her eyes squeezing tight. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and held still.
“Good night, Samantha.”
She exhaled in a slow release that allowed her to answer with a clear voice that kept her secrets and maintained her dignity. “Good night, Dylan.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” he mumbled.
But what would happen when she had to leave? The pain was coming, for her at least. Her heart was too engaged for their separation to be easy. His persistence and patience had worked. Now she had to find a way to keep herself whole, even if her heart ended up broken.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dylan sat at the stool on the inside of the island, his tablet propped in front of him. The audio was muted on the game, overhead lights dimmed to a soft glow. A cold cup of coffee sat at his elbow as the gray sky slowly brightened with morning’s approach.
He’d been up for hours, unable to fall back to sleep despite the warm allure of Samantha in his bed. Last night had been intense in an exposed way. His good leg bounced on the bottom rail of the stool, a jittering motion he couldn’t seem to still.
Something had shifted between them yet again.
His notebook was open out of habit more than anything. He hadn’t added one new insight since he’d been injured. What was the point? Every player and team could change before he skated against them again.
Maybe that was why his thoughts kept drifting back to Samantha. What were they doing? What was he doing?
Letting the game continue, he flipped to the back of the notebook, purposely skipping over his Samantha plan, and studied his recovery plan. The one he had to focus on. He’d written it all down after his talk with Walters. The top five were crossed off. Stay off prescription pain meds. Get off crutches. Be allowed to drive again. Walk without a limp. Restart workouts at the team gym.
He looked through the list then closed his eyes and envisioned each of the unfinished ones happening. Regain flexibility. Increase strength. Maintain team relationships. Regain endurance. Maintain weight. Number eleven—getting back on the ice—was the most critical for obtaining number twelve—getting his contract.
The orthopedic surgeon hadn’t approved skating yet. He couldn’t even do land practice on the slide board.
Soon though. He’d be there soon.
The rush of water through the pipes, followed by the distant spray of water from the shower, told him Samantha was awake. He glanced back at his list and tried to refocus on his priorities. Jeff’s latest email outlined the potential endorsement deal that was only waiting for the finalization of his pro contract. It was a good opportunity that could lead to bigger deals.
The bigger his name was, the harder it would be to let him go and the more desirable he became to all teams. If the Glaciers didn’t want him, then he had to ensure that one of the other pro teams would.
He only had to look at Walters to be reminded of how short a hockey player’s career was, even if he stayed healthy. At best, Dylan had ten, maybe twelve years left in the game, and now was his time to shine.
Samantha understood that. At least he didn’t have to explain why his recovery was so damn important or his need to devote so much time to getting back on the ice. She’d been his rock these last weeks. Someone he could count on.
He smiled at the realization. He trusted her to be there. To have his back when he was watching the goal in front of him. He’d been on
his own for so long he’d forgotten what it was like to have someone in his corner with him.
He definitely didn’t want her to leave. His heart twinged at the reminder that she planned on leaving for grad school. In the fall. He flipped back two pages and added a note to his Samantha plan. Convince her to stay in Minnesota went under Tell her I love her. Maybe those should be switched around.
His phone rang, and he wasn’t surprised to see Jeff’s name. The man never seemed to sleep.
“Hey,” Dylan said. “What’s up?”
“Just checking in,” Jeff answered. “Everything still going good?”
Dylan shifted on the stool, flexing his hip. “Yeah, it’s going great.” He grinned at how great it’d been last night.
“Excellent. So what are your thoughts on that endorsement deal?”
He chuckled to himself. How timely. “It looks fine.”
“Did you take a good look at the image clause?”
Irritation had his jaw tightening. “Yes.”
“Any questions?”
“What are you getting at?”
“It’s time to shift tactics,” Jeff said, all brisk efficiency. “We need to pull back your party image if you want to keep this deal. This is a family corporation with a large adolescent market. I had to charm their pants off to get this offer for you.”
Dylan pressed on this brow. “And how much partying have I done since New Year’s?”
“Exactly,” Jeff exclaimed like it’d been his idea. “And the injury offers us the perfect time to roll out the mature, responsible guy.”
There was a long silence that tempted Dylan to hang up. “That’s fine,” he gritted out to keep from saying anything worse. It was what he wanted anyway. What he would’ve insisted on, even if Jeff had pushed to keep the old party image going.
“All right,” Jeff finally said. “Keep me updated.” The man clicked off before Dylan could respond. Asshole.
He flipped back to his Recovery plan and added one item. Look into new agent—possibly. Jeff had been the one who’d ensured Dylan’s wild years after Aunt Bea’s death had been propagated into the carefree, playboy image that was now attached to his name. Yeah, he’d floundered after she’d been cut from his life. Yeah, he owned what he did. He wasn’t passing blame. But his regrets were growing over how much he’d followed Jeff’s influence.
The soft tread of footsteps came down the hall from his bedroom. His smile was automatic as Samantha stepped into the dim light cast from the kitchen. The lingering aftereffects of Jeff’s call were banished at the sight of her.
He’d sat in that same spot numerous times since he’d purchased the house, had watched a parade of women slip out in the morning—some his, most not. Almost all in some sexy ensemble that showed generous amounts of legs and cleavage. None of them had ever made his breath hitch or his dick fill like it was right now.
Or left him with a warm sense of belonging simply by being near her.
Her hair was still damp and hung straight around her face, cheeks pink from the shower. Her hoodie was navy today with a USA logo stamped across the front. Paired with jeans, it was a variation of her standard outfit.
Comfortable and fitting for her. Natural. Was that the pull for him? Some, maybe. But it was only a piece of the whole.
For every time she challenged him, she comforted him too. Cared enough to push instead of accepting what he’d presented.
“Morning.” She greeted him with a soft smile as she came around the island. “Been up long?”
He glanced over his shoulder at the microwave clock. “A couple of hours.” He snaked a hand around her waist to reel her in between his legs. “Morning, Samantha.” He pressed a kiss to her lips then nuzzled his nose into the fresh, clean scent behind her ear. One long inhale, and he wanted nothing more than to drag her back to bed and run a repeat of last night.
She hunched her shoulder. “That tickles.”
“Good,” he mumbled against her neck. His hands found their way under the hem of her sweatshirt, but her T-shirt underneath thwarted his attempt to find skin.
She shoved away, a smile softening her dismissal before she turned to the coffeepot. “Do you need a refill?”
“I’m good.” He watched her pour the steaming liquid into a cup and the pleasure that crossed her face when she took her first sip. A little bit of heaven in a cup of black coffee.
“What are watching?” She nodded toward his tablet.
He swung back around to stop the game. “What I always watch.” He flipped the tablet cover closed.
She came up beside him, her attention on his open notebook on the counter beside him. “What’s this?”
He snatched it away and tucked it under his tablet. “Just my notes.”
Her brows shot up. “Okay.” She drew out the word in a tone that indicated it really wasn’t.
He couldn’t explain his possessiveness of his notes and lists, other than they were his personal thoughts. Things he strove to achieve or wanted to remember. They weren’t top secret, yet he’d never had anyone nose their way into them before.
“Who were you talking to?” she asked.
Damn. He’d almost forgotten the irritating call. “Jeff.”
“Anything important?”
“Just the usual.” He shrugged it off. “What are your plans for the day?”
Her eyes narrowed briefly before she let it go. “I’m heading to the library to work on a paper this morning and I have class at two. Do you have PT today?”
“At ten. I was going to work out with the guys afterward.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“I can drive.” Getting permission to drive again had felt a lot like a replay of leaving the ranch with his granddad’s old truck. Freedom.
He caught her small frown before she took a sip of her coffee. “Don’t overdo it.”
“Yes, Mom.”
She slugged him on the arm, scowling, then flipped him off as she set her cup down and turned away. She jerked the fridge open and he caught a muttered “I’m so not your mother” as she dug in the drawer.
He eyed up the rounded curve of her ass bent over before him. No. She was so not his mom. He shivered and cringed at the wrongness. An orange sailed through the air, and he caught it out of reflex before it nailed him in the chest.
“Eat something,” she ordered. The cupboard closed harder than necessary when she pulled the peanut butter jar out. “I’m not sure I’ll be back tonight.” Her casually said statement was anything but that.
He sat up straighter and set the half-peeled orange on the counter. “I was only joking about the mom thing.”
“I know.” She shot a smile over her shoulder and slid two slices of bread into the toaster. “I have to work on a paper. I’m meeting some classmates tonight to go over theories.”
He wanted to argue that she could still come over afterward. And how pathetic would that sound? She had no obligation to stay, yet something soured inside him. He wanted her to be there. Wanted it too much.
“That’s fine,” he finally answered. He picked the fruit back up and resumed peeling it. This was a good reminder of what his primary focus needed to be.
The air in the kitchen hadn’t exactly turned tense. Stilted would be a better term as she spread peanut butter on the toast and handed it to him. She moved around his kitchen with complete familiarity. Grabbing plates, putting the dirty knife in the dishwasher, wiping down the counter, refilling her coffee—all of it done with a pretend ease.
“Did I do something?” he asked after the silence stretched beyond comfortable. He licked the orange juice from his fingers, not tasting it.
“No.” She smiled at him, the falseness cutting. “Why would you ask that?”
Because you’re pulling away again. “It seems like something’s wrong.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and dumped the last of her coffee in the sink. Her back was to him when she said, “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just gotten
a bit behind on my class, and with spring break over I need to get back on track.”
It was a completely plausible reason. Or excuse. “Sure.” He made certain to keep his doubt from his voice. She’d been fine being with him when he wasn’t near the ice. When he’d been stuck at home and leaned on her for help.
“I have plans too.” She turned around and motioned to his notebook.
“I know.” He frowned, not following her. “I think that’s great.” To a point. Not if it took her away though.
“Ones I need to see through.” Her voice had gone hard, determined and focused.
“What are you trying to say?” Unease wrapped around his heart in a tight grip. He crossed his arms over his chest and locked down his fickle dreams.
She blew out a breath and copied his pose. “I’m still leaving.” Her inhalation was choppy, despite the resolve in her eyes. “You’re focused on your recovery—and you should be. And I have a lot to finish up with my course work. I just…I think it’s best if we cool things off.”
Her words pierced him. “Where’s this coming from?” He tried to control the damage that was tearing through his insides by shutting down his emotions before they could fester into a riot of unjust words.
She shoved a hand through her damp hair and stared over his shoulder. “It’s the best thing to do. We’re getting too involved for something that can’t be.”
“And why is that?” He shoved forward, too frustrated to stay sitting. “Why are you so certain we can’t have something?”
“What?” She stared at him, the fire of her conviction burning bright in her eyes. “Do you expect me to give up everything to be your girlfriend?”
He snapped back, too stunned at first to respond. Had he ever said that? “Of course not.”
“Yet you expect me to forget school. Forget my degree and do what? Wait for you to come home?”
There were a hundred different options than those, yet he couldn’t think of one with the way his mind was spinning. Maybe she really was right this time.
“No,” he finally said. “But I thought there were other options. Ones we could work out.”