Yet the sight of his expression left her wanting more Specifically, his cock. “Come to me baby.”
The fact she’d managed a genuine sex kitten purr straight out of a 1960’s movie made her giggle as Chris moved just a little faster, the sound of the foil packet ripping. His hands settled on her shoulders after he’d put on the condom, his knees holding his body in position as she came up to meet him.
“Hello babe.” A whisper as she felt his cock penetrate her very wet cunt, slowly and easily, filling her up completely.
“Mmm. So what do you have for me?”
She put her hands on his shoulders, and she let herself go as he began to move, bucking his hips, swaying slowly then faster, slowing down again as if he knew he was torturing her. “What the hell…”
“Hmm…” His voice was breathless. “Maybe…I…should stop?”
“No…Don’t. Please.” She was so impatient, so ready, she wanted to strangle him; instead, she dug her nails into his shoulders. “Dammit…”
“Fine…” He leaned down to kiss her neck, which was a very poor substitute for the motion of his hips, but it worked for then and there. And then he started to move his hips, back and forth, slowly then faster, faster still. She swore she could feel every stroke of his cock as he moved inside of her. Every torturous inch drove her wild. Until she reached orgasm.
But so much more than just an orgasm. It was a perfect moment of friction beyond friction, of tightness, of holding on and not wanting to let go.
“Oh Chris…oh my god….” And that was…so much. She looked at him and he smiled, pulled out of her, took off the condom and pulled her close. And for the second time that night, she snuggled into his hold. This time, however, she knew she was going to fall asleep and she let herself.
Chapter Seven
Sports Beat: New York Empires 3 Carolina Typhoons 0
Finishing up their recent road trip, Empires goalie Alex Semenov was spectacular, stopping 50 shots and extending his shut-out streak. …Marcus Mitchell led the defense in minutes played… Chris Emerson scored a goal, had an assist and fought with Carolina Captain Joel Montrose, after Montrose attempted to shove him into the boards, shoulder first.
@Emo27: love roadtrips but love coming home best. New York is awesome…
Melanie_Gould DM @Emo27: heeey was going to call you. This is easier while I work. Welcome back!
Emo27 DM @Melanie_Gould: Thanks. It’s been a pretty crazy trip. You saw the Carolina game?
Melanie_Gould DM @Emo27: Oy. *g* That must have been crazy. Shoulder okay?
Emo27 DM @Melanie_Gould: Eh. How’s the book
Melanie_Gould DM @Emo27: Eh. I’m hungry.
Emo27 DM @Melanie_Gould: Pizza?
Melanie_Gould DM @Emo27: Yessss…
“I come bearing pizza,” he said, as he came into the apartment.
“Yum!” She grinned as she closed the door behind him. “No writer on deadline would refuse pizza.” Of course she couldn’t help but watch him as he closed the door. He did look gorgeous, wearing jeans, sneakers, a hoodie and a parka he hadn’t bothered to zip. “Rocking the rugged look?” she asked, heading past him and scrambling to gather plates and glasses and placing them on the kitchen table.
He nodded, smiling slightly, his lips quirked.
Adorable, she decided as she ran back into the kitchen to collect a pitcher of water, the diet coke that was her deadline companion and some garlic powder. They joined the pizza, the plates and glasses, which he’d set out, along with napkins that he presumably had folded. Adorable and helpful.
“I guessed,” she said sheepishly, gesturing wildly at the table’s nonalcoholic contents. “I wasn’t sure…”
He shook his head. “Thank you,” he replied. “But no. Not drinking tonight.” He paused and then looked down, slightly self-conscious once again, as if he thought she’d judge him for what he was about to say. “I don’t usually drink during the season. Vegas Night was an exception to the rule.”
Surprised? Yes. Judge? No. “Aaaah. Okay.”
“Yeah, well,” he gestured to the table. “I guess I’m full of multiple contradictions. But there’s pizza to be had, and well, we should eat.”
She nodded. Especially since she wasn’t letting him stay long because she had to get back to work. “It’s probably better hot,” she returned, smiling as he opened the box, unleashing a cloud of amazing smells. And the simple fact the pizza was half extra cheese, half pepperoni.
“Wasn’t sure if you ate pepperoni,” he interjected, focusing on her expression. ‘Figured it was better to assume you didn’t.”
“I do,” she replied. “We grew up kosher, but…”
“You’re Jewish?”
She nodded. She’d heard rumors about his feelings towards Jewish people, ones that didn’t really jive with the fact she’d seen his closest friend on the team at High Holiday services every year, or any public statements he’d made. But as she’d gotten to know, rumors didn’t usually end up being true when they were about Chris. And yet she still had to ask. “That a problem?”
“Is the fact that I’m not a problem?”
“Whatever is going on between us, you’re doing with me, now, not my faith. When it should get important is when you decide what you feel about the fact that my faith is a part of me, that it’s important to me.” She shrugged as she removed a slice of pepperoni pizza from the box and took a healthy bite. “Whatever you are is important to you that same way.”
He blinked. “What?”
He looked so adorably confused that she had to smile. “As long as you don’t have issues with me being Jewish, I have no problem with the fact that you’re not.”
She saw his shoulders relax in relief as he took a big bite of his pizza, and found herself watching the cheese as it unraveled like a ball of yarn. He looked cute, irresistible and so she leaned out and bit the cheese closest to his mouth, sucking it towards her mouth, leaning towards him as she sucked.
She caught the anticipation in his expression and sucked more of the cheese, following the path until her lips met his. Then she let go, her lips on his, her tongue brushing his amidst the taste of the pizza.
*****
“That tasted good,” he said, as they came up for air. “You look adorable and taste good. Even on deadline.”
She giggled. She looked hot, even in a well-loved sweatshirt from an American university he didn’t recognize, and sweatpants that hugged her ass. Her hair hung down, framing her face, and he felt this sudden impulse to kiss her again.
“Plans this week?” she asked, busting him and his lack of concentration.
He shook his head, tried to concentrate. His shoulder apparently had not liked the fact he carried a pizza across town. “This week… Off day tomorrow, early practice Monday and then we head off on Tuesday. Games the rest of the week. You?”
“Book,” she replied, as if it were the worst thing in the world. “I need to get it done by the time you guys leave. So Em can read it on the plane or something.”
He nodded, wondered, considered. “Would you be able to come to a party with me, on Monday?”
She raised an eyebrow and he wished that she hadn’t been so surprised. “So what kind of party? What kind of people?”
“Few of the guys…wives and girlfriends only. Guys I trust…”
Another eyebrow. Confusion? Wonder? Annoyance? “Wives and girlfriends?” she asked, smirking.
He nodded, took a drink of the water in his glass. “Yeah. Wives and girlfriends.”
“Me?”
He grinned and leaned in closer. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You.” And then he kissed her, letting her tongue invade his mouth. She tasted of pizza and diet coke and an indefinable essence. “So?”
She grinned. “Yeah.”
He was a very lucky guy. There was pizza and Mel. And he had them both.
Chapter Eight
Damn his fucking shoulder. It hurt. Chris had tried to sleep in a bit, but it didn’
t work. The shoulder was still killing him, and if the text he’d gotten from Al hadn’t been clear enough, he’d have to haul his ass to Razors as soon as he could manage it. He had a lot to do, which included seeing how Mel was doing on her quest to finish the book before her deadline. All of that meant there’d be no time for physical therapy before heading out.
He nodded, braced himself and then headed into the shower, forcing himself to move quickly. Extra heat on the shoulder, careful as he ran through the shower one-handed. Not wanting to jar it before he covered it with his favorite no-time ointment. A bit of an improvised massage before reaching into his emergency first aid case and pulling out a patch, placing it on top of the pain-filled spot. He hoped it would hold. He prayed it would hold. He also prayed it wouldn’t smell too bad. Then he changed into a pair of black jeans, a grey polo, thick socks, a pair of black boots with their famously heavy tread and a black fleece.
He opened his door, intending to head downstairs, but he found himself assaulted by the amazing smells coming from the kitchen. His roommate was either trying out a new recipe, or, more specifically, cooking lunch for someone. And if it was the latter, then he was glad he had plans. Early plans. Plans that involved getting out of the way and staying that way for a while.
He sighed, grabbed his wallet and headed downstairs. Drawn by the delicious smells that signified cooking, he popped his head into the kitchen as he grabbed his keys. “Hey man,” he said to his roommate, noticing the baking stuff as well as the cooking stuff covering a lot of the available counter space. “What’s…?” And then he heard the doorbell ring.
“Could you get that?”
He nodded. “Sure,” he replied, leaving the kitchen, heading towards the door and going through the steps to open it. Only to brace himself when he saw that Nathalie, one of the physical therapists was on the other side. This was interesting. His roommate was cooking for Nat. He liked the idea. “Hey, Nathalie. Come on in. He’s in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.”
He grinned, taking her coat and hanging it on the closest clear hanging post. Then he led her into the kitchen, hoping he’d get major points for his poker face. Because, yeah, his roommate was going all out in order to cook lunch for Nathalie. And not just cook. From the looks of things, there was going to be baking involved, which as far as his roommate was concerned, was tantamount to screaming commitment of a sort off the rooftops. Very, verry interesting.
He was half ready to inform Semenov that he should maybe get out of the refrigerator and greet his lunch guest, but he’d turned and faced them, but more specifically faced Nathalie.
“Hi,” his roommate said, brandishing a bowl of strawberries. “Glad you could make it.”
She was fidgeting, nervous, and he couldn’t help but see the slightly hopeful expression on Semenov’s face. Hmm.
“I can’t stay long,” she said out of nowhere, clearly hesitant. “My grandmother called this morning and wanted to have lunch. I told her I was busy, but she insisted on an early dinner.”
The tone in her voice and her absolute and utter inability to stop fidgeting clearly meant she was two seconds from bolting. He also recognized the expression on her face from spending years with a younger sister. Kayleigh had a similar expression, and it never meant anything good. He had to do something before shit went south. “He’s been in here cooking all morning,” he said, gesturing towards his roommate. “You have to eat some of it.”
There was the smile. Just like Kayleigh. She was still nervous, but she’d be okay in the end. Semenov would owe him. Not really. But still.
“Great game Friday.” she said.
“What the hell is that smell?” Semenov interjected, stopping him mid comment. And then he saw recognition in his roommate’s eyes. There was no stopping him. Fuck. “You’ve got that shit on again, don’t you? Get out of my kitchen with that smell. You’ll ruin my food.”
“Hey, now,” he said, wagging a finger at his roommate, trying to get him off the scent—literally—while beginning to edge out of the room. Nathalie was looking for a distraction and he was dammed if he was going to provide it. “Don’t knock the Miracle ointment. The stuff is awesome in a pinch and I have no time to do anything else today.”
“You got hurt Friday?” Nathalie interjected, having followed him out of the kitchen, a hand on the other arm and the inevitable realization in her eyes. Fuck. “What’s bothering you?”
“Chris….”
He caught his roommate’s eye, then looked to Nathalie. She wasn’t stopping, wouldn’t let him leave without trouble. Trouble that would fuck up the rest of the afternoon. For everybody involved.
Resigned to the inevitable, he dumped the fleece on the floor and pointed to the annoying spot in question, just beyond his reach at the back of his shoulder. “There. I can’t even reach it but the muscle is spasming. Needed a mirror to get the patch on.”
“Let me see.”
Shit. She was doctoring him so that she didn’t have to face Semenov. This was not happening. He had to leave. Now. “Nat, I don’t think…”
“Show me. Now.”
At the insistent cue that wouldn’t quit, he rolled up the sleeve of his polo, taking care not to lift the left shoulder in the process. And once again, her hand was warm and on his shoulder. He had to admit it was much better than the patch, even though the guilt was killing him. She was here to relax on a Sunday. Not doctor his lazy ass up.
“Just relax,” she said as if she could feel his guilt somehow. And then he remembered that the stressing made him tense. Course she could feel that. Which made him try to calm down a little.
“Feels like a pretty solid knot back here. Let me see what I can do.”
He closed his eyes, tried to keep himself calm, wondering what Mel was up to. Thinking of Mel, and her sexy grin, the way she moved her ass…
And as the heat began to soothe his shoulder, he found himself relaxing that much more. He focused elsewhere, on a waterfall or something like that. Thoughts of Mel could lead him to disaster or some sort of embarrassment. Like a very obvious and raging hard on that his roommate would think applied to Nathalie.
And then, there it was. A temperature that didn’t make him want to fall over from the pain or anything else. It was perfect.
“That hurt?”
Hurt? Fuck no. “No,” he replied. “It feels great. Your hands are really warm.”
“Is the muscle relaxing? Any more spasms?”
“That’s helping a lot.” He sighed in relief and genuine gratitude. “Thanks.” Which was, in his estimation, the perfect cue for her to continue exactly what she was doing. He was lucky, and his shoulder felt absolutely perfect for the last few seconds before she stepped away.
“Thanks, Nat,” he said once again. “That really worked out the kink.”
“No problem,” she returned. He couldn’t help noticing she seemed more comfortable, maybe because she was doing something she knew she could. Kay was like that too.
“But you should come into the Center tomorrow and have it worked on a little more. And put a hot pack on it tonight to keep the muscle from seizing up again.”
“Will do.” A reprieve. He turned towards his roommate, and there was something in Semenov’s expression he’d deal with later. “I have something I need to do so I’ll see you guys later. Enjoy lunch.” And then, with a wave, he headed towards the door, and on his mission of mercy.
*****
Emo27 DM @Melanie_Gould: How’s the book?
Melanie_Gould DM @Emo27: deadline sucks. How’s the shoulder?
Emo27 DM @Melanie_Gould: it sucks, but I got some heat on it now. You going to be able to get away tonight?
Melanie_Gould DM @Emo27: *sigh* I wish. If you want me to play with your boys tomorrow, I gotta work tonight…might be able to meet you later if I get my pages done. What are you up to?
Emo27 DM @Melanie_Gould: checking books @ a place in the village. Late lunch/early dinner after?
Me
lanie_Gould DM @Emo27: text me. Will let you know either way.
True to his word, Chris headed out to Razor’s to fix what Al needed doing, and when he got there, he took a moment to breathe. The smell of the ink coming out of the tattoo rooms. The joking in the barber chairs, a few dudes laughing and grinning at the stuff they had on TV.
“Christopher, thank you God!” Al boomed as he came outside, shaking his head. “You know that fucking son of a bitch…”
He sighed, shook his head and clapped his hand on Al’s shoulder. “I’m here, dude. I can fix this. Come on.” He gestured towards the office and started heading back there. “Get me a cup of coffee and I’ll clean this mess up in no time.”
“Heey…”
The familiar drawl butted into the conversation, and he turned around to recognize M-F Smythe. “Jersey boy,” he replied with a grin. “What brings you here?”
“I got an appointment with Marco,” Smythe returned, that Oklahoma accent of his messed up as ever. And they said he talked funny. “We have a few off days so I’m finally finishing one he started. You?”
“Taking care of some stuff,” he replied, hedging. Smythe dated Mel’s sister, but the man didn’t have to know he was at the shop to deal with a financial crisis. “I’m supposed to be texting Mel when I’m done.”
“Yep,” Smythe replied, nodding. “I’m meeting Emily and we’re going to Darcy’s. You should come, with or without Mel.”
He knew Darcy’s. It was the pub next door. It was cozy and convenient. “Maybe,” he replied, aware of how much of an emergency would prompt Al to call him down to fix the books. “Don’t know how long I’m going to be. You should probably…”
Going All In Page 22