by Kate Meader
She sat on the bed, yanking off her Joan of Arctic boots while Vadim paced. Back and forth, forth and back, looking up every few seconds to check her progress. Socks off. Another look. Hoodie was history. Another look. Ten seconds between glances, which meant he was—oh, God—counting off in his head.
She was down to leggings and a tank top.
“Are you going to wear a rut in the carpet, Russian, or a rut in me?”
He stopped, and stabbing his fingers through his hair, spoke with immense effort. “Remove all your clothes immediately.”
“You remove them.”
She swore his erection poked higher in his sweatpants.
“Isobel,” he warned.
“What’s wrong, Vadim? Are you afraid you might get overexcited if you peel off my top and get a bra strap sighting? If your fingers graze my skin, will we start to see little Vadim”—she pointed at not-so-little Vadim, now straining to punch through the thin fabric—“weeping his cockhead off? Worried you’ll blow before you can get me there?”
“Yes.”
Oh.
She’d been teasing him—mercilessly, she now realized—and he was actually concerned. Nice going, dummy.
He continued. “I am currently running my stats from every season starting five years ago.”
“What are you up to?”
“Third year in the NHL. My best season to date.”
With a teasing lick of her lips, she accessed her memory banks. “Thirty-eight goals, 64 assists, 19.5 shooting percentage, 8 game-winning beauties.”
He halted the pacing and faced her with hands on hips, his expression one of lust battling disbelief.
“Did I just turn you on even more, Russian?”
“Yes!”
She winked. Evil, thy name is Isobel Chase.
Apparently this was the last straw. “Why are you torturing me? Do you not realize that if I touch you too soon, I cannot be responsible? It will be fast, brutal, lacking in finesse. This time, I promise to make it right for you.”
His admission of vulnerability floored her. To have this power over someone as self-contained as Vadim was both heady and humbling. As for the “fast and brutal” comment? Slippery warmth gushed between her thighs.
No more games. She gripped the hem of her tank and ripped it off over her head, her nipples tightening against her bra at the blue-fire flare of appreciation in his eyes. Then she stood, turned, and peeled off her leggings.
She might have paused a second just as they cleared her ass. Evil was a good look on her, and let’s face it, she had a pretty great ass. His groan filled the room like a prayer.
Still with her back to him, she finished the strip, and was now left in a black satin bra with red bows and a matching high-cut bikini from Addison Williams’s Beautiful collection—Isobel loved the complete, but still sexy, coverage of the pieces designed for full-figured women.
By the sounds she was hearing behind her, she guessed Vadim loved it, too.
Kneeling one leg on the bed, she looked over his shoulder to find him—oh yeah—stroking his erection through his sweatpants. The man was a walking god, all sculpted muscle, his body inked to highlight every ridge and plane to perfection. The spot between her thighs got warmer. Wetter.
“You wear this when you are coaching and tempting me with your black pants?”
She had tempted him in her unsexy sweats? “Sometimes. I like to feel sexy.”
“They are—you are—” He placed a hand on her hip, and she sensed both reverence and restraint, but also a heat that burned through everything. “I will make it good for you, I promise.”
He sounded so sincere—too sincere—and something tugged in her chest. A curl of regret.
She opened her mouth to respond, but got distracted when he hooked his fingers in the side of her panties and teased them off in a slow, torturous descent. And if it was this bad for her, it had to be killing him. In this position, she felt more exposed than if she had been facing him.
Leaving her panties at her knees, he traced a hand along the ladder of her spine, then circled her hip to clamp that same hand over the juncture of her thighs. Yes. Moving her ponytail aside, he nuzzled her neck and applied whisper-soft kisses to her heated skin. Just like in her car, her hips scouted ahead for pleasure, rocking and rolling. Seeking the hardness of his cock behind her, the grind of his fingers between her legs.
One of those magic digits parted her in a delicious swipe. That stroke shot erotic lightning to every extremity. “You are so wet, Bella.”
She leaned into his touch, needing more, demanding more, and this girl got her wish when he rubbed harder. Impossibly good. She moaned, encouraging him to take control.
Gripping her hip, he turned her over and pushed her back on the bed. Her panties didn’t last, and Vadim lay down beside her, still wearing sweatpants, his erection poking against her thigh. She reached for it, and he swatted her away.
“Not yet, Bella. Let me love you properly first.”
Love? Surely, just a translation hiccup. “Oh—okay.”
His fingers returned to their holy work. “I want to see your eyes.”
In case she faked it, maybe? Now she was starting to doubt. What if she’d placed too much pressure on him, which placed too much pressure on her, and she felt a need to rush them to a conclusion just so they could move past this?
“I know what you’re thinking, Bella.” Those crystalline blue eyes held hers captive, his expression grave.
“I doubt it.”
“You’re thinking that there is a lot of pressure here.” He applied a different sort of pressure with one finger, then two inside her. She accommodated the stretch by arching into the exquisite pleasure.
“There—there is. And I’m worried I’ve set us up to fail.”
His mouth descended onto hers, kissing away the worries, the doubts, the past. There was a very excellent chance she was going to come with Vadim Petrov for the first time.
“Tell me what feels good, sexy girl.”
“What you’re doing is fine.”
“Fine?”
“Good. So good.” It was, but maybe if he . . .
“Be honest, Bella. Do you need my mouth on your breasts, my tongue in your pussy? Do you need it slow or fast? Hard or soft?”
She inhaled a couple of sharp breaths. His list of all the awesome gifts he could deliver opened her up. “My clit. Go slow. Build to it. Not too fast.” The words gasped from her in staccato bursts, her honesty feeling almost as good as his fingers now moving to accommodate her request.
“Like this?”
“More like”—she placed his fingers on either side of that sensitive bundle of nerves and guided him to a steady stroke—“this. Avoid my clit until I’m all fired up.”
He smiled, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “Let us get you all fired up, Bella.”
Having this alpha warrior following her instructions was surreal. And the sensations he was producing down below were proof that honesty was the best policy. The sexiest policy.
Throughout he watched her with an intensity that should have terrified her, like a prehistoric caveman seeing a woman for the first time. But this was Vadim, the most intense man she’d ever met. Even as a boy he’d rocked her with his fierceness, and now it was amplified in the man.
“How you have changed, Bella.”
“I—I have?”
“Before you were beautiful. Now you are stunning.”
Her hips rolled against his hand, the heat in her belly intensifying and then banking as he moved away from where she needed him most. Each retreat only built the next wave of sensation higher.
No orgasm yet, but this was undoubtedly the best sex she’d ever had. He was listening, and nothing was sexier than a guy who paid attention.
Now, she thought, and before she could say it, now was happening. A soft yet sizzling touch, and all that pressure overflowed. She came hard and long, with Vadim’s fierce gaze proudly assessing her
.
He should be proud. The boy had done good.
“That—” She tried to catch her breath. “Was better.”
“It seems I can be taught more than how to improve my skating motion.”
Intense Vadim was a total stud. Funny Vadim was a threat to her heart.
She swallowed, disliking the path of her thoughts. Lust. Not a good foundation. “So, what are you waiting for? Time to get naked.”
“I am giving you time to recover,” he said, taking his forefinger, still wet with her, and sucking it into his mouth. He moaned, deep and low, as if he’d never tasted anything more satisfying. “I think I just blew your mind.”
Cocky Vadim? Yeah, he was pretty hot, too.
She gripped his erection through the fabric. Hard as those pecs, it had to be ready to blow. “You’ve been very patient.”
He uncurled her fingers. “I will have to be patient for longer. There is more for this player to learn.”
“Vadim, you don’t need to do that . . .”
“Ah, but that is exactly what I need. Again, Bella.”
“Again?”
“Yes,” he said as his mouth sought hers and destroyed her brain with an all-in kiss. “Again.”
And then he got started on again with that decadent Russian mouth trailing kisses down her stomach and beyond.
It was hard being Vadim Petrov’s coach, but someone had to do it.
FOURTEEN
Vadim slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Isobel. The clock on the nightstand said 2:15 a.m. Having lain awake for the past hour, he wanted to ensure that she was sleeping soundly before he took care of business.
Specifically, the business of his painful erection.
A night of firsts. The first time he had made Isobel come and the first time he had slept with a woman and not come himself. There was a cruel symmetry to this.
Not that the night’s events had lacked for opportunity. But from the moment he’d slid her panties off her body, from the moment his fingertips had touched her soaking pussy, he had vowed to make the night about her. After the first time, there were three more times, each more intense than the last. He had much to make up for. His pleasure could wait.
With each new orgasm, she slipped further into a semiconscious dream state, her plaintive cries of, “Let me touch you, Vadim,” fading until she finally fell asleep.
His cock had not followed suit.
He could wake her, but he’d rather take his punishment. The nearest of the two bathrooms in the suite was twenty feet away, but he passed it and headed to the one farther. Let his Girl with the Blazing Skates get her rest. She had earned it.
He would not be playing tonight and he understood that trade-offs needed to be made every day. Protecting Isobel from Shay’s filth was more important than getting ice time. There would be other chances to play, just as there would be other chances to sink inside her.
A groan spilled from his mouth at the thought. Isobel’s thighs falling open to finally embrace him, that shining invitation to line up his cock and push in, in, and home.
Facing the bathroom mirror, he wrapped his hand around this rampant beast that needed to be tamed. The first touch produced an instant leak at the broad head. This wouldn’t take long, just a few strokes to get him there.
Thinking of Isobel, he might need only one.
“Vadim?” he heard outside the door. “Are you okay?”
Chyort voz’mi! He dropped his hand. “Da—yes. Give me a moment.”
But he had left the door ajar, and she walked in, gloriously naked, her eyes wild. “What’s going on, Vadim?”
Well . . . “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Her gaze fell to his cock, which turned harder at the sight of its mistress. It should have been impossible, given how close he was to blowing his stack, but apparently this was his life now.
“You were going to go solo with this?” Amusement tinged her voice. It was no laughing matter!
Irked at her teasing, he foisted the blame back on her. “I had given you all the pleasure you could handle tonight, kroshka.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “I think we’ve determined that I can take anything you dole out, baby.”
Perhaps, but he would not inflict his insatiable demands on her. “You fell asleep in my arms, Bella. It seemed rude to just take you while you were sleeping.”
She stared at him in amazement, then stepped in and placed a hand on his chest.
“You spent hours giving me orgasm after orgasm after—”
“Orgasm?” he offered.
She pressed her body to his, and his cock jutted into her belly, a streak of liquid pleasure marking her warm skin. He inhaled sharply, desperately grasping at the tethers of his slipping control.
“So now you’re here jerking off alone instead of taking what belongs to you?”
His nostrils flared, every masculine sense heightened. Moya. Mine. Yes, she belonged to him. Then. Now. “I was taking the edge off. I planned to fuck you properly when you had rested.”
She brushed his lips with her own, then licked and bit his lower lip. He moaned against her mouth and ground his cock into her stomach.
“Tonight you can have me anytime you want me, Vadim. Please don’t jerk yourself off unless you invite me to watch.”
An animalistic groan tore from his throat, and in a flash, he hitched her so she sat on the bathroom counter. His hands roved her body, not knowing where to start with this feast.
“What can I do, Vadim? Touch you? Suck you? Tell me what you need.”
“You. I need you. I need . . . inside.” He could barely form words. “Now.”
She spread her thighs, her glistening pussy shining like a target, and he could no longer wait. He plunged into her and filled her to the hilt. She screamed her pleasure, clamping down with those strong, athletic muscles. Pure and perfect torture.
He withdrew, dipping his gaze to where their bodies had joined, and realized his error. No condom.
Frustration marred the ecstasy on her face. “Get one on. Now!”
Yes, my sweet. Fumbling with his toiletry bag, he found the packet and ripped it open. His cock was coated with her—she was wet, so wet—and the lubricant of her body ensured a quick roll-on of the rubber. He placed his hands under her ass and dragged her forward.
“Hold on, Bella. Do not let go.”
But before he plunged deep again, he found her mouth with his and kissed her with all he had. She dug her nails into his ass and urged him forward. “Fill me up, Russian.”
“Koldunya!” Witch.
He drove deep, a thick, hard thrust that would have smashed her through the vanity’s mirror if he had not been holding her tightly. His rhythm was unsteady, ragged, every stroke an extension of the jumbled thoughts in his brain.
Harder. Faster. Make it better than before. Better for her.
Realizing that he needed to think of her pleasure, he slowed.
She moaned against his mouth. “Don’t stop. Take what you need, baby. Make it fast. Brutal. Make it everything.”
If only she knew what she asked. If he were to do that, he would consume her.
But his cock had heard her words and didn’t care about the destruction it wanted to wreak. All restraint broke its bounds.
His hips flexed, pounding into her again and again. Taking what belonged to him. What had always belonged to him, though he had been too young to understand.
I will not last. I cannot last.
She heard his thoughts. Perhaps he had spoken them. Still holding on to his shoulder, she dipped the fingers of her free hand between their bodies and touched herself, freeing a lusty moan. He knew her body now. Knew she had to be on fire because that was her torch song.
“Yes, Vad, yes!” He felt the flood of her pleasure, a heat infusion even through the condom, and though he was ready, he stilled. Needing to feel her hold him caged through her orgasm.
Feel what it is like to have your woman come on your cock, y
ou dumb fucking kid.
This time he had given pleasure that was her right. Two more thrusts and he let go, the peak reached, coming for what seemed like minutes. Hours. Forever.
Spent, he lay his forehead against hers, panting his way back to even. Their breaths found a steady tempo, a strange peace after an encounter that had felt like a battle.
Still buried in her, he kissed her softly. “That is why I left your arms.”
“Because I don’t deserve sex this good?”
He smiled at her take on it. “I knew I could not be gentle. It would be an invasion. A conquest.”
“Good thing I have this need to be conquered.” She stroked a line along his jaw. “You’re the one who said we should be honest.”
“Men will say anything to get what they want.”
“So will women.” She pressed her lips to his. “You know, I thought you woke me up. I could’ve sworn I heard you saying, ‘Bella, I am here. Wake up.’ I must have dreamed it. I was so confused that you weren’t there in bed with me.”
“You have a common condition called orgasm brain.”
“Let me guess. The cure is more orgasms?”
“How did you know?” Chuckling, he slipped from her and disposed of the condom. Then he scooped her up into his arms.
“Vadim! I’m too heavy. And you have to watch your knee.”
“Yes, Coach.” Ignoring her protests, he carried her back to bed. She was as light as air, and he felt invincible with her in the cradle of his body.
A satiated and showered Isobel found Dante in the hotel restaurant, fully suited up, perfectly put together, slicing into his eggs Benedict with a strange formality. Evidently the man was incapable of leaving his room without looking like David Gandy’s runway understudy.
He’d had a short but successful career in the NHL until a bum knee—the same injury as Vadim’s—prompted his retirement. Contrary to the image he presented now, he was known then as an enforcer at a time when there had been more violence in the league. She’d seen videos—this guy knew how to fight. Hockey brought out the darker, baser instincts of a person’s personality.
She sat opposite him. His heavy sigh was a smidge over the top.
“If you wanted to eat alone, you should have ordered room service.”