“Was I?”
“Mmm. Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”
I grin at him. “Definitely not testy now.”
He doesn’t ask me what my barbed sharpness was about. I’m glad. I don’t really have a good answer, other than he shakes me to my core and I miss him. I don’t want to tell him that.
But he’s not done with the hard questions. “What are we doing?”
I hold his gaze and give him the truth. “I don’t know.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.” I wrinkle my nose, because we both know how reluctant I am to admit even that much, and he laughs. Then he crawls up my body and my breath catches in my throat. My eyes burn as he too-gently finds my gaze and holds it. I more than like it, and we both know it.
I like Tate so much it hurts. And I don’t know how to handle these feelings.
He rubs his thumb at the corner of my mouth as he looks at me with what can only be described as tender awareness. Damn him. “Are we having an old-fashioned, secret affair?”
That’s too heavy. “This is a fling,” I whisper.
“Friends with benefits?”
Are we friends? I’d be more comfortable calling us frenemies, to promise myself there’s no way I can get close because this is just sex.
A frenemy fling. Four years ago, I would have hashtagged that bitch on Instagram. Now I don’t have any social media accounts and the label feels a bit…cliche. Somehow, I don’t think Tate would like me calling it that, so I tug him closer and let him kiss me instead.
We both like that. And when we’re kissing, the labels for whatever this is don’t matter at all. When his tongue quests deeper into my mouth and that hungry yes-yes-yes feeling roars back to life inside me…nothing else matters.
18
Tate
I wake up to a warm, soft body pressed against my side, and cool, nimble fingers exploring my muscles.
“What time is it?” I mumble as I grope Sasha right back, because I’m not dead and she feels amazing.
“Almost seven.” She whispers it, but I can tell she’s wide awake.
“You’re a morning person.”
“I’m also a morning sex person, if that helps. And a nap person, too.”
I roll her onto her back and kiss my way down her body. “Excellent,” I mumble, but it comes out sounding something like sesellent.
“What do you have to do today?” She gasps as I lick her instead of answering. “Tate!”
I lift my head and blink blearily at her. “Yeah?”
“That’s it? You ask me what time it is, accuse me of being a morning person, and then go down on me?”
It wasn’t an accusation so much as an observation, but that sounds about right. “Yeah. Shhh. Busy.”
“Okay.” She sighs and drops her head back, and I return to kissing her pussy, because doing Sasha is my entire agenda today.
Coach gave us the day off since we won last night.
And now I’m winning again. Go me.
I do have an idea for tonight, but it’ll go over better after an orgasm and some breakfast.
She makes a cryptic phone call before we hop in the shower, and when we get out, there’s a somber looking gentleman in a black suit waiting outside my suite. She just opens the door and he’s there. She gives him a beaming smile and he rolls a large suitcase into the room before departing.
“Who was that?” I ask as she shrugs out of the fluffy white robe she’d put on to answer the door.
“The concierge at my father’s building.”
“Here in New York?”
“Yes.” She says it simply, without her usual bite, but I know better than to ask any more questions.
I grab the suitcase and lift it onto the sofa for her. My shoulder screams from the hit against the board it took last night, and while she gets dressed, I dig out the horse liniment I carry for just this reason.
“What’s that?” Sasha shoots me a quick glance. I tell her and she laughs as she holds out her hand. “Can I rub you down?”
“Be my guest.”
She climbs onto the bed behind me and smooths just the right amount of the herb-infused salve over my muscles. “Like this?”
“A little harder.” Her thumbs dig in and I groan. “Yeah. Right there.”
“I like that sound,” she whispers in my ear.
I twist my head around and catch her mouth for a quick kiss. She sighs as I pull away, her eyes a little hazy. “I like that sound,” I murmur as I touch her lips. “Hey, I have an idea. I was going to suggest it later, but the sounds have me turned on again.”
I love the way her face lights up. “What’s your idea?”
“You know about the plans for Rapscallion, right? How it’s part of a chain of private clubs?”
She pauses, then slides around to sit on the bed next to me. She gives me a guarded, cautious look. “Yes.”
“Reid has a club here in New York.” I search her face for any clue as to how she’s feeling about this, but I get nothing. “We could go tonight.”
Sasha should play poker, the way she can hold an absolutely nothing expression for way too long. “Maybe,” she finally says. “Let’s discuss over breakfast.”
She climbs off the bed and finishes getting dressed. Out of her suitcase comes a pair of tall black leather boots, which she pulls over her skin-tight jeans, and then she puts a big, touchable sweater over her long-sleeved t-shirt.
By the time I’m dressed in jeans and a dress shirt, she’s got a touch of make up on and her hair is perfectly twisted up into a big bun on the top of her head.
“We might run into guys from the team as we head downstairs,” I tell her.
She shrugs. “Then introduce me as a friend who knows her way around New York.”
“Oh yeah?” I tug her close and give her a searing kiss. Friends. We need to work that out between us, because nobody’s going to believe we’re just friends—not the way I look at her. “Tell me what you know about New York.”
“I know the best breakfast places are in Tribeca,” she murmurs with a smile. “And if you’re going to take me to a kink club tonight, I’m going to need a new outfit, too.”
Oh, fuck yeah. Fine, we can be so-called friends. Whatever she wants, however she wants it, if she gives me that kind of a kick-in-the-gut filthy feel with a simple promise of a new outfit.
Instead of grabbing a cab at the hotel, she slides her fingers through mine and tugs me towards the subway. Only in New York City would Sasha feel anonymous enough to hold my hand.
We should come here again.
I’m grinning by the time we’re on the train. It’s crowded, so we stand next to a pole.
She catches my stupidly happy expression and sways into me. “What’s that grin about?”
“You. This.” I kiss the top of her head. “I wasn’t sure you’d come down to spend the weekend with me.”
She doesn’t say anything to that, but when we get to our stop, she takes my hand again and doesn’t let go until we reach our destination.
We’re seated at a small corner table, adjacent to each other, which makes it easy to talk quietly once we order.
“So you want to go shopping after this?” I brush an errant lock of hair off her cheek as I lean in.
“Depends. What do you think the dress code is for a club like…”
“It’s apparently called Miscreant.”
Her eyes go wide. “That’s fun.”
“Mmm.”
“So is it gothic? Like Eyes Wide Shut?”
“Probably. The clubs I’ve been to in Toronto and Los Angeles have been pretty theatrical. The Ottawa scene is way more laid back.”
“I didn’t even know there was a BDSM community in Ottawa.”
Kink is everywhere.
“What will you wear?” She runs her hand over my arm. “I like you like this. Buttons to undo…”
“I can wear a suit.”
She makes an appreciative sound low in
her throat. “Okay. I’ll match that.”
Our food arrives, and we dive in. Sasha tells me about her favourite things to do in New York at Christmas, and I tell her about the last time I was in the city, with the Senators. We went skating at Rockefeller Center and acted like kids. It was fantastic.
“I bet that was something,” she says with a laugh. “How many of you went?”
“Most of the team. People caught on to the fact that we knew a thing or two about skating, and we ended up taking pictures for a while after.”
“Do you like that side of it? Meeting fans?”
“Yeah. Although I wouldn’t be recognized here if I was out by myself, or with just you, and I like that, too. The celebrity is confined to being situationally specific.” She hasn’t fully confided in me, but I know this is a big deal. I hold her gaze. “I like my freedom. I don’t need to be public all the time.”
She nods, but there’s something in her eyes, an edge of concern.
“I know you keep your life private.” I get that. My life doesn’t need to be hers just because we’re fucking. “I won’t do anything to risk that.”
One side of her mouth hitches up in an almost-smile. “As much as you can.”
“Sure. I’m not going to promise something I can’t deliver.”
“I know.” She leans in and kisses me lightly. “I’m a pro at being invisible. It’s fine.”
“So going to a kink club is…”
“Not something I’d do with anyone else,” she says quietly.
I take her hand. “Reid’s club is members only. And it’s not just money that gets someone in. There’s a vetting process for membership, and you need to be nominated by two existing members, no exceptions. It’s private. And there are ways to be even more anonymous, although I don’t think you need a mask. Nobody will be looking at us. There will be plenty of spectacle put on by those that want to be seen.”
As I’d hoped, she has a gorgeous reaction to that. Her lips part and darken, her pupils dilate. Sasha can’t wait to watch other people be kinky, and I can’t wait to watch her.
But first, we’ve got an entire day in New York City together. “I bet if we went to Rockefeller Center today, nobody would know who I am,” I tell her. “I’d just need to make a stop first.”
19
Sasha
Tate sends some quick texts as I pay for breakfast—something he only questioned for a second, and only silently, with a glance.
“Okay, the assistant equipment manager can meet me at noon to get me my skates.” He tucks his phone away and slings his arm around my shoulder. “So we’ve got until then to do some shopping.”
I guess an NHL player doesn’t wear rentals, even for a recreational skate.
We hit up a couple of my favourite boutiques in SoHo. At the first place, Tate prowls through the store and picks me out a few things to try on. He’s got good taste. But at the second store, I know exactly what I’m looking for. This is the New York location of a chain of stores, and I bought the dress I wore to Rapscallion at the Ottawa location.
If we’re going to Miscreant tonight, I want something just like it.
I want another chance to try Tate’s brand of kink, at a club and all dressed up.
“There’s a chair back by the dressing room,” I tell him. “Go have a seat.”
He raises one eyebrow in amusement, but does as I request. I describe the dress I bought in Ottawa to the sales girl, and she nods. “We’ve got a couple of other dresses from that line, they’re over here.”
I know the one I want as soon as I see it.
The silk handkerchief skirt is variable lengths on this one, showing more leg on the right than the left, and the entire thing is overdyed in a rich dark red.
I shield it from Tate’s eyes as I sweep into the change room and shrug out of my winter clothes, but I need someone’s help with the zipper—because the bodice is that snug, there’s no way I’m doing it up myself—and I might as well use this opportunity to tease him.
Holding the dress against my body, I open the change room door.
He’s sprawled like a king in the arm chair, big thighs spread wide, but as soon as the hinge creaks, he snaps to attention and gives me a heated once over. “Now that’s a dress with kinky potential.”
I wink as I turn around. “Zip me up?”
He stands and stalks towards me. I watch in the mirror as he stops close enough to radiate heat against me, and I wiggle my hips, enjoying how the panels of my skirt swirl around my bare thighs.
He catches his lower lip between his teeth and slowly zips up the dress as he, too, watches our reflection. “The boots give it an extra something, too. Wear those tonight.”
I vamp in front of the mirror. Yes, I think I will.
“That’s two kinky dresses you own,” he murmurs as he sets his hands on my waist. The heavy weight of them makes my chest tight and hot. Makes me hungry for more of his touch, his gaze, his sex.
“That you know of,” I whisper back.
His jaw flexes and he gives me a hooded look. “We’ll make a deviant out of you in no time flat.”
I’m well on my way. “But first a wholesome holiday skate, right?”
His eyes flare bright, and I think for a second he might cancel the whole thing and just drag me back to the hotel for filthy afternoon activities. “Right,” he says slowly. “Wholesome is my middle name, after all.”
I laugh at him as unzips, his fingers teasing a decidedly not wholesome trail all the way down to my ass—and then a little lower, following the fabric of my thong until I’m gasping for him to get out.
He does, retreating to his chair to resume his ridiculous sprawl. Nobody should make sitting look that good, I think as I close the change room door and try to catch my shuddering breath.
After meeting someone from the team at Madison Square Gardens and retrieving Tate’s skates, we head to Rockefeller Center, where we’re ushered into a VIP igloo next to the rink. Tate poses for a quick picture with the couple who had apparently booked this time slot—and who didn’t mind sharing it with an NHL player who could get them tickets for Sunday night’s game, too.
Once they head onto the ice and the concierge has returned with a pair of rental skates for me, Tate turns all his attention my way. “You want me to teach you how to do some fancy skating?”
I laugh out loud and bat my eyelashes at him. “Oh, Mr. Hat Trick, won’t you please show me all your moves?”
He chuckles and pulls me close, his hand finding the bare skin at my waist beneath my shirt. He rubs his thumb back and forth, back and forth, stirring all sorts of dirty feelings in me.
But we’re here to skate. I plant my hand in his chest. “Later, big boy. Put your skates on.”
“Do you need help getting your laces tight?”
“Is that a euphemism for something?”
“Give me a minute and I’ll make it one.” He grins. Unrepentant and perfectly filthy.
“I think I can figure it out,” I say innocently.
The rentals aren’t great, but unlike him, I don’t travel with skates.
Back home, I have two pairs, perfectly broken in.
He doesn’t need to know that yet, though. I’m happy for him to “teach me” how to skate if it means his hands on my waist, his body curved behind mine.
We make our way to the ice, and he steps on first.
I’ve been around rinks my entire life, but there’s still something impressive about the way he pivots backwards, holding his hands out for me. Pure confidence on blades of steel.
I’m going to enjoy this.
I take a deep breath and push off, gliding right into his arms. He turns me around and pushes off, his legs moving quickly on either side of me. I gasp, because he’s really skating both of us, I don’t need to do anything.
Damn it, he wasn’t supposed to actually impress me, and now he’s done it twice in as many seconds.
The rink is actually pretty busy, but Tate
deftly weaves around the other skaters. When he slows around a family, I glide ahead, and he catches up again, coming beside me this time.
I reach for his hand and we circle the rink again, fingers linked.
“You can skate,” he says when I do a quick step sequence around a stopped couple.
“I can.”
“You didn’t say.”
“You didn’t ask,” I whisper as he twists me around, holding me in his arms so I’m skating backwards.
He drops a quick kiss on my mouth. “I’m learning that’s key with you.”
“How about that, eh?”
He laughs and spins me around again. This time I take off. There’s no way I can out skate him, but it’s fun to get up to speed and feel the cold air rushing against my cheeks.
It’s more fun when he catches up again, and this time, he takes my hand.
After a stop for coffee, we stroll back to the hotel, doing a last bit of Christmas shopping on the way. Tate buys a few presents for his parents, and I find a pair of cufflinks my father will appreciate.
“What are you doing for the holidays?” he asks in a totally obvious way as we step into the elevator in his hotel, and I laugh. I’m eager to plan our next opportunity to be together, too.
“I’ll be in Toronto for Christmas Eve. How about you?”
“I’m flying back to Ottawa. My mom is bringing the Christmas dinner to my house on the twenty-fifth, and then there’s the Rapscallion party on Boxing Day. I was thinking…”
I grin at him as he trails off. “I’ve already agreed to go with you.”
“Not that. Although I’m looking forward to that, for sure. No, I was wondering if you wanted to come out to Vancouver. I don’t know how much time you have off, but I’ve got a light week over New Year’s, two home games and that’s it.”
We arrive on his floor, and that ends that conversation, because ahead of us are some of his teammates, strolling towards the elevator.
“Hey, there’s pretty boy. Tate, we were just looking for you,” a big guy says in accented, easy English. Andrushko, my brain supplies a moment later. He looks different out of uniform. “And…” he swivels his attention to me. They all do. “I am Vladimir. Nice to meet you.”
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