by Skye Jordan
She found a condom, dropped the wallet with a relieved sigh, and ripped open the package.
“Mmm,” he hummed against her skin. “I love that sound.”
That statement hit Mia square in the stomach, and not in a good way. It reminded her of how often he did this. How insignificant the act of sex was in his life. That she was just another random drive-by for him, the only difference being that he’d known her longer than a week or a day. Or an hour. Rafe was a man whore. That wasn’t a secret. And there was nothing wrong with it. He was single; he made no promises. Just like he’d made none tonight.
Mia had to take a second to remind herself that this was about letting go, not grabbing hold.
“Give it to me.” He leaned away and reached for her arm.
But Mia pulled it back and smiled. “I got it.”
She took the erotic moments of rolling on the condom to reinforce her goals. To remind herself of how quickly and completely he could shut her out and how badly that hurt. How badly it affected her life.
Mia had a refreshed one-and-done frame of mind by the time the condom hit the base of his cock. And when he kissed her with a new ferocity, she let herself get swept up in the passion, while holding the emotion in the distance.
He wrapped one arm tight at her waist, slid back on the bed, and pulled her thighs wide, straddling his lap. He reached between them and rubbed the head of his cock across her opening. The friction felt so good, she moaned and her eyes fell closed.
Rafe slid one hand up her back and clasped her nape. Wrapped the other arm low on her hips and pressed his forehead to hers.
“Look at me, Mia.” His demand was soft, shaky. “I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life.”
Mia’s eyes opened, and her breath caught. Just when she thought she’d gotten her emotions under control, her chest expanded with a flurry of complex feelings. Her mind and heart spiraled with questions and confusion.
But before she could say anything, Rafe tightened the arm at her hips and drew her down. His cock impaled her in one swift thrust. Mia’s muscles tightened, and a cry of surprise, pain, and pleasure rolled from her chest. She fisted her hands in Rafe’s hair.
Almost instantly, the pain disappeared, leaving Mia with a decadent pressure where Rafe filled her.
Rafe. Filled. Her.
“God,” Rafe whispered. “So perfect, Mia. So perfect.”
He lifted his head and looked deep into her eyes. His expression was so soft, so affectionate, so filled with the same emotions filling her, and her heart broke a little. But she wasn’t sure why.
Then he rolled his knees under him while he held her in position. Once they were upright, face-to-face, he started to move. Using those muscled thighs that made him one of the fastest hockey players in the world, he drove his cock deep, leaving no room for anything but rush after rush after rush of intense, mind-bending pleasure.
Mia clung to his shoulders as he pummeled her, driving toward his own release. His features hardened and sharpened. His eyes hazed over with a level of lust that reached deep inside Mia and twisted.
And when he finally let his eyes fall closed, turned his face into her neck, and whispered, “Mia, Mia, Mia…” with a tortured kind of bliss, tears rose to her eyes.
She dropped her forehead to his shoulder and held tight, riding wave after wave of penetration with his name whispering past her own lips.
The way he held her, so tightly, so lovingly, the way he controlled his thrusts in long, deep strokes, as if he wanted to feel every inch of her, as if he wanted to draw out the moments he was inside her, made something elemental shift in her chest.
She’d never been loved like this. If this was a hookup, if this was purely sexual, then she’d been missing the boat all her life. Because no one had ever made her feel so wanted, so loved, or so cherished as Rafe did now.
And even when his thrusts quickened and his body vibrated with his impending release, when other men could think about nothing but sating their own overwhelming need, she was at the front of his thoughts.
He took hold of her chin, pulled her gaze to his, and demanded, “Come with me, Mia.”
Then he kissed her, mirroring the hunger of his body in his kiss. The combination of physical and emotional assault coalesced, and Mia broke with a scream. She buried her face in Rafe’s neck, her body still quaking with aftershocks when his own climax hit. His strong body twisted and bowed and shuddered in the fiercest, most stunning display of male sexuality Mia had ever witnessed.
They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms while their bodies settled and they caught their breath. And as Rafe pressed sweet kisses to Mia’s neck, she knew this exercise in letting go of her girlish fantasies of the boy from her past had not only backfired, it had created an even deeper need for the man he’d grown into. A need that would stretch long into her future.
7
Rafe shut off his car and jogged to the player’s entrance of the Verizon arena in downtown DC. Showing up late for the scheduled routine on a game day would set him back five grand, the Rough Riders’ standard fine.
But as he pulled the door open and started down the corridor toward the locker room, Rafe smiled. He’d overslept because Mia had held him to their agreement and they’d gotten lost in each other until they couldn’t keep their eyes open anymore.
The familiar sound of his teammates’ voices and the use of equipment echoed off the cement, but Rafe’s mind was still piling up memories from last night, making his grin grow even bigger.
If he did get hit with a fine, it would be worth every penny. Because today, despite his lack of sleep, Rafe felt like he was on top of the fucking world. His body sang with energy and strength. His mind was clearer and more focused than it had been in months.
He could breathe deeper, think faster, and settle quicker.
He turned the corner into the main locker room, found it empty and dropped his duffel on the bench. The guys were scattered, some with the physical therapists, some in the gym, some with the coach.
But as he changed into workout clothes, his mind drifted to waking in an empty bed and a Kick-ass in the game tonight note on the dresser. That was the only part of his night with Mia that didn’t sit quite right with him. He tried to smooth down the edge of nerves by remembering that quiet moment, deep in the early morning hours, while they’d lain tangled together, sweaty and sated, she’d mentioned meeting a couple of girlfriends for breakfast. And despite staying awake and active until nearly five a.m., she’d still been gone when he’d awoken at seven o’clock.
Damn, he wished he could have made love to her one more time. He’d been more than ready when he’d stirred. The memory of rolling to reach for her and finding her gone still pinched his gut. He’d so badly wanted to love her slowly and sweetly, then lie with her in his arms until he absolutely had to get up for practice.
And that was only one of the things he’d never wanted before but now craved with Mia. The woman was phenomenal in bed. She was spontaneous and sensual and erotic. She didn’t shy away from anything—no position too weird, no play too rough, no fears over letting him have control. Or taking control, for that matter. They’d been equals in bed, and he’d never known what a turn-on that could be. She also had a sexual appetite that matched Rafe’s.
Put it all together and Mia had blown away every last fantasy-induced expectation. Add in their friendship and their affection for each other, and Rafe realized…
He realized one night wasn’t enough.
“I want us to fuck and forget…”
He’d understood that going in. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if that was the way she’d felt this morning, walking away. God, he hoped not.
Pulling on an old T-shirt, Rafe smiled at the memories of her cuddled up to him after sex. The way she never stopped touching him and kissing him. The way they’d laughed and played. They’d found the old Mia and Rafe again. Before all the complications of life and careers and boyfriends and brot
hers had pushed them apart.
Yeah, Rafe could get used to the idea of having Mia loving up on him every night. They’d connected the way he’d secretly been dreaming of connecting with her for years. And after last night, it was clear there was no way they could stay away from each other. At least not while she was in town. Rafe was going to have a sit down with her at his first opportunity—probably tonight—to talk about this. New York was only an hour’s flight away.
He sat, pushed his feet into tennis shoes, and tied the laces, knowing the distance was the least of the walls between them. Tate was a major problem. Tate and this team. And then there was Joe.
Rafe just needed to tackle them one at a time. When Tate and Joe knew Mia was on board with this, that she wanted to be with Rafe as much as Rafe wanted to be with her…
But, they hadn’t discussed that. In fact, he and Mia hadn’t discussed anything. They’d been too busy seeking out and delivering pleasure all night.
A few of the guys wandered into the locker room, chatting.
“There you are.” Beckett Cross, the team’s captain, stopped at his bench in a sweat-stained T-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. “Everyone’s been looking for you. Tremblay’s going to fine your ass.”
“It’s only ten minutes.” Rafe looked up, finished with his laces, and pushed to his feet just as Tate came up behind Beckett and sidestepped their teammate. “I just oversle—”
Rafe only had a split second to register the fury on Tate’s face before his friend threw a right cross. Tate’s knuckles cracked against Rafe’s eye socket, and the force behind the punch whipped Rafe’s head right. Shock dulled the initial pain for a couple of seconds, but by the time he stumbled backward, fire exploded all through Rafe’s face.
“What the hell?” Beckett yelled. “We’ve got a game tonight.”
But Rafe wasn’t thinking about the game. He’d just come to the painful realization that Tate knew. Somehow, Tate knew. Which meant his best friend had just punched him based on—as far as Tate knew—a rumor.
Tate shoved Beckett back and came at Rafe again. Still bent at the waist, Rafe rammed his shoulder into Tate’s chest and slammed him into a wall.
“Knock it the fuck off,” Beckett bellowed before hauling Rafe back by the arm and stepping between them. “Put your petty shit aside. We’re in the fucking playoffs, you jackasses. We need both of you at your best.”
Rafe straightened and scowled at Tate. “What’s wrong with you?”
Tate stabbed the air between them with his finger. “Kilbourne told me. You bailed on the date chick and went home with Mia.”
The depth of Tate’s anger blew away every hope that his friend would ever understand Rafe and Mia being together.
“I did not go home with Mia.” That was technically true, but judging by the hurt and rage burning across Tate’s face, it wasn’t enough. “And why the hell are you taking Kilbourne’s word instead of asking me first?”
“Because Mia didn’t come home last night, and Kilbourne told me she was all over you at Bellissimo. He told me you two talked about hitting the sheets.”
“Mia pretended to be my girl so I could get away from that mouthy contest chick before my head exploded. I don’t know where Mia went after she left me.”
It was all true. Yet all a lie. And after all Tate had done for Rafe, all Tate’s father had done for Rafe, he felt an inch big right now.
“You’re so full of shit.” Kilbourne sauntered into the locker room and joined the rest of the team going about their business with one ear and one eye on Tate and Rafe’s fight.
Beckett pointed at Kilbourne. “You’ve caused enough trouble.”
“You and Mia were so hot, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other,” Kilbourne said to Rafe. “Why else would you have handed that smokin’ hot chick off to me?”
“Because she talked about minutia until my ears were bleeding, you idiot,” Rafe yelled so loud it echoed off the walls. The pressure shot pain through his head, and Rafe swore and pressed the back of his hand to his eye. It came away bloody. “For fuck’s sake.”
Kilbourne’s superior smirk faded. His gaze went distant. “She did talk a lot. Even while I was banging her, she never shut up.”
Rafe lifted his hand toward Kilbourne and told Tate, “See.”
Then Kilbourne lifted a shoulder and continued to his locker. “Whatever. You bailed on one hot fuck. Bet I’m playing way better than you tonight.”
Rafe lunged for Kilbourne but never made contact—Beckett grabbed him by the shirt.
“It’s over,” Beckett said. “Get your head back in the game.” He released his shirt and gave Rafe a shove toward the gym. “Get in a light workout.”
Beckett continued to his locker, and Rafe shot a scowl at Kilbourne, but his anger faded when he looked at Tate again. His hands rested on his hips, his shoulders sagged, and his expression had gone from furious to sullen.
“I’m sorry,” Tate said, his tone frustrated. “I’ve been worried about Mia, then you came late this morning, and Kilbourne’s story started making sense— Never mind. I’m just… I’m sorry, man.”
Instead of relief, anger sparked. Tate was confirming what Rafe already knew—his best friend would never see Rafe as good enough for Mia. And seeing her without Tate’s blessing would drive a wedge between all of them. Which also meant damaging Rafe’s relationship with Joe and screwing up the balance on the team.
“Forget about it.” Rafe grabbed a towel from a pile on the bench and turned for the gym.
Tate sidestepped and held a hand up, his expression wholly apologetic. “It’s just… Mia’s going through a rough transition right now. I’m worried she’s, I don’t know, not exactly using her best judgment at the moment.”
“And your first thought was that she was sleeping with me? Good to know you consider your best friend a poor judgment call. I’m good enough for you but not your sister, is that what you’re saying?”
“You know how hard relationships have been on Mia. She needs stability. Someone who will stick. You fuck someone different every other night. So, no, that’s not the kind of guy I’d want for my sister, and if you thought about it for a second, you’d know it’s not the kind of guy you’d want for her either. I don’t even know why we’re talking about this since nothing happened.”
“Get to work, ladies,” Beckett yelled across the locker room.
Tate looked back at Rafe and lifted his hand in a fist for a bump. “We’re good?”
A hot rock bottomed out in the pit of Rafe’s stomach, but he met Tate’s knuckles with his own. And as Tate passed toward the physical therapist’s office, Rafe continued into the gym with all thoughts of hooking up with Mia again fading to black.
Mia’s hands curled into fists against her thighs as she watched Rafe scrap with a Flyer to unlock a puck from between his skate blades and the boards. Finally, Rafe worked the puck loose and followed it in a circle back toward the goal, but with three Flyers on his ass, he passed to Tate.
Mia cut a look at the clock. There was only a little over two minutes left in the game and the Rough Riders were up two to one. They were going to win, Mia had no doubt. What she really wanted was for Rafe to get a hat trick tonight. Wanted it so bad, she could taste it. He’d been the only player to score all game, and one more goal would earn him a hat trick in the Cup playoffs—a memory he would cherish forever.
As the Rough Riders continued to hash out a shot on the ice, Mia’s mind flashed to the night before. To that moment of anticipation when Rafe’s cock had pressed against her entrance. To the passion in his eyes, his barely controlled lust, and his deliberate pause to make sure she was looking into his eyes when he took her for the first time.
“Look at me, Mia. I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life.”
Her chest squeezed, but she didn’t have time to savor the moment.
Eden, Beckett’s girlfriend, grabbed Mia’s arm. “Rafe’s got it!”
Mia re
focused on the ice and found Rafe breaking away from the Flyers, approaching the opposing team’s goal all alone. She shot to her feet and cheered at the top of her lungs along with Eden. As he neared the goal, Mia stopped clapping, clasped her hands at her chest, and held her breath.
Approaching the goal, he faked left. Faked right. Then flipped the puck past the goalie’s arm. It cleared the pipes and hit the net.
Score.
Mia and Eden threw their hands overhead and screamed along with the other fifteen thousand fans filling the stadium. Lights flashed, buzzers and alarms sounded, smoke poured from the ceiling.
Excitement surged through Mia. She couldn’t stop grinning as she watched Rafe shake his stick with triumph. Or as he slid into a circle with his other four teammates to congratulate each other on a job well done. Or as he turned and skated along the wall and bumped gloves with all his other teammates lined up at their bench.
Baseball hats of every color fell from the stands like confetti. And while the ice girls gathered the hats from the ice so the teams could finish out the last thirty seconds of the game, Rafe skated past Mia’s seat section. His head turned toward the stands, and his smile was electric. His gaze locked on Mia, and he tilted his hockey stick toward her with the slightest nod of acknowledgment.
That’s all you, baby.
Mia could read the thoughts behind his eyes as well as if he’d whispered them in her ear. The way he’d murmured the night before after their last round of sex before he’d fallen asleep. “I’m gonna play like a motherfucker on fire tonight.”
Mia’s breath caught. Emotion swelled in her heart.
“Did he start the game with a black eye?” Eden’s question drew Mia’s gaze as the game started again. “I swear I didn’t notice it earlier, and he didn’t fight tonight.”
Mia refocused on the ice and searched for Rafe, but he was moving way too fast to see his face. He certainly hadn’t had one last night. And they might have gotten playful and even a little rough in bed—something that shot sparks through her every time she remembered—but she hadn’t given him a black eye. “I didn’t notice.”