Hard Hitter

by Sarina Bowen

  He growled when he realized there was nothing underneath them.

  Ari grabbed a towel off the bed and put it in front of her body. She lay down on her own massage table for the first time ever, letting the towel cover her lap and thighs. “Let’s see your technique, big man.”

  “All right, miss. Are you comfortable on the table?” he asked. “Do you have any pain or trouble spots I need to know about?”

  She laughed. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Good.” He rubbed his hands together, warming them. “Let me know if you feel too much pressure at any point. Massage doesn’t have to hurt to do good.”

  “Some smart person must have taught you that.”

  “The smartest.” He came to stand beside her left thigh, then gently rolled the towel to expose her leg, just the way she would have done. Warm hands landed atop her quadriceps and began working their way down her leg with firm but gentle strokes.

  How bizarre to be on the receiving end of a massage from him. She spent the first five minutes grinning.

  But then, somehow, she forgot that this was sort of a joke. His hands moved in a soothing rhythm, and her mind began to drift. She thought about the yoga class she’d teach in the morning, and a new pose she wanted to try with the players.

  He switched legs, and then moved down to her feet. “Omigod,” she said as he rubbed her left foot in his big hands. “Arrrgh, that feels so good.”

  “Not too much pressure, miss?”

  “Oh-hell-no,” she stammered. “Don’t stop.”

  “That’s what all the ladies say.”

  She closed her eyes and sank back into the table. So this was how it felt to be her client. The foot massage would be even better with oil, but she didn’t want to stop him to fix that.

  “Why don’t you turn over now,” he said softly, squeezing her ankle.

  “Mmkay.” She grabbed the towel and rolled. Her bra dug into her skin, though, so she reached down and unclipped it, then tossed it aside.

  Patrick put the last towel across her legs to keep her warm, just as she might have done. His big hands landed on her back. First, he stroked both hands down her lats, fingers spread. Then he reached up to her shoulders and began to work them both at the same time.

  A happy groan escaped from her throat. She remembered giving Patrick a speech about touch, and how it wasn’t ever purely clinical. How true that was. She felt so cared for right now. This was blissful. His hands were warm and wonderful, and she never wanted it to end.

  He swept the hair off her neck. And then—even while his hands continued to massage her shoulders—soft lips brushed her nape. His kiss was so light that she shivered. “Arms over your head,” he rasped.

  Ari complied, draping her arms up and letting her hands fall off the table. His hands began to stroke her sides, now. His fingertips dipped down to tease the edges of her breasts. “Oh,” she sighed again. That felt delicious.

  He kept it up, his fingers stroking down her ribcage, after reaching inward to tease her breasts with whisper-weight strokes. Wow. She squirmed against the towel. He’d barely touched any erogenous zones, and she was already turned on. There was something about lying here while he did all the work. Biggest turn-on ever.

  He bent over her again and began to drop soft, open-mouthed kisses in a line down her spine. Goosebumps rose up on her skin, and she found herself holding her breath. A towel was whisked away, and broad hands landed on her bottom. He stroked over the sensitive skin, making her shiver. Then his mouth landed on the back of one thigh, and he kissed and licked his way into the seam between her legs.

  “Oh . . . geez,” she panted into the crook of her arm.

  She heard a chuckle, and then a zipper unzipping. She kept her eyes shut, because the mystery of what he’d do next was half the fun. Though the sound of a condom wrapper opening gave her a happy throb.

  He put a hand on her ass. “Checking in here, miss.” His gravelly voice was at odds with the too-polite words. “How are you feeling?”

  “Pretty great,” she said honestly.

  “Hmm.” He kneaded her ass with both hands. “So I should continue?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Very well, miss.”

  Two hands wrapped around her knees and parted them suddenly, and Ari’s breath caught in her chest.

  He massaged his way up the backs of her legs, halting just at the juncture with her bottom. At first, his fingers just teased the sensitive skin of her buttocks. But then his thumbs swept into the slickness between her legs.

  Ari mewled and gripped the edge of the table as he touched her, his fingers sliding over her clit and circling. Her legs twitched with the effort it took to stay reasonably still. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the towel underneath her. If he kept that up another thirty seconds she was going to come.

  But just as she processed that thought, she began sliding—he’d grabbed the towels she was lying on and pulled. Slowly, she slid down the table until her toes touched the floor. He went back to work massaging her—working his hands at her hips, smoothing his fingers up the backs of her thighs. She tried to keep her breathing deep and even, but the anticipation was killing her.

  All at once he lifted her hips an inch or so into the air and then filled her with his cock.

  “Oh!” It was so unexpected and wonderfully dirty that she let out a shuddering moan.

  For a moment, he didn’t move at all, except to smooth his thumbs across her ass. Then he lowered her hips to the table and bent over her, elbows on either side of her body. His mouth hovered over her ear. “I’m going to fuck you, miss. Nice and deep.”

  “Y-yes,” she stammered, waiting.

  “Like this.” He gave his hips a roll, and she could swear she saw stars.

  She sank into the rhythm as he began to piston his hips. She was so helpless in this position—spread out for him, her toes barely touching the ground. There was no way she could really contribute, except to lie there and let him fuck her. His lips landed at the back of her neck, and he began to suck gently there. Meanwhile, his breath became more ragged.

  “Turn over,” he grunted after a time. “Want to watch you come.”

  She nodded, and he pulled out and flipped her over as if she weighed no more than one of the towels. Then he was looming over her, shrugging off his shirt and tossing it aside. That wall of abs and pecs rippled above her and she liked what she saw. He shoved his jeans and underwear down and kicked them off.

  First he lifted one of her ankles onto his shoulder and then the other. Hers was a vulnerable position—her legs straight up in the air. But she forgot to feel ridiculous as he slid inside again, biting his lip and giving his head a shake. “Fuck. I’ll never get enough of you.” He picked up the pace right away, pistoning his hips, folding her body in half to lean in for a kiss.

  “Harder,” she demanded against his lips, just because she knew he’d listen.

  He gave her a big, shit-eating grin. But this display of ego lasted only a few seconds. As he picked up the pace, he began to groan. Watching him inch closer to climax was the best sight in the world. His eyes were heavy lidded, and rough breaths sawed out of his chest. His big hands curled around her thighs. “Mmm,” he grunted. “Fuck.” One hand slid slowly down her leg until he reached her sex. He lowered his big head and focused on the place of their joining, licking his lips at the sight of his shaft moving in and out. Then he squeezed his eyes shut as his thumb began to circle her clit.

  “Ohhh.” Ari moaned and arched her back. It was coming, and it was going to be good.

  “Miss.” Patrick panted. “Touch your breasts.”

  She didn’t need to be asked twice. She used both hands to cup herself, fingering her nipples.

  “Fuck,” he ground out, his blue eyes gleaming with appreciation. He swallowed roughly, his Adam’s apple work
ing, and he tipped his head back, as if the view was too much.

  Hers was, too. The sight of his hard body pumping away over her was more than she could withstand. An electrical charge of pleasure shot down her body, tits to toes. With a greedy moan, she surrendered to waves and pulses of pleasure. Above her, Patrick shuddered and came, bending forward to grip the table, as if his legs might not hold him.

  He gave a lengthy groan, and then all was still except for their heavy breathing.

  “Wow,” Ari said. There really were no better words.

  Patrick said nothing at all. He pulled out, which seemed a pity. Then he scooped her up off the table and set her down on the bed. She lay there catching her breath for a second while he visited the bathroom. And when he came back, he nudged her, urging her over. Then he climbed into the bed, pulled the covers over both of them, and covered her with his body.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi.” She stared up at him.

  “I have a future in massage therapy, right?”

  “Uh-huh. Your technique is nonstandard, but highly effective.”

  “You feel relaxed?”

  “Yup.”

  He kissed her. It wasn’t just a friendly kiss, either. He slanted his head and built the kiss slowly from a press of softened lips to a deep press of tangled tongues and mutual sighs. When they came up for air, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him.

  They were silent for a few minutes. Ari lay still, trying not to let the day’s earlier events back into her consciousness.

  “I know you hate it that Hugh wants to get involved,” he said. “But I think you should let him.”

  She groaned. “I know you’re all just watching out for me. And it’s not like I don’t think he’s a threat.” I can barely sleep in my house alone anymore. “But now I’m the girl who fools around at work and the girl with the crazy ex.”

  “I know you worry.” He gave her a squeeze. “But I don’t think Hugh cares if we’re together.”

  “We are not together,” she said immediately. But the credibility of the statement was somewhat undermined by the fact that she was currently lounging on his big, naked body.

  “Uh-huh,” he said, too polite to call her on it. “But we should be.”

  “Why? Besides the outrageously good sex.”

  He smiled into her hair. “That’s not a good enough reason?”

  “Fuck no.”

  He laughed, and she bounced on his chest with the motion. “Because you’re funny and smart. You’re the coolest chick I know, and I like you a lot.”

  Whether she was ready to admit it or not, those words warmed her everywhere at once. “That’s really nice of you to say, but I can’t be with anybody right now. I haven’t been single since I was twenty-one years old, and my only ex is on a crime spree. The universe might be trying to send me a message.”

  “I’m not that guy, Ari,” he said, his voice low and serious all of a sudden.

  “I know that,” she whispered. But the truth was she didn’t know Patrick O’Doul very well. And there wasn’t any room in her life for romance. A girl had to bail all the water flooding into the boat before she could set a new course.

  “Then you should also know that it’s not like me to tell someone how much I like her. In fact, I want you to guess how many times I’ve done that.”

  “Wait, you keep track?”

  “Guess so.”

  “I can’t guess.”

  “Fine. One.”

  That shut her up. “One other time?”

  “Nope. One including right now.”

  “Oh.” Could he even be serious? “I’m honored.”

  He stroked her back. “You should be.”

  “We still can’t date, though.”

  “Okay.”

  She lifted her head. “Okay?” She’d expected him to argue.

  He palmed her head and brought it back down onto his chest. “I’ll take what I can get, sweetheart. Now get some sleep. I’ve got a game tomorrow.”

  And even though she’d rather not give him the wrong idea by obeying his every whim, it was late, damn it. His body was warm and comfortable. So she slept on it.

  FIFTEEN

  SATURDAY, MARCH 19TH

  Standings: 3rd place in the Metropolitan Division

  13 Regular Season Games to Go

  O’Doul woke up curled around Ari’s body, amused with himself. Who knew that sharing a bed with a woman was so easy? Like rolling off a log.

  He spent a couple of minutes just admiring her in the morning light which filtered through the hotel drapes. But he had an early morning skate to get to. So he eased away, tucking the covers behind her back, so she wouldn’t be cold. He tiptoed into his own room to start the day.

  Forty minutes later, at the rink, he stretched his hip flexors carefully. His body had an easy looseness which was either attributable to a good night’s sleep or intense sexual gratification. Or both. When it was time to hit the ice, he skated as hard as he dared.

  “You look good this morning,” Coach said after the final whistle blew.

  “Feel good,” he agreed.

  “You okay to fight tonight?”

  “Sure,” he said automatically. He’d have to be.

  But on his way down the tunnel toward the visitors’ locker room, he passed DiCoda, Carolina’s enforcer, on the way to his own team’s ice time. “Hey, man!” O’Doul greeted him. DiCoda was one of the good guys in the league—the kind of guy who’d beat the shit out of you and then buy you and your whole team drinks. People came to fighting all different ways, but whatever DiCoda’s reasons, the man did not seem to be brimming over with excess aggression.

  “Hey!” DiCoda grabbed him into a backslapping hug. “Got a sec?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  DiCoda winced. “My jaw is acting up again.” He raised a hand to his face. “Might need surgery, actually. Can’t fight you tonight.”

  “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” The other man made a grim face. DiCoda was a true enforcer—he was really only on the roster to fight. The guy had something like ten career goals in as many years. The awkward truth hung between them. If DiCoda couldn’t fight again, his career was finished.

  “So . . .” O’Doul cleared his throat. “Are your guys gonna stay in line tonight? I don’t want to have to throw down with some kid who doesn’t know any better.”

  DiCoda grinned. “I don’t think any of ’em have plans to take you on, so I’ll tell ’em not to piss you off.”

  “Good man,” O’Doul said, squeezing the guy’s elbow through his pads.

  “Later,” DiCoda said, giving him one more smile.

  O’Doul trudged on toward the locker rooms, worrying about all the ways the earth kept shifting under his feet.

  Staying healthy in a fight no longer looked to be today’s top problem. But there were other issues. And one had a name—Vince Giardi. The guy was only going to make more trouble. Forget his strained hip flexors—that guy was his most likely career-ender.

  That fucking photograph had been meant as a warning to both him and Ari. The words on the back—YOU STUPID FUCK—made that very clear, even if neither Hugh Major nor Ari understood their significance.

  O’Doul was willing to stipulate that Vince was right. He’d been a very stupid fuck indeed the night he’d bought pills from that guy. The message on the back of the photo was like a bill coming due. One that O’Doul couldn’t pay. If Vince thought he could get Ari back by threatening him—it was never going to happen. She was done with Vince whether they went on to become a couple or not. He’d do whatever it took to keep that rat away from her.

  Though he got a chill just wondering what the hell Vince wanted. Hush money? Maybe. Though anyone with half a brain could tell you that paying a blackmailer was p
ointless.

  In the visitors’ locker room, he pulled off his skates while trying to imagine the worst-case scenario. So far as O’Doul could tell, Vince was a man with nothing to lose. He’d already lost Ari. And it sounded as though the police had found evidence of the man’s involvement in drug dealing in that storage room. He was probably desperate. And a desperate man was the most dangerous kind. He might do anything.

  If Vince told the cops that O’Doul had bought pills, he’d be questioned for sure.

  Sitting there on the bench, he had another thought, one that made him feel guilty. The cops had already met him the other morning at Ari’s door. If he told the detective that Vince was only trying to smear him out of jealousy, he’d sound very believable.

  Only an asshole uses his fame and his favorite girl as a cover for the dumbest mistake he’d ever made. But without a doubt, he’d lie if it came down to it. What? Who? Me? Never heard of the stuff.

  So there was a happy thought.

  He showered and hopped onto the bus back to the hotel with his teammates. They were greeted in the lobby at nine thirty by Jimbo, one of the roadies who helped lug gear around on their road trips. “Hey man. Where’s breakfast?”

  The kid jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In the conference room behind me. That’s why I’m standing here like an idiot, to make sure you guys find it.”

  O’Doul grabbed Jimbo’s shoulders and turned him toward the breakfast room. “Come on, then. Let’s eat. Anyone misbehaving today? Do I have to knock any heads?”

  “Nope. The charter company didn’t even lose anyone’s luggage. But the day is young.”

  At the buffet, O’Doul filled his plate with scrambled eggs and sausage. He chose two grapefruit halves and poured himself a cup of coffee. When he sat down with Jimbo at the center table, he noticed Ari hovering by the buffet, picking up a cup of yogurt and a plastic spoon. She looked up to catch him watching her.

  Busted. He gave her a smile and pointed at the empty seat next to his.

  She gave her head a little shake and dropped her eyes to her portable breakfast. A moment later, she exited the room.