Page 15

Chapter Fifteen

Cam

Fuck, I hope she wants sex. I’ll do whatever she’s cool with, including leave now, but I might have to stop in the bathroom because I’m about three strokes from going off like a rocket.

That was the hottest thing I’ve done in forever, and I’ve had threesomes. (Come on, doesn’t every college athlete? They’re offered freely.)

She’s smoking hot clothed. Sans clothing, she’s a goddess I want to worship forever.

The hardwood was kinder to my knees than ice, but I’m happy she’s heading toward her carpeted bedroom. I can still taste and smell her. Maybe I won’t wash my face the rest of the day to enjoy this.

Hell, I need to aim higher. Maybe I’ll get another taste.

She turns at her bedside and asks, “Do you have a condom?”

“Are you sure? I mean yes, please. I mean yes.” I roll my eyes at myself mentally. I’ve reverted to a teenager in my eagerness.

She doesn’t seem to notice replying, “Ah, good, because I don’t actually have any. I, uh, haven’t done this in a while and wasn’t expecting this.”

“Hey, you don’t owe me anything. I loved that”—I gesture—“so no pressure.” I even mostly mean it.

She rewards my good behavior with a smile, and says, “No pressure felt. It’s a happy surprise, and we’re here because I brought you here. Now, where were we?”

Closing the last gap between us, she reaches for my belt.

“Oh geez. You’d better let me do that this time, or I might embarrass myself.” I twist my hips an inch to the side.

She grins. “Hey, you got to taste.”

I groan and hold my cock through my clothes, squeezing it to stop it from spurting any more. I might need to run my pants through the wash to walk out of here as it is. “Don’t say things like that until I’ve taken the edge off. It’s been a while for me, too.”

“Do you want to wash up at all?” She gestures to the bathroom and when my brow furrows, she circles her face.

I lick a circle around my mouth as far as I can get and grin. “Hell, no. I’m in pussy heaven right now. Your house smells even better than it did when I walked in.”

She raises her brows. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll take that as the strangest complement I’ve ever gotten.”

I step out of my pants, unsure whether to remove my boxer briefs quite yet. I’m doing my damnedest to take it slow as she asked. Well, aside from devouring her once already.

She solves my dilemma, turning me and shoving me to bounce down on the bed before climbing atop me, knees outside of my hips.

“My turn.” Her grin is evil.

She leans forward and kisses me, before trailing her lips down my neck, across my collarbone, and to my shoulder, where she sinks her teeth into my deltoid. Her other hand is trailing across my chest, through the light smattering of hair across my sternum.

My body bucks under her and my glutes tighten to lift me up in response to the contrasting sensations of soft lips, teeth, and fingertips. I’m on overload. My cock is begging for friction and needing to pump.

Her ass settles on my upper thighs, inches too low to do what I need it to. I moan and thrust once more.

She tsks. “Settle down. I want to savor this.”

That word has me twisting under her again. “Savor later, please? I’m dying here.”

As she slips her hands into my boxer briefs, her finger brushes my cock and I moan. She scoots back off the bed and yanks them down and off me. I lever myself backwards over the bed, lying sideways across it as she climbs back aboard.

She brushes her slit against me, her wetness and mine coating both of us. Sliding herself along the length of my cock, she shudders.

I’ve been running my hands up and down her back and along her legs, enjoying the feel of her everywhere I could reach. At her second slide, I reach one hand to her belly, thumb finding her clit again to circle gently.

“Ahh, you’re good at that,” she says, throwing her head back.

Has no one worshiped this woman the way she deserves? No matter, I’m here to remedy that.

I quickly grab the condom and roll it on, then notch my cock at her opening, changing the angle of her hips with my hands.

She freezes, her face tight.

“Chris? You okay? Did I hurt you?” I ask, trying to keep my cock from pulsing against her and scaring her.

“No, you didn’t. It’s just—” she gulps. “Sex has been painful before, and you’re…big.”

“Oh.” I wonder again about her past partners. I want to be angry but I’m too turned on at the moment. My hands fall away, by my shoulders as though I’m at gunpoint against the duvet. “You’re in charge.”

“I don’t know that I can be.” She seems nervous, maybe close to tears.

“Come here.” I gather her down against my chest. “No pressure, remember? We do as much or as little as you want.”

Her eyes well. “Thank you. I’m not sure that’s really fair, but it’s nice of you to say. I do want this. I do. I just—” She hides her face against my throat.

“Hey.” I coax her up and slant my lips over hers. “Just relax. Enjoy what we’re doing now.”

Some of the tension leaves her and she settles more fully against me as our tongues explore one another. My cock slides along her seam and she moans.

She’s still turned on. And she told me she wants it. An idea comes to me. I shift her an inch higher and palm a breast, still kissing her like I want to eat her up with my lips first. An infinitesimal twist of my hips aligns my cock with her opening. She’s wet enough that I don’t need to worry about hurting her. I’m big, but I’m not going to split anyone open if they’re properly aroused.

And she is. It’s her mind getting in her own way.

I hope this is all right. My hips tilt and I nudge into her. As soon as I feel that, I plant my foot on the bed between hers and thrust in one more inch. Not deep, but far enough that she can test the sensations.

My cock is not thrilled with this. It is a heat seeking missile wanting to bury itself in her over and over until it empties itself.

She gasps against my mouth. I push her shoulders upward an inch. “How is that?”

“Oh my god.” Her eyelids are half closed, and her mouth is slack. I can’t read her expression.

I groan. “You’re killing me, sweetheart. Does that mean good or bad?”

In answer, she sits up another few degrees and drops an inch, sinking me farther into her. “So good.”

Phew . My cock pulses, and she flinches. “Sorry, that was unintentional. I can’t help how hot you are.” I say with a grin, but sober to ask, “Did that hurt then? Should we stop?”

“Don’t you dare. It didn’t hurt, it was just a surprise.”

“I’m just full of happy surprises today, it seems.” My head thunks down while my hands fist against the bed to stop myself from ramming up into her. “Do you want to be in charge now?”

“Um.” She squirms and drops down. An inch away from actually resting her weight on me, she slides up then down again, experimenting. Her gaze is on me, but vague, her thoughts clearly centered where mine are. She slides that last inch and groans.

Hot, tight, wet heat surrounds me and I almost nut right there and then. Quickly I slide my thumb back to her clit, happy to find it still engorged. Her physical desire hasn’t diminished and I think we’ve almost got her out of her head.

Her words nearly undo me. “You drive. Just—not too hard or deep, please. But fast. I need fast. I’m close.”

Thank Christ. That makes two of us. I clutch her hips, tight at first but then looser so she doesn’t wear handprints after this. She grabs my hand and brings it back to her nub, increasing my arousal. I’m relieved she’s into this enough that she’s directing me for her pleasure.

I clench and move against her, as she does against me, my thumb pressing and releasing in time to our thrusts.

She loses her rhythm so I know she’s close. Her hands on my ribs tighten.

I hold her an inch away from me and piston my hips off the bed, never so thankful for hockey muscles.

She begins writhing and screaming through her teeth, “Cam!”

My name on her lips and her inner muscles gripping me are too much for my control. I grind up against her without going too hard or too deep, conscious still of her concerns. As my cock throbs and empties into her, my eyes shutter closed and I groan in pleasure and relief.

I have no idea what will happen going forward, but this is the best day of my life. I’m a starting goalie for the NHL, and I have an amazing dance partner who is also fantastic in the sack. The future can wait.

* * * *

We lounge and nap, then take turns in the shower. When my stomach rumbles as I re-enter the bedroom, Chris takes pity on me and gets up. We throw underwear and shirts on and head to the kitchen, where she makes a late lunch salad with hummus and chips. She snacks as I scarf, having eaten lunch at a normal time like most people.

“Do you want to continue to work on the lift?” I ask between bites. “Maybe show me a couple of the others?”

“I’d rather work on one at a time. But before we do that, we need to talk.”

I swallow my bite of food and lay my fork down. Those words never bode well for a relationship. Or even a situationship, or whatever we’ve started here. I probably sound like I’m agreeing to have teeth pulled when I nod and say, “Shoot.”

“We’re both aware of the various reasons we don’t fit together.”

I raise my brows. “All recent evidence to the contrary aside.”

She flashes me a wry look and continues, “But I’ll repeat them to be clear. Both organizations I work for have rules forbidding a relationship between us. Not to mention the very real issue of owner/player.”

Her words are a good reminder that my future is at stake if this goes wrong. The gate and security at her driveway plus the size of the main house, let alone hers, was a stark reminder of the gap between us. At the end of this year, I have a chance at a much bigger, long-term contract that I can’t jeopardize. Still, I could use several more rounds of sex before I’ll be happy walking away. At least on that level, we do indeed fit together perfectly.

She continues. “But I admit, I’d be interested in more of this afternoon’s activities. And frankly, I’m not sure either of us could abstain if we’re going to dance together and include lifts and tricks. Your hands on me are potent .”

I almost fall off my barstool when she echoes my thoughts.

I straighten my spine and smile. She’d been worried about pain before, and now she’s all in for more sex.

“We have to keep it on the down low. No being together in public, no dates, no romance.”

What the hell? I frown. Every girl I’ve ever known wants romance. Plus, I like spending time with her beyond dance. “I don’t like the idea of not being together in public. We’ve already had dinner out once, and people know we’re practicing dances for the charity gig. I get that you don’t want me to hold your hand or make out. But I want more than a wham, bam, thank you ma’am. I enjoy your company.”

Not meeting my eyes, she grimaces down at her kitchen counter.

Geez, maybe she’s only interested in sex. I contemplate that. No, she likes my company, too. Given her fear of sex, she wouldn’t have attempted it if there wasn’t more upside. I don’t understand why this disturbs me so much.

“I want to ensure we’re both on the same page here. Quiet and casual. And it has to end after the Holiday Ball.”

“ Secret and casual I can do,” I reply through laughter. “But can you yell my name quieter?”

She throws a dishtowel at me. “Let’s get back to dance, unless you need time to digest.”

The dance lesson leads to another round of sex, after which she kicks me out, citing concern that my car had been parked in their driveway for too many hours and Greg would be suspicious. I text Jack to grab a celebratory drink in our favorite neighborhood bar. He doesn’t need to know what or even that I am celebrating.

* * * *

Christina and I split our practice time between Maria’s studio when it is available, as it’s midway between our homes, and her home studio when we want longer sessions.

She’s trying to give Maria the business but having her bedroom right next to our practice room is super handy after practicing our two lifts. I’m hoping she’ll introduce a new one after the team’s road trip next week.

Since that first afternoon at her house, she seems to have dropped her guard. I’ve even talked her into breakfast or lunch out, depending on the times of my practices and the last pre-season game.

After today’s session at Come Dancing, I tell her I’ve found a taco shop that is the best I’ve had. We’ve debated this several times, as she has yet to take me to her favorite. Torchy’s is a chain, albeit a local one, and I’ve become an Austonian in loving one-of-a-kind local joints, so I continue to search for a new favorite Mexican restaurant for her.

I get there first as she had to turn things off and lock up. It’s an odd hour for lunch, especially as people here seem to eat at 11:30 in the morning, which is my after-practice snack time. So at 1:45 I have my pick of tables and choose a back corner. I’ve become more visible and while I love what that means and adore all hockey fans—I couldn’t play without them—I’m greedy with my Christina time.

Requesting a sparkling water, I lean against the wood paneling decorated with photos of the owners and scroll Instagram. There they are. My stepsister is almost a woman at her eighteenth birthday. She seems to have my science skills though, as she didn’t quite make high school graduation, needing another semester to complete her diploma requirements. Her younger brother, my half-sibling, is in the birthday pictures, too, posing with his arm around his sister. At around age six, he looks like he hero worships her.

Last hockey season, I saw that he was in a youth league. I wonder if he trains in the off-season like I used to or if he loves it like I do. Is something like that hereditary? Pretty sure it’s not. Although maybe my father’s family had skating skills that went unused due to lack of funds.

Christina slides into the seat across from me, and I smile.

She returns it, then her gaze drops, and she asks, “Friends of yours?”

I realize the phone has tilted forward, still on the post of Zoe’s birthday. “Oh, um.”

Chris’s brows rise.

Her question was casual, and the fact that I don’t answer easily makes it more apparent that I’m stalking these kids, which is beyond weird. I find myself explaining. “I told you my father remarried. I haven’t met his wife or kids, but I like to keep up on how they’re growing up. The boy is Robbie, my half-brother.”

“Oh.” She tilts her head. “Why haven’t you met them?”

I shake my head. “My father had better things to do than go to a single college hockey game, even though I was in state. When I called him with the NHL draft news and my contract, he asked when I was going to stop playing games and get a real job.”

“Seriously? Does he not have any concept of how competitive a job this is, much less how much it pays?”

“He’s always valued putting his head down and plowing ahead over figuring out how to find work-life balance.” I shrug. “He never tried to know my schedule so his calls often came during games, after his work hours. One of his voicemails informed me of his upcoming nuptials. Not even a request for my address. So no invitation. Nothing. That was the last call I received.”

“Cam, that sucks.” She reaches across and squeezes my hand where it holds the phone on the table. “Does Robbie play hockey?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think he knows who you are?”

I’ve wondered about my father telling them about me. “I don’t know. If he did, wouldn’t he have pinged me on social media?”

“Depends. How old is he?”

“Six. I guess his parents and/or the social media companies might limit his interactions on there.” I shrug.

“Who posted these?”

“Their mom.”

“Has she messaged you about you following her?”

I duck my head, feeling my cheeks heat. “I do it under a separate account with an alias.”

She nods.

Relieved that her questions seem to be at an end, for now at least, I sigh. Changing the subject, I ask, “When are you going to show me the next lift?”