Unsportsmanlike Conduct: The Rules of the Game Book Four

by Tharp, Emma

  Twining my fingers in his silky hair, I pull him closer and glide my lips along his. His mouth is sinfully warm as our tongues mesh together.

  His skilled finger slips in and out and he hasn’t forgotten exactly where I like to be touched—what sets my nerve endings on fire. His eyes blaze as he watches me writhe under his touch. It’s been so long—it feels so good. When his thumb starts circling my clit, I know it won’t be much longer. The spiraling starts in my belly and coils in my pelvis. I let out a shuddering breath seconds before I call out his name. He kisses me as I ride out my orgasm—it never seems to want to end.

  “I’ve missed you, but I’ve really missed that.” He stares down at my body and raises his brows. “You have no idea what watching you come apart does to me.” Wes smirks and stands up, retrieving his jeans. He tugs a condom out, rips it open, and puts it on.

  My cheeks warm at his comment. “I’ve missed that, too.”

  “Good.” He’s kneeling on the bed between my open legs. He guides himself to my entrance. “What about this? Did you miss this?” Teasing, he rubs his erection over my clit and back down before inching inside me.

  I nod and bite down on my lower lip. Yes, I’ve definitely missed all of him.

  Wes sinks inside me—all the way—and I see stars behind my eyelids.

  “Fuck.” He stills and his hooded gaze locks with mine.

  For a moment I’m caught up in the sight of him on top of me—of us together again. I wrote this off—cast my desire aside. What a fool I was.

  He grasps one of my legs behind the knee and pushes in and out, slow and blissfully deep. I raise my hips and meet his thrusts. We do this dance our bodies remember so well—as if it hasn’t been months since we were last together.

  The room is full of our gasps and moans and ragged breaths. I clutch his arms and cry out, “Wes. Please.”

  He doesn’t have to ask. He knows what I need. The pace speeds up and he’s slamming into me—hitting every delicate nerve ending deep inside me until I’m grasping the comforter, convulsing and panting, “Yes. Yes. Oh, my…yes.”

  Wes covers my mouth with his and drills into me for a few more thrusts. He groans and the muscles of his arms, chest, and legs tighten as he finds his release. We kiss, soft and slow until we both come down from this high.

  Gently, he lets go of my leg and lowers his body next to mine. He gives my neck a kiss and nuzzles his nose there. I listen as both our breathing begins to slow.

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, my fingers slide up into his hair. I play with the silky strands, letting them flow through my hands.

  “Well, that was unexpected.” Wes’s words tickle my neck.

  I giggle. “You could say that.”

  He props up on one elbow to stare at me with his gorgeous emerald eyes. “Thank you. For giving us another chance. I’m not going to waste it.”

  Smiling up at him, I nod. “Me neither. Good luck in the playoffs.”

  Wes runs his fingertips over my chest to my shoulder. “You’re my good luck charm. We’re going to win it.”

  Seven

  Wes

  We're in the final sixty seconds of game seven in the Stanley Cup playoffs and the score's tied. Sweat drips down my face, stinging my eyes. Normally this would blur my vision but tonight I'm laser focused on the puck. The ref is holding it above Derek and the Renegades forward as they ready for a face off.

  The puck drops and I'm on fire, skating behind Rick Parks, ready, watching. He deeks out a defenseman and shoots. It's heading for me. I skate as if my life depends on it, my quads burning, and hit the puck with my stick. This baby is mine. I outskate the Renegades defense and pray to the hockey gods as I flick my wrist and shoot from the blue line. I watch, breathless, as it sails up and over the goalie’s blocker and straight into the back of the net. The clock counts down to zero. The crowd is on its feet.

  We just won the Stanley Cup.

  The crowd goes ballistic. I can feel the applause in my bones. Staring out at the crowd, I lock eyes with Lydia, who is smiling and absolutely radiant. Her tour just ended. Perfect timing for her to catch this game.

  As if this moment couldn’t get any better. The ice is cleared and the Cup is presented to Rick Parks, the captain of our team, then he takes a lap around the ice with it over his head.

  When it’s my turn, I take it all in. The crowd, the feeling of pure exhilaration and adrenaline coursing through my body. I’ve never felt anything like this. I end my lap with holding it up and winking toward Lydia, who is on her feet cheering and wiping her eyes.

  After everyone takes their lap around the ice holding the Cup, it isn't long before we’re inundated by press and reporters are in my face.

  "Wes, how did it feel to score the winning goal tonight?" a woman asks as she presses her microphone toward my mouth.

  "It felt amazing!” I shout above the crowd and the noise. I peer up toward Lydia's seat but don't see her. It's difficult to see anything with the flashbulbs that keep going off.

  Eventually, after a few quick interviews and a fair amount of pushing, I make it back to the locker room where the entire team is celebrating.

  “Fucking amazing shot,” Cole Shaw, our top defenseman says. We slap each other on the back.

  “Thanks, brother,” I tell him.

  “We won the Cup,” Teddy calls out.

  The entire team cheers. We’re all as high as kites. As happy as I am, all I want is to see Lydia.

  I text Lydia and tell her to meet me by the back gates. After a quick shower, I change my clothes and pack my bag.

  Walking toward the back gates with Derek we shake each other's hands. "We did it," Derek says.

  I give him a friendly swat on the shoulder and say, “We sure did."

  Lydia is standing at the gates giving me the most gorgeous smile. Unfortunately, there are also reporters there. I'm exhausted and all I want to do is go home and celebrate with Lydia.

  “Good night, bro. I’m out of here.” Derek swerves away quickly, putting his head down to avoid the journalists. Lucky bastard.

  "Do you mind answering some questions?" A young woman with a microphone bats her eyes at me.

  "Sure, just a couple though," I say with fake enthusiasm.

  "Great. Is this your mom? I’ve got a few questions for her, too.” She points to Lydia.

  What a bitch.

  Lydia's face pales. It's not good and I know it. This upset her.

  “No. This is my girl. Country music star, Lydia Crow. And you know what, we have to go." I put my arm around Lydia and we start to walk away, but not before seeing the reporter’s mouth agape.

  When we’re clear from all the listening ears and we make it to my car outside, I turn to Lydia and ask, “Are you okay?”

  Her eyes are cast down. "Sure. I'm fine. It's fine."

  I can tell she isn't. Her shoulders hunch forward and her expression that was happy and full of excitement minutes ago is now sad and forlorn. "That girl was just being rude to get to you. Don’t let her."

  She crosses her arms in front of her chest protectively.

  "Let me take you home so I can show you just how wrong that woman is." I kiss her neck, under her ear, and then her lips.

  She moans and her tense posture relaxes.

  Good. We’re just getting started again. I’ll be damned if a foolish stranger or anyone else will derail what we’ve got.

  Eight

  Lydia

  "Your only obligations this summer are a few press conferences regarding the new album, a couple of radio appearances, and a charity function where you’ll do a short set, one or two songs," Kenny says, grasping his cup of coffee like it's a lifeline.

  My shoulders relax as I let out a long breath. It’s a beautiful June day in Nashville. The sun is warm on my arms—but not hot yet. We chose this spot to meet because of their amazing Vietnamese coffee and its outdoor seating.

  “That's good. I need the downtime." It's an understatement. Burnou
t is a very real thing and I'm starting to feel it.

  "I saw pictures of you and the kid at playoffs. Are you back together again?" His eyebrows pinch together.

  "Yes. We're going to give it a try." I know it shouldn’t, but it bothers me that he still has to call him that. Most likely because we’re seriously trying to give our relationship a shot and Wes is not a kid. No, he’s a man through and through. “Maybe you should start calling him Wes.”

  He shrugs. "Okay,” he says, although there’s condescension in his tone.

  I tear off a piece of my blueberry muffin, but I don’t take a bite. Instead I rip it up into smaller bits like confetti on my plate. "Why do you have that look on your face? You’re frowning."

  He sets his mug down and pushes back slightly from the table. "The last thing I want is to see you get hurt again. It was hard on me.”

  To see my manager's concern softens me. He's always been there through it all. "I'll be okay."

  Kenny drags his hand through his salt and pepper hair and says, "I hope so. You didn't do well with the last break-up. It reminded me of Paul."

  My eyes dart to his and my skin gets hot. “Why would you even bring him up?” We never talk about my husband. Not anymore.

  “Because I know his accident still affects you. Frankly, I think it’s something you should work on when you’re off this summer.” Kenny takes a pad of butter, opens it, and starts spreading it across his muffin—as if he didn’t just drop a bomb.

  Gripping the edge of the table, I take a deep breath. “Paul and Wes have nothing to do with each other. You’d do well not to bring Paul up again.”

  His eyes find mine and his soften. “I’ve upset you. I’m sorry. That isn’t what I wanted to do.”

  His comments have me thinking. I’m not happy that he had the audacity to bring up Paul, but I have been thinking about seeing a counselor again. Right after Paul’s death I saw someone for a short time, but I let myself get lost in work and never followed through. It was easier back then to avoid my feelings. It’s about time to start facing them head on. “It’s okay. Can we drop it, please?”

  He moves his chair closer to the table—closer to me. He grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Sure. You know I'm here for you if you ever want to talk, or if the kid treats you badly."

  I shake my head. Does he honestly think patronizing me is helping? I give him a tight smile, unable to say anything more about it without arguing with him.

  "What are your summer plans?” he asks, a welcome change of subject.

  "I don't know. Just some self-care." Telling him that I plan to spend as much time as possible with Wes is not on the agenda now. “How about you?"

  "Nothing special. I'll be arranging things for your next tour. It starts Labor Day weekend." And that is probably all he will be doing this summer. No wife or children to speak of, and no other girlfriend prospects waiting in the wings that I'm aware of—his life is devoted to me and my career.

  "Ugh. I don’t want to think about that yet." Time away for me to feel rejuvenated is what I need before I can even think about getting back on the tour bus again.

  "I'll take care of it. Enjoy the time off,” he tells me before downing the last of his coffee.

  Oh, I will.

  A few days later, Wes and I fly private to start off our summer together. First stop is Lake Tahoe.

  "I’ve only ever flown commercial. This is nice,” Wes says, giving me a lazy half grin.

  “Glad you’re enjoying it.”

  “It's good to see you relaxed." He’s rubbing my feet. We’re sitting on a white leather plush couch on the plane, he at one end and me at the other.

  Getting a massage—especially from a hot hockey player—is foreplay to me. “I know what would relax me more." I drag my teeth over my bottom lip.

  His brows raise and his hands stop moving. “You saying you’re ready to join the mile-high club?”

  Checking my watch, I say, “We don’t land for another hour.”

  He smirks and crawls his way up my body, claiming my lips. My insides heat up and my belly clenches.

  We don’t waste a single moment, touching, teasing, and tasting each other—focused on only giving each other pleasure for the next sixty minutes.

  It's a bumpy landing into the Reno airport, not that it bothers us. Wes and I are calm and stress-free when we hit the ground. Instead of hiring a driver, we rent a car—a convertible—and drive to the hotel in Tahoe. The ride is just over an hour and absolutely stunning. I enjoy the view of the mountains and the clean air.

  We check into the Ritz-Carlton. It’s the epitome of a mountain lodge. I’ve been here in the winter and it has ski-in, ski-out access, but summer here is fantastic. The valet parks our car. There’s something so soothing about the air here. I look around and breathe it in—fresh air and pine. We are here and I couldn’t be happier.

  Our room has got floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view of the mountains. A huge stone fireplace is in the center of the room with a full kitchen and a bedroom with a plush bed and leather accents in all the furniture.

  I walk to the French doors leading out to the balcony and lean on the wall, taking it all in.

  “What do you want to do today?” Wes asks as he comes up behind me and winds his arms around my waist and kisses my neck.

  Turning around, I put my arms around his neck and look up into his eyes. “Would it be awful if we stayed in and ordered room service? I could use a day to rest.”

  He nods and gives me a salacious grin. “We can stay in, but I’m not sure how much rest you’re going to get.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Wes glances around the large balcony and points at the chaise lounge chair. “Yes, really.” He guides me to the chair and kisses me, not a sweet, friendly kiss, but one full of lust and promise. “Are you comfortable out here?”

  “Completely,” I say.

  He tugs my shirt up and over my head. “Good. I know it was only a couple of hours ago that we made love on the plane, but I need you again.” He presses light kisses all the way down my neck and collarbone until he reaches the top of my bra where he eases my breast out of the pale pink fabric. He cups it and runs his tongue over my nipple.

  The sensation causes me to gasp. “I need you, too.” My voice is breathy.

  Wes’s energy and stamina keep my body sated and satisfied. It’s like we can’t get enough of each other.

  We strip off each other’s clothes and I slip down to my knees in front of Wes. I grip his erection in my hand and he’s already rock-hard. Licking the base, I run my tongue all the way down and back up to the tip. He lets out a moan and it spurs me on. I love the feel of him in my mouth and when he makes sounds of pleasure, well, it’s the biggest turn-on.

  With the warm sun on my back and Wes’s hands in my hair, I lick him, slow at first. When his grasp tightens on the back of my head, I suck him into my mouth harder and faster.

  “My God,” he grunts, bending down in front of me and laying a kiss on my mouth. “That feels so good, but come here.” He points to the lounger.

  I get on it. On all fours.

  Wes comes up behind me after he puts a condom on and grips my hips in his hands. “You have the most perfect body, Lydia.” He drags out my name as he glides into me.

  I press my cheek onto the cushion of the chair, creating a different angle. His fingertips grip me tighter as he thrusts into me deep. “Yes,” I call out. For a brief moment, I wonder if our neighbors in the suite next to us can hear us. If they can, I don’t care. Not when Wes is hitting that spot.

  His fingertips run up and down my back, causing a slight shiver to run up and down my spine. I can imagine the heated burn of lust in his eyes and the slight part of his lips, but since I can’t see his face, I focus on our breathing, labored and deep.

  I push my hips back, matching his thrusts. I love the way we fit together—like we we’re made for each other. Wes reaches around and runs his fingers over my clit wi
th just the right amount of pressure. He presses featherlight kisses across the skin of my back, teasing me with sensation everywhere. My body begins to tense—fast and hard—and before I know it, I’m shuddering around him. “Yes,” I hiss.

  He’s next. Pumping inside me, he mumbles unintelligible words as his thrusts get more wild. My name tumbles across his lips right before his arms come around my waist, his face pressed to my back. We both sag onto the chaise.

  Wes moves my hair over my shoulder and kisses my bare neck and then my cheek. “I think I’m going to like this idea of staying in today.”

  I smirk. Me, too, Wes. Me, too.

  Day two in Tahoe we head to Donner Lake where I charter us a boat. It’s a small lake and the blue water is calm. I lay on the deck and take in the sun, enjoying the warmth on my face. Pine trees and mountains flank the lake. There are people paddle-boarding and kayaking along the shore.

  “I’m going to wake board. Want to give it a try?” Wes asks, a devilish grin on his face.

  “No, you go ahead. I’ll have fun watching you.” I lift my sunglasses from my eyes and give him a wink.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Once we make it further out in the water, the captain of the boat helps Wes set up the tow rope. Wes puts on a life vest and straps his feet onto the board. Then he backs into the water. The captain starts the boat and Wes eases up to a standing position. The water flows down his sun-kissed body. His muscles flex and contract with his movements. He makes it all look so easy, gliding back and forth across the wake. He even does jumps and complicated looking turns. I can’t take my eyes off him.

  Wes rides the waves until he’s had his fill. He gets back on the boat, shaking his hair off, getting me all wet.

  “Hey!” I shout and throw his towel at him.

  “Why don’t you go out there and give it a try?” There’s a challenge in his tone.

  “I don’t wake board. Too bad there aren’t water skis,” I tell him, even though I don’t want to. I say it so he’ll drop it.