by Savanna Fox
Expecting him to carry her to the bedroom, she was startled when, after kicking free of his pants and underwear, he merely walked around to the back of the couch. He eased her away from him so that his erection sprang free, and let her down to the floor. “Turn around.”
Not sure what he had in mind, she slowly obeyed as he said, “Bend over, holding on to the top of the couch.”
Hesitantly, she gripped the back of the couch with both hands and stretched out so her torso leaned toward the couch and her butt thrust toward Woody. She felt so vulnerable like this. She’d never had sex this way, and wasn’t sure if she wanted to.
He raised her slip past her waist, but didn’t pull her thong off. “You have the sexiest ass.” He brought his body up behind hers, leaning over so his front met her back and one arm hugged around her. His cock nudged her tangled thong; then he tugged it aside again.
She was so slick with her own juices, he slid inside easily, fully, and she gasped with the delicious impact. Oh yes. She did want this. It felt amazing, being cradled against him as he pumped forward into her. Woody truly was giving her a sexual education.
He buried his face in the back of her neck, pressing kisses to her nape beneath the loose curls of hair. Her nape was sensitive—another erogenous zone he’d revealed to her. Shivers of arousal tingled from where his tongue teased her exposed skin, and deeper ones pulsed from her core, where he thrust harder now.
She gripped the couch, bracing herself to take his thrusts and push back against him.
“God, Georgia,” he panted against her skin. “Can’t get enough of you.” He kissed his way around to that particularly sensitive spot on her neck, sucked, then nipped her.
“Oh!” A second orgasm built within her, more quickly than she’d have believed possible. Would Woody last long enough to carry her along with him when he came?
Bracing herself against the couch, she gazed down again, to see her breasts in black lace jiggling with each thrust, a strong arm holding her captive. Was this really her, this wanton, sexy creature arching to take the powerful thrusts of her lover?
“Damn, I need to come,” he gasped. His thumb, rough with urgency, touched her clit. “Come with me.”
She was so aroused, so sensitive, that one touch, one command, was all it took to topple her, and they climaxed together for what seemed like forever.
After, they remained like that, bent over, his body curved over hers. Finally, he groaned and straightened, and she gingerly did the same. “I should take yoga,” she murmured, rubbing her lower back as she turned to face him. “I’m not as flexible as I should be.”
“And I’m not as young as I once was.” His eyes sparkled with humor. “What say we both go curl up in a nice, comfy, big bed?”
“That sounds very appealing.” And not only because she could stretch out her aching back. She loved sharing the night with him, one of them spooning the other, or him on his back with her nestled in the curve of his arm.
Twenty-seven
How could a guy feel like an old man and a teenager, all at the same time? As Woody took his turn in the bathroom after Georgia, his body ached like he’d been run over by a Zamboni, yet he felt terrific. An endorphin high from the great sex, he figured. Not to mention the thrill of winning the first game in the playoffs, topped off by coming home to find Georgia looking über-hot in skimpy black lace.
A man couldn’t ask for a better day.
He popped a muscle relaxant and a painkiller and, whistling, walked naked from the bathroom.
Draped over a chair by the bed was Georgia’s black slip, and she was tucked between the covers, grinning at him. “Woody, you’re a terrible whistler.”
“Gotta have one thing I’m not perfect at,” he joked back.
Was this woman really his lucky charm?
His life had sure improved since she came into it. Except for that VitalSport contract, but even the marketing campaign wasn’t turning out so bad. People were giving him respect, not just because he looked good in the clothes, but because he was making a contribution to the campaign. Which reminded him …
“Hey, I forgot to tell you.” He slipped between the sheets and gathered Georgia’s warm body into his arms. “You know that Ellen DeGeneres Show thing?”
She gave a tolerant smile. “It’s all right. I know it’s not feasible.” He cocked his head. “Huh?”
“We didn’t include it in our plans.”
“You didn’t think I’d come through,” he realized, a little miffed. But then, how many guys could pick up a phone and secure a spot on the most popular TV talk show?
“Woody, it’s all right. It would be really tough to—”
“How does Wednesday, two weeks from now, work?”
“Wh-what?” She gaped at him.
Smugly, he went on. “There’s a spot if we want it. But I need to get back to Ellen tomorrow. What do you say?”
“Seriously? Oh, Woody,” she squealed and hugged him tight. Tight enough to make him wince. “That’s fantastic!”
“I’m glad you’re happy.”
She settled back, lying on her side so she could look at him. “While we’re on the subject, there’s something else I need to tell you about the campaign.”
“Yeah?”
“You know we were planning a formal launch next week, just before the Boys and Girls Club fund-raiser on Saturday?”
He winced again, this time at the thought of his photos—in underwear—plastered everywhere. “Uh-huh.”
“Well, Terry had a great idea. He suggested we use teasers instead, pretending they’re insider leaks. Marco Sanducci’s keen on it. Terry’s setting up a Facebook page, supposedly written by an anonymous female fan, and it’ll have sneak-peek stuff. Photos before they’re retouched, which we’ll label ‘Woody: Raw.’ ”
He groaned.
“Man up, tough guy,” she teased. “We’ll have short clips on You-Tube. Terry’s been shooting video, right? ‘Fangirl’ will tweet everything. We’re hoping it’ll go viral. That’s more contemporary and exciting than a traditional launch.”
“I guess it makes sense,” he said grudgingly. People loved the idea of getting insider scoops, and viral buzz was a big deal.
“We’re starting tomorrow, so the confidentiality ban is lifted. Feel free to tell your teammates and friends—the more, the better.”
“Oh, great.” He’d be in for the razzing of his life when those underwear ads came out. Couple years ago, one of the guys had done a nude shoot for a women’s mag and the rest of the team—Woody included—had made huge posters and stuck them up in the players’ lounge.
“If you don’t tell them, they’ll find out on their own.”
True, and maybe the timing wasn’t so bad. He’d keep the guys so focused on the playoffs that the VitalSport thing would barely be a blip on their radar.
“On a happier subject,” he said, tugging her back into the curve of his shoulder. “I talked to my mom.”
“She’s still feeling good?”
“Better every day. I think this is working.” And how great it felt to share his happiness with Georgia.
Woody’d always kept pretty quiet about his personal life. With his teammates, he was a dedicated player and an easygoing guy to talk sports with in the bar. With women, he was an easygoing guy who liked females and sex. Somehow, with Georgia, he’d found himself revealing more and more about the shadows that haunted him. The only thing he hadn’t told her about was his former agent’s betrayal, because he’d promised to keep the fraud a secret as long as Martin stuck with Gamblers Anonymous. Though Woody’d told his judge friend in confidence, it didn’t feel right to tell anyone else.
Georgia rested her head on his chest. “That’s wonderful about your mom. You take good care of her.”
“As much as she’ll let me.” Much as he loved his mom, it was hard to think of her without feeling guilty, and a little angry that she’d never looked after herself, or let him do it.
&nb
sp; “Parents are supposed to love and protect us, and it’s hard when the roles shift.” She sighed, her breath warm against his skin. “It’s also really hard on a kid when their parents don’t protect them as well as they should.”
He guessed his mom had done her best, but she’d stayed with that asshole when he hit both of them. She’d told Woody marriage was forever. To him, marriage had looked like hell.
He’d rather talk about Georgia’s family. “You and your mom have some issues.”
“We do.”
“She’s always loved you, though?”
“Yes.” He heard an unspoken “but.”
So, he said it. “But?”
“Her life centered on the men. Her husbands and boyfriends. She was all about being part of a couple, not about being an individual or a mom.”
He knew that feeling, but this was her story so he kept quiet.
“It wasn’t all bad, because it taught me to be independent and to think for myself. But … she didn’t protect me as well as she could have.”
Her body had tensed, and his did too. “Tell me,” he urged.
She was quiet for a long moment. “She dressed me in clothes that were too sexy for my age.” Another pause. “When I was thirteen, one of her boyfriends started coming on to me.”
Anger made his hand tighten on her shoulder. “Shit, Georgia. He didn’t—”
“No, nothing that extreme. But he brushed against me and … fondled me. I knew it was wrong, but I was scared to tell Bernadette because I figured she’d take his side.”
Shit! Rage coursed through him. “I’d like to beat up the bastard.” And castrate him.
“I was in bad shape. I gained weight, threw out all the clothes my mom had bought, and wore boy’s clothes. Bernadette reamed me out for it.”
“Oh man, you poor kid.” Now he wanted to yell at her mom.
“Finally, in tears, I burst out with the story.” Wonder in her voice, she went on. “I was sure she wouldn’t believe me, but she did. She dumped the guy.”
“Thank God.” Too bad his mom hadn’t had the guts to dump his dad.
“I started to feel better about myself and I lost the weight, but I never wanted to wear the kind of clothes she liked. I met Anthony the next year and—thank heavens—he didn’t care how I dressed. He liked me for who I was. He respected me.”
Woody thought about how she’d looked when he first met her. All tailored and stiff. She’d said she wanted to be professional, that gender didn’t belong in the workplace, that she’d never use feminine wiles to get a promotion. All of that was true, he was sure, but there was more to it. A part of her was still scared that a man might try to take advantage of her.
No wonder she’d picked a sensitive, intellectual guy like Anthony. The surprising thing was that she’d given Woody a second look, much less let herself be seduced into having sex with him. He was an aberration—maybe a walk on the wild side.
She was an aberration for him too: as unlike his usual dates as a woman could get. And he, a man of action and not of sensitivity, was in way over his head.
“I’m really glad you met a guy who treated you right,” he said gruffly. “And I wish your mom would, you know, get who you are and respect that.” Anthony would’ve had something much wiser to say, but that was the best Woody could do.
“Actually, things are better between us, and it’s thanks to you.”
“Me?” Had he heard right?
“You were right about changing things up by inviting Bernadette to the game. We kind of bonded. And talked. It was good. But now she’s nagging me about bringing you over for dinner.”
He chuckled. “Her and Tom Westin. He’s trying to fix a time for me to come for dinner after the playoffs, and he invited you.”
“Woody.” Her voice was tentative. “Does it bother you that they’re treating us as if we’re, um, a couple?”
He hadn’t thought much about it, but now he did. Meeting her mom? Guys met the parents when a relationship was, well, a relationship. “Guess we’d better set them straight.” And then a horrible thought dawned on him. They’d talked about this, but women’s minds worked in mysterious ways.
“You don’t, I mean … You know that I, uh …” Crap, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Georgia. “You don’t do relationships,” she said flatly, lifting her head from his chest and staring at him. “That’s what you’re trying to say.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yeah. I mean, not that you aren’t terrific, but—”
“Stop.” She shook her head. “Yes, I know this is just casual.” She turned away to lie on her back and pulled the sheet snugly up under her armpits, securing it across her chest with folded arms. “Long term, I want something very different than you do. Commitment, marriage, fidelity. You’ve always made it clear you don’t even believe in”—she swallowed—“serial monogamy, so I never—”
“Shit. You don’t think I’ve been sleeping with someone else while we’ve been together?”
Her head turned and wide amber eyes studied him. “To be honest, I hoped not.”
“I haven’t.” He hadn’t felt the slightest urge to be with another woman.
A hint of a smile quivered on her lips, then faded. “Woody, I like you. I know you like me. We’ve shared something that’s special to me. I’ll always remember it.”
“It’s special for me too.” He’d never spoken those words to a woman before, and they tasted odd on his tongue, yet strangely right. He would remember her too. He’d remember how she changed his luck, got him back in the zone out on the ice, set him on the path to the Stanley Cup. He’d remember coming home to her in black lace, having her take care of him, sharing secrets while they snuggled in bed.
And the sex, of course. He’d remember the mind-blowing sex.
Shit. He’d really miss her. Before, no woman had ever gotten close enough that he missed her. What the hell was going on here?
That little smile flickered again. “But don’t worry. I never believed we had a future together.”
Nor had he. So why did Georgia’s words make him feel sad?
He was the guy whose parents had soured him on marriage. The guy who’d never even thought about a future with a woman. Not the guy who maybe, sometimes, secretly envied his teammates who had wives and kids cheering for them in the stands, and waiting at home when they came back from a road trip.
Nah, he wasn’t that guy.
“Night, Woody,” Georgia said, rolling onto her side with her back to him.
“Night, Georgia.” He lay on his back for a couple of minutes, then couldn’t resist moving over in the bed to spoon her warm, vanilla-scented body.
Wednesday morning, the team was scheduled for a light practice. When everyone was there, Woody called them together: players, coaches, athletic trainers, equipment manager,
medical staff.
Before signing the endorsement contract, he’d cleared it with the NHL and with the Beavers’ GM and coaches, but everyone else would be hearing about it for the first time.
“Just wanted you to know, I’m doing an endorsement for Vital-Sport, the American company that sells sports clothes and equipment. They’re coming into Canada.”
Though endorsements were normal for hockey players, everyone knew Woody had resisted, so he got some ribbing and questions.
“VitalSport makes good stuff,” he said. “Their clothes are comfortable, look good; people can afford them. And we’re not just promoting the product”—this was a point Georgia had impressed on him—“we’re promoting recreation, fitness. If the ads get people to pick up a golf club or tennis racquet and get some exercise, that’s a good thing, right?”
“And they’re paying you the big bucks,” Stu joked.
“That too,” he admitted. Should he mention the underwear ads? Nah. He’d deal with the taunts when he had to.
Mike Duffy, the head coach, said, “I still can’t believe you’re doing this. You’re the guy who hates pro
mo. We’re always dragging you to interviews. Though I gotta admit, you’ve been doing better lately.”
“Yeah, well.” Thanks to rehearsals with Terry Banerjee, Woody did feel more comfortable with the media. He’d always be most at home on the ice, but he was getting to where he could hold his own when a mike was thrust in front of his face.
“Okay, guys,” Coach Duffy said, “let’s talk hockey.”
Grateful to no longer be the center of attention, Woody watched and listened as the coaches ran video of the game last night, freezing the action and using a Telestrator to highlight strengths and weaknesses. The players shared their perspectives, and they all talked strategy.
Before the team headed out on the ice to practice, Woody said, “You guys did great last night, but we can’t rest on our laurels. You can bet, as much as we’re strategizing, the Caps are doing more. They’re the underdogs, and they’ll fight back with a vengeance. We can’t ease up for a moment. Imagine if it was us, one game down. Think how determined you’d be to turn things around.”
Heads nodded as he went on. “We have to be that determined, and more. That focused, that skilled. I know you’re all hurting. When you’re off the ice, take care of yourselves. Massage, physio, lots of rest, eat properly, be careful with the booze. But once you set foot on the ice, there’s no pain, no doubt, no hesitation. You’re one hundred fifty percent. Body, mind, focus. You can’t be anything less. None of us can.”
He paused to glance at his team. He saw bruises and stitches but, as his eyes met those of each player in turn, he also saw total determination, a primal drive to win.
Though his shoulder was killing him, he held himself straight and tall, proud of the whole damned bunch of them. He kissed the Stanley Cup ring on his finger. “This is what we’re doing it for. For the ring, the Cup. For going down in history. But more than that, for each other, and for the fans.” He pumped his fist in the air and bellowed, “Bash ’em, Beavers!”
They all shouted back in unison.
He took a moment to savor their combined ferocity, then sent them onto the ice.
Before the game tomorrow, he’d give them a similar talk. But this morning had been crucial. He wanted them to feel pride in last night’s victory, but not to get cocky.