Page 50 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Sixteen

Beth

I was on the couch, even though I hadn’t had any more episodes of dizziness, when I heard the bolt scrape in the lock.

It wasn’t fear that slid through me at that sound.

It was…anticipation.

I’d known he was going to come, had seen it in his eyes, knew it in my gut.

Just like I knew I was going to take care of him, to try my best to keep him outside the castle gates. And worst case, to get him sorted, I would consider letting him into the first floor. Of course, I’d make doubly sure that the basement was extra, super-duper barricaded, just in case.

Because I didn’t like to think about what was down there.

And I was never, ever going to tell anyone about it.

The way the police had looked at me, how my family had looked at me, the whispered words and sharp glances…no.

Just… no.

The physical door swung open at the same time I threw my mental door, locking that shit down.

Raph crept in.

I didn’t need the lights on to know it was him. I’d watched him enough to have memorized his body, his gait. He closed the door almost silently behind him and then moved into the entryway, body turning and freezing when he saw I was sitting up on the couch.

Wearing the thigh-high boots and a jersey with his name and number on it…

I’d hit the pro shop during intermission.

I’d picked up the jersey after the game.

Was I sliding down a stupid slippery slope that was going to end up with my heart broken and Raph hopefully understanding that not all women were like Monica?

Yup. Was I being a presumptuous mofo who thought that I could fix a good man?

Also, yup. But I was good at caring for people, for giving them the pieces.

And like I’d said, Raph was a good person.

I wanted to give him the pieces to make a good life.

I dropped my feet to the floor, pushed up to standing.

“Beth.”

It was a rasp, dragging over my skin like it was his tongue making patterns, raising goose bumps.

“Oliver said I needed your jersey.”

I spun slowly, showing him my back, and felt the air in the room grow still. But it wasn’t cold. It was scorching hot, leaving my skin feeling charred, as though if I ran my fingers over the surface, it would all turn to ash.

He took one step toward me. Stopped.

“Why?” he croaked.

It was easy to lock everything up and just be in the moment when he sounded like that, when I was watching every line of his body being held in taut control. Except his hands. His hands were shaking.

Until he clenched them in fists at his sides.

“Why?” I asked, playfulness coursing through me.

He was a big bad hockey player, and I could see that his control was splintering, that he was on the edge and holding himself back…and I wanted to tease him.

“Yeah. Why?”

Hoarse words.

Another step.

More halting, his body practically vibrating now.

Moisture between my legs, need coiling through my belly, reminding me I hadn’t had a man in a long time, hadn’t had anyone down there who wasn’t a doctor trying to put these babies in my belly.

I wanted Raph.

I wanted to make him smile and laugh and to brighten his day.

I wanted to make him lose control.

I wanted just a little more of him being soft, his care, just a little bit more of him bringing me water and looking at me with gentle eyes and making me toast.

Until he realized what I was, where he would never get.

Until he understood that I was too much trouble.

Until he gave up and left.

Until—

“Beth.”

My name was sharp, and I blinked, threw the heavy log that would secure the gates, and shut everything down except for this moment, this man, the heat of his gaze, the way his body and hands shaking had desire slinking through me.

“Sugarpie,” I said understanding what he wanted, that he needed to know why I was doing this, wanting the explanation. “And water bottles and fancy grilled cheese and toast with strawberry jelly. And”—my voice dropped—“you seem to finally want me, too.”

Between one blink and the next, he was in front of me, his body close enough for me to feel the heat of his.

“I’ve always wanted you.”

A sharp inhale, the babies’ movements picking up speed. “What?” I breathed on the exhale.

His eyes blazed. “I saw those red lips and wanted them wrapped around my cock.”

My heart had been beating fast, and I hadn’t realized quite how quickly until it increased its pace with those words, thudding against my rib cage, making it so my breaths were coming in rapid inhales and exhales.

“I saw that ass, those breasts, that face. Heard your laugh, watched you toss your hair and give Oliver and Marcel and Smitty—and even me—shit and I knew that you’d fucking ruin me, baby.”

I couldn’t form words.

Could just suck in another breath.

“I wanted that ruin,” he whispered. “But then Monica came up pregnant”—a cruel smile—“or lied about it, and I put you out of my mind.” A beat, his eyes going soft. “I’m not a cheater.”

No. I knew him well enough to understand how important loyalty was.

“And anyway, you belonged to Pru and Hazel,” he went on. “If it went wrong, then shit at work would get complicated. And I like my work. Hockey is the one thing that has always made sense in my life.” A shake of his head. “I don’t put that at risk, not ever.”

“I’m not like that,” I whispered back. “I wouldn’t do anything to?—”

Fingers on my bottom lip, dragging lightly across. “I know.” A breath. “Which is why this day has been coming from the moment I met you.”

Now my hands were shaking.

With need.

Because that was enough. His words were enough .

He’d wanted me then. He wanted me now.

He knew I wasn’t the kind of woman who would ever mess up his work.

And…he was here, his eyes a mix of hot and soft and…I, God, I wouldn’t ever be strong enough to turn that down.

So, I spun, taking a step away from him.

Far enough that he could see what was on the back of the jersey—his name, his number.

Far enough away that he could see that the jersey with his name and number was obscenely short, just teasing the backs of my thighs.

And when I bent away from him, hitched my ass back as I angled at the waist, ensuring that the hem lifted a bit higher, I knew he saw what I’d intended—my lacy, royal blue panties that revealed more than they covered—because he groaned.

“ Fuck, Beth.”

There was nothing better than when a man growled a woman’s name like that.

It was a tongue and fingers between my thighs, a cock plunging deep. It was a declaration wrapped in desire and…it was mine .

My name.

My man wanting me.

“I don’t know what’s better,” he growled, wrapping his hand around my arm and spinning me to face him. “Those panties, the boots, or the jersey.”

“Well, which one do you want to take off first?” I asked, tapping a finger to my lips.

A flash of white teeth, his blue eyes ablaze. “All of it.”

I laughed, shook my head. “Then I don’t know which is better either.”

“Beth?”

My laughter cut off at the seriousness of his tone. “Yeah?”

“You sure?”

“That I want to fuck you?” I asked, lightly, because that should be fucking obvious by the way I was dressed, how I’d thrown myself at him time and again.

But when I saw what was in his expression, how it was minus the flash of white teeth, the amusement in his eyes, I had my tone going just as serious as his had been.

“Or am I sure that I want to open this can of worms?”

He didn’t reply to the quiet question.

But he didn’t have to.

Because I knew what was in his head.

Because I was going to make this better.

“I’m not Monica,” I whispered, watching his face tighten.

“And I wouldn’t fuck you over. Not because you don’t deserve it—because obviously you don’t.

No one deserves to be treated like that.

” His jaw flexed, and I smoothed my hand over the hard lines.

“But I wouldn’t do that to you specifically because I think you’re sexy and kind, and I like how you care about your friends, how you’re always there to step in for them and take their backs.

I wouldn’t do that because you’re good at your job, because you call me sugarpie, even though that’s cheesy as fuck. ”

That jaw relaxed, amusement finally entered his eyes. “You like it.”

I did.

A lot.

Probably too much, all things considered.

But that amusement was perfect.

It was sexy. It gave me the courage to keep moving forward.

“And,” I said softly. “I wouldn’t do that because you’re you .”

The doors buckled…held.

And then I wasn’t thinking about doors at all.

Because Raph was stepping close, his body pressing to mine. Because he was reaching down, hands cupping my ass over the lace of my panties.

Warm, rough palms.

Big strong body.

Lifting me…then turning and carrying me up the stairs.

“Raph?” I asked when we were halfway up.

“Yeah, honey?”

“I—” I paused, nibbled on my bottom lip. “I—” A shake of my head.

“What, baby?”

Honey. Baby.

Only my mom and Pru and Hazel had given me that.

I’d given it. I’d asked for it from the few men I’d dated.

But I’d never been given it freely, and that?—

Wasn’t what I should be focused on at that moment. This was about what I could do for a good man who was sexy and made my body sing…and he hadn’t even kissed me yet.

Oh, God.

Let him be a good kisser.

Pretty puh-lease.

“Beth?”

Right. I was supposed to be talking. “I haven’t done this in a while,” I whispered. “And it goes without saying”—I waved my hand in the direction of my belly—“I haven’t done it with all this.”

He didn’t reply, so I kept blabbering.

“So, I don’t know how I feel or what will feel good or what spots?—”

He shifted, bringing his hand and cupping my jaw. “So, we’ll figure it out.”

“I—”

“It’s been more than a year for me,” he said, straight out, shocking the shit out of me.

A year? This man, and all his gorgeousness, both inside and out, hadn’t been with a woman for a year?

“So, if anyone should be worried, it’s me and the fact that I might get the tip of my dick in you and come like a sixteen-year-old boy who’s just getting his first foray into pussy. ”

“I—” A sharp shake of my head then I could only whisper, “A year, honey?”

No sign of embarrassment. No pink on his cheeks, and his eyes didn’t slide away from mine, just held fast and I saw the blip of amusement pass through those pretty blue irises.

“My forearm has gotten quite the workout, so when I tell you I’ll figure it out, I mean we’ll figure it out, sugarpie.

I’ll probably blow like the Fourth of July finally having you after wanting you for so long, but I promise”—those blue irises went intent, and I meant intent —“I’ll get you off first.”

Okay, that was fucking hot.

It probably shouldn’t have been, considering he was saying he was going to be a quick trigger. But…it was for me. He wanted me . He’d wanted me for a while. And he didn’t just let anyone get in there, to get close, to have this, and he wanted me.

Me.

My pulse sped, hope blossoming heady and wide, mixing with him giving it to me straight, with honesty that might not be flowery and poetic, but was the truth, and that meant more than any freaking sonnet.

And add in honey and baby and we’ll, and this man was very close to giving me something important and big and altering.

But I couldn’t focus on that. On the worry of what that might bring, what it might do to me. On how much that made me yearn for all those unknowns.

Because he dropped his head, spoke against my lips, asking, “Okay?”

I sensed that he needed me to be okay with that, even though the worry was marching through the basement in my mind, gleefully knocking on doors, taunting the monsters.

This wasn’t what I’d signed up for.

Him giving. Me receiving, opening myself up to…

But his mouth was against mine, his blue eyes were wide and beautiful and gentle, so I stopped thinking about demons and doors and just whispered, loving the way the word felt with his lips pressed to mine, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, lips twitching…and then he was moving again.

And then he was kissing me.

And it was good—so fucking good.

So good I knew he was going to be good at a lot of things.

Thank the hockey gods.