The Dirty Girls Book Club

by Savanna Fox

  At least she didn’t look as if she was trying too hard.

  She tossed her hair, enjoying the way the loose waves tumbled around her face.

  Hmm. The Beavers thought Woody’s haircut had brought him luck. Maybe hers had too, or at least the confidence to believe in her own sexuality.

  “Of course,” she murmured to Kit-Kat, “I’m really just tending to my health. Dr. Lily said so.”

  Ready with time to spare, she pulled out her e-reader. The Comte was making love to Emma in front of the fire in her room.

  Erotica, Georgia knew by now, had the power to arouse the reader. Tonight, the sensual passages combined with her memories of last night, the experience of watching Woody on TV as he dominated the ice, and the knowledge that he wanted her. By the time his knock sounded at the door, her nipples were hard and the crotch of her pajama pants was damp.

  She opened the door to him, all big and strong in one of his ill-fitting suits, the knot of his tie loosened and a couple of shirt buttons undone. His face was less swollen than last night, but his black eye was more pronounced.

  His gaze swept her, and his smile flashed. “Jesus, look at you. You’re so damned hot.”

  “Hi, W—”

  Her greeting got lost in the kiss he planted on her lips, a kiss that carried her back against the wall of her entranceway. A hot, minty kiss that zinged all the way through her body to curl her toes. A kiss that had her thrusting her tongue into his mouth, driving her fingers through his hair, and twining her body around him like he was a maypole and she was one of the colored streamers.

  No, the only colored streamer, because he’d chosen her.

  Heart racing, panting for breath, she broke the kiss. “Woody, you won! You were terrific. How do you feel?”

  “Fucking fantastic.” Pinning her against the wall, he kissed her again, his lips and tongue hungry and demanding. His erection thrust insistently against her belly. This wasn’t last night’s tender, considerate lover, but his touch was just as arousing.

  Finally, his whole body taut, he pulled his mouth away from hers. “Not here, not like this.” He, too, was gasping for breath. “You deserve better.”

  But she wanted him now, here, with this urgency. It was like that first time, when he’d taken her on the conference table—but better, so much better. They knew each other, liked each other; they were lovers rather than strangers. And, God knew, she was ready—so ready—for him.

  “No.” She stared into his eyes, the blue of a deep, deep ocean. “I want you now. Here. Exactly like this.”

  She went for the knot of his tie, loosening it further until, standing on tiptoe, she could pull the strip of fabric over his head.

  He looked a little stunned, then said, “Hell, yeah!”

  She tackled the buttons of his shirt, but before she could undo more than a couple, he thrust her down so her heels hit the floor with a thump.

  “No,” she protested, then realized he was whipping off his suit jacket.

  His hands went for the buckle of his belt, and she renewed her attack on his shirt. Between them, they had him stripped in seconds flat, and he’d found a condom in his pocket and put it on.

  She’d barely had a chance to admire his sculpted nudity, his impressive erection, when she was blinded by him tugging her cami over her head. As soon as it was gone, he yanked her pants down her hips.

  Before she could step out of them, Woody hoisted her free of them. She clung tight, arms and legs around him as he braced her shoulders against the wall and reached down, his fingers stroking between her legs.

  She was wet, so hungry for him that dampness tracked down her inner thighs.

  Woody’s fingers parted her folds, the head of his thick cock nudged between them, and she gasped at how delicious it felt.

  She wanted, wanted, wanted this, exactly this. More than this. Gasping, she tilted her hips, urging him to thrust into her, to go deeper, to stroke every part of her that was crying out for attention.

  Already aroused beyond belief, pure erotic pleasure built with each stroke, climbed, came together. When finally, finally, he jerked his hips harder and thrust deep into her core, she exploded with a cry.

  Gaze fixed on her face, he kept pumping, his cock stroking every sensitive cell, prolonging her climax as she shuddered helplessly around him until his wrenching groan signaled his own release.

  Panting, drained, her body sagged, but somehow Woody still managed to hold her up, sandwiching her between his heaving chest and the unyielding wall.

  Eventually she recovered enough presence of mind to think about his shoulder. “Let me down,” she gasped.

  He lowered her, holding her steady until her trembling legs managed to take her weight. “Man, Georgia, that’s not what I expected.”

  She tilted her head and looked up at him. “What did you expect?”

  His eyes twinkled. “I think there was a bed in it.”

  “That could be arranged.” He might not be self-conscious about nudity, but she was, so she bent to slip on her pajama pants and cami. “Would you like something to drink? Ice for your shoulder? How’s it doing?”

  “It’s”—he stepped into his boxer briefs and pants, picked up his shirt—“okay. Better than last night. Didn’t get any hits on it tonight.” He pulled on the shirt but didn’t button it. “Wouldn’t say no to some ice, though. And a big glass of water.”

  “Sit down in the living room and I’ll bring them to you.”

  “You don’t need to wait on me.”

  “You worked hard tonight. You deserve it.”

  “And you deserve more than a back-against-the-wall fuck in the hallway.” His eyes peered down into her own.

  “That was exactly what I wanted,” she assured him. “Later, though, for round two …”

  He chuckled. “Whatever you want, soon as I get my second wind.”

  Smiling, she went to the kitchen.

  When she walked into the living room a few minutes later with ice packs, his water, and a glass of red wine for herself, Woody was sprawled on her couch, feet up on the coffee table. A second later, he dropped his feet to the floor. “Sorry. Forgot.”

  “It’s okay. Assuming those are clean socks,” she teased.

  His feet went back up. He took the ice pack and applied it to his shoulder, then accepted the glass of water and drank thirstily. When he put the glass down, almost empty, he said, “Come here,” and curved the arm on his good side invitingly.

  She settled beside him.

  “I’m glad you’ve stopped worrying about the work thing,” he said.

  “All the same, I doubt my boss would be impressed. So let’s keep this private, okay?”

  “Works for me. I’m a pretty private person anyhow.” He took a deep breath. “There’s something else. I don’t want to, uh … Don’t want you to think … I mean, you said you’re pretty serious about relationships and—”

  “It’s okay,” she stopped him. “I know we’re not soul mates.” After all, how many soul mates came along in a lifetime? “But I’ve decided there’s nothing wrong with great sex.”

  He gave a relieved smile. “I like that attitude.”

  “I thought you might. Now, tell me about the game. How did it feel out there?”

  “Felt the way it should,” he said with satisfaction.

  “You made that first goal so quickly. That must have been good for your team’s confidence.”

  “And mine. Yeah, we needed that. We sure as hell needed tonight.”

  She nestled closer into the curve of his arm and sipped her wine. “It’s great when you get the thing you need at just the right time.” As had happened tonight, when Woody showed up at her door.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I want to understand the game better. Take me through it.”

  He complied, and as he talked and she asked questions, she thought how cozy this was. It reminded her of being with Anthony, of how they’d both relax in the living room in the ev
ening, chatting about their days or relaxing with their books. Feeling at home together.

  How strange. Her relationship with Woody was nothing like her marriage to Anthony. If she was thinking about the long term, about finding another soul mate, she’d choose a very different man. A man who was …

  Smart and capable. A man who had principles and who looked after the people he cared about. A man who pursued a career because he loved it, not because of the status it might bring.

  Fine. Woody had lots of good qualities. But the bottom line was that, in the long term, what she wanted from a man was marriage, and Woody wanted to be footloose and fancy-free.

  She could opt into that for the short term, and reap the rewards. Yes, she would take a page from Lady Emma’s book and enjoy being with a sexy, interesting guy who’d complete her sexual education.

  Friday night, the Beavers did what they had to do. In a closely fought four–three away game, they tied up the Western Conference. When the team was showered and changed, free of the press, they climbed into limos to go enjoy a celebratory dinner.

  “You guys played great tonight,” Woody said to the players in his limo. And so had he. Maybe because of the kinky phone sex he’d had with Georgia last night. She’d seemed shy at first, and he’d enjoyed knowing she was blushing when he talked dirty to her and made her touch herself. As he pumped his cock, he’d closed his eyes and imagined her hands, her mouth.

  He couldn’t wait to get back to Vancouver.

  “The Anaheim fans hate us tonight,” Stu Connolly said with satisfaction. “You hear all the boos?”

  “Wait for Sunday in Vancouver,” Woody said. “Vancouver fans will lift the top off the arena.” He paused for emphasis. “When we win.”

  “Damn right,” The Hammer said.

  “We’re going all the way,” Bouchard said. “I can taste that Cup now.” He ran a hand through his neatly trimmed hair. “We’ll take that fucker to Christopher’s salon, let him touch it.”

  “Man’s a fucking genius,” Stu agreed.

  “Who do you think we’ll be up against in the playoffs?” Dmitri Federov asked.

  It was the perennial question. Last night, the Pittsburgh Penguins had tied it up three-three with the Washington Capitals in the Eastern Conference. The winner would be determined Saturday night. “Wouldn’t bet either way,” Woody said.

  They knew the strengths and weaknesses of each team and each player. Whether it was the Penguins or the Caps, they’d be in for a fight. But that was how it should be. The Stanley Cup had to mean something.

  “We came so damned close last year,” Dmitri said. “We’re taking that Cup home this time.”

  “Damn right,” The Hammer said again.

  “What’s it feel like?” Stu asked eagerly. “Skating around the rink hoisting that cup? Woody, Dmitri, you’ve done it.”

  “Best thing in the world,” the Russian said, kissing his Stanley Cup ring.

  “That’s for sure,” Woody confirmed, fingering his own. “All the hard work, all the dreams, they come together in that moment.” He glanced at Dmitri. “Turns you into brothers, right? All those guys whose names go on the cup beside yours, it’s a bond that’ll always be with you.”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  He and the goaltender had both played for the Beavers when the team won four years ago. The experience had been incredible. Last year, his second as captain, they’d lost in overtime on the seventh game. This time, he wanted his team to have that experience of skating around the arena carrying thirty-four and a half pounds of hockey history, legend, and achievement.

  In the back of the limo, there was a long, profound silence, and he knew each man was envisioning the same thing.

  It was Stu who broke the moment. “What time’s our flight in the morning? Once we eat, I’m getting together with that sexy Asian sports reporter.”

  “Flight’s at nine,” Woody said. “Don’t be late.”

  He’d have told Stu that sleep was a better idea than sex, but hell, the kid was young and did fine with no sleep. The Texan liked to party a bit, but he didn’t do drugs, never got drunk, and always showed up on time for practice and worked his butt off.

  In fact, he wasn’t all that different from Woody, though now Woody usually confined the late nights to regular season and kept his focus on hockey during the playoffs.

  This thing he was into with Georgia was different. Now that they were finally in sync, she no longer distracted him on the ice. The thought of her gave him a charge of energy and happiness that made him feel even more in the zone when he was playing.

  “You got a booty call tonight, Cap?” Stu asked slyly.

  Call being the operative word. Oh, yeah, he’d be phoning Georgia. “That’s for me to know.” He fought back a smug grin.

  Twenty-four

  Late Sunday afternoon, Georgia joined the excited crowd streaming toward Rogers Arena. The only time she’d been here before was for the Stars on Ice figure-skating show, and then the crowd had been 90 percent female. Today, she saw men and women, young and old, and lots of families with excited children. Numerous people wore brown-and-caramel Beavers jerseys or tees.

  The woman waiting by gate three, her red hair pulled up with artful casualness so that curly tendrils drifted free, wore a V-necked Beavers tee with her figure-hugging jeans. Was the neck of her T-shirt lower than everyone else’s, or was it just that she was particularly well-endowed? Was it husband number three or number four who’d paid for those breasts?

  “Hi, Bernadette.”

  Her mom hugged her. “Look at you! My little girl’s finally turning into a woman.”

  Was that a compliment or a backhanded insult? Georgia wore a Beavers jersey along with beige pants. Neither garment was a size too small like her mom’s, but the clothes accented her own curves. Her hair was loose and free, and she’d added dangly copper earrings.

  “So,” Bernadette said, eyes gleaming, “you’re dating a hockey star.”

  “I keep telling you, he’s a business colleague.” No, she didn’t want her mom knowing she was sleeping with Woody. Next thing, Bernadette would have them married off.

  When Woody’d offered her two tickets, Georgia had thought twice, thrice, even four times before inviting her mom. When she’d mentioned the possibility to Woody, she’d said that, while she loved her mom, things were never easy between them. They always fell into the same old patterns.

  He’d responded, “Then change it up. See what happens.”

  And so she had.

  As the two women jostled their way through the gate among the boisterous crowd, Georgia tried to be nice. “I’m glad you came, but I’m surprised you were willing to leave your new guy.”

  “We’re going to have a late dinner after the game. Fabio’s golfing right now.” She narrowed her eyes. “We’re not bonded at the hip.”

  “Seems to me that when you get together with a new guy, it can be pretty, uh, intense.” As in, bonded at the hip.

  “That’s what love’s like, baby.” She paused. “Well, maybe not for you and Anthony. You guys were so young when you became friends.” For once, there wasn’t an edge to her voice. Bernadette had approved of Anthony and his obvious love for Georgia.

  “True.” They’d been fourteen, and love had grown out of friendship, more mellow than intense.

  With Woody, it could be pretty intense. But of course that was lust, not love. Which was likely what Bernadette was experiencing with Fabio. That, and her perpetual need to be half of a couple, to have some guy think she was wonderful.

  Feeling a little sorry for Bernadette, Georgia looped her arm through hers. “A drink? I have a feeling beer’s the popular choice.”

  “I feel more like wine.”

  Georgia couldn’t help thinking that if her mom had been with Fabio and he’d wanted beer, that was what she’d have had too. “Sounds good. I’m buying.”

  In a concourse that smelled of pizza, burgers, and mini-doughnuts, they got plast
ic tumblers of wine, white for Georgia and red for Bernadette.

  “Where are we sitting?” her mom asked.

  “Woody offered me options, and I chose seats close to the ice.”

  “Cool. We’ll get all that ‘roar of the greasepaint and smell of the crowd’ stuff up close and personal.”

  Trust Bernadette to find a way of mentioning a musical she’d once played in. A freelance graphic designer by profession, she was also an amateur actress. She was talented at both careers, but never achieved a lot of success because she didn’t give them top priority. The men in her life always came first.

  To Georgia’s mind, a man who loved you should care about your career—and vice versa. That was how it had been with her and Anthony, who’d been working on his PhD in sociology when he died.

  She and her mom found their seats, six rows up and roughly in the middle of the arena. They’d be able to see the action on both sides.

  “This is exciting.” Bernadette bumped her shoulder against Georgia’s as people poured into the building to fill the seats.

  “It is.” The air almost crackled with it. A nervous shiver rippled through Georgia. The next three hours would determine whether Woody and the Beavers made it into the Stanley Cup playoffs.

  If she was a praying woman, she’d have gone down on her knees. She knew how much the playoffs meant to Woody.

  “You’re looking great,” Bernadette said. “Love the hair. The job’s going well, and this new campaign you’re in charge of?”

  Surprised that her mom had remembered, much less commented, she said, “Yes, it’s great. Thanks for asking.”

  “And you’re feeling good? How about those headaches?”

  “You know, I haven’t had one in days.” Hopefully, being with her mom wouldn’t trigger one tonight.

  Bernadette winked. “Great sex cures all ills.”

  “I’m not—”

  The crowd’s roar stopped her before she could finish the lie. The players were coming into the arena, and everyone leaped to their feet, chanting, “Bash ’em, Beavers!”