Page 11 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

Chapter Four

Preston stared at Chelsea for a moment, committing her face to memory. Tonight had been one of the best of his life, which thrilled and depressed him at the same time.

He’d never felt such instant chemistry or connection with a woman, and the damned romantic fool inside him was convinced Chelsea had been made for him.

He’d met his soul mate—and in one week, she was flying to Paris. Possibly forever.

Karma hated him.

Preston gripped his dick, pressing the head of his cock to her opening before sliding home.

It was strange that home was the first word that popped into his head, but that was sure as hell what it felt like.

He pushed that thought away. There would be plenty of time to sulk over what might have been, later.

Tonight was all he was going to get with Chelsea, and by God, he was going to make it count.

He held still for a second, giving her time to adjust, when he saw her wince slightly once he was seated to the hilt.

“Okay?” he asked.

“How much would the words ‘well-endowed’ feed your ego?”

“Nom nom,” he joked, pretending he was feasting on her compliment.

Chelsea giggled. “I was afraid of that.” Then she reached up, one hand stroking the side of his face. “I’m better than okay.”

He sent up a small prayer of thanks because, while he would have stopped if she’d complained about it being too much for her, blue balls hurt like a bitch.

Preston withdrew, then returned, starting slow and shallow at first, giving her time, stretching her out.

However, all ability to keep himself in check flew out the window when her pussy tightened around him like a vise as he found her G-spot, and she cried out his name. Her begging gave way to demands, and damn if his girl wasn’t good at making her needs known.

“God, harder.” She tilted her hips in such a way that he thrust in even deeper, the two of them groaning in unison.

She was fucking hot, and wet, and her pussy was gloving his dick so firmly, he feared he’d have bruises tomorrow. Chelsea’s hips began moving in time with his downward thrusts, the impact powerful, overwhelming.

He wanted to make this last, determined to make up for all the lackluster sex her clueless asshole of an ex had subjected her to.

Chelsea deserved so much more. Fuck, she deserved everything.

When she lifted her legs, gripping her knees, changing the path and the sensations again, he was a goner.

Fuck it. He had three more condoms left in his wallet. He’d use every damn one, keep her in this bed as long as he could, build this memory big enough to last.

He began to piston in faster, driving deeper.

Chelsea went over fast, her climax hitting hard. She yelled his name loud enough he worried the folks in the next room might call the front desk to complain.

Still, Preston thrust, desperate to wring out every single drop of pleasure he could. Chelsea landed, but only briefly.

Tossing her head side to side on the bed, he would have thought she was gesturing “no,” if not for her words.

“Yes! Oh my God. Preston. Fuck! Right there. Just. Like. That!”

He was there, too close. If they were embarking on something more than just tonight, if they weren’t limited to only the here and now, he might have given in to his baser instincts, would have come now without her.

But this was it. All they had.

So he wanted to do it right. The first time. And every single time that came after.

He reached between them and found her clit. Chelsea’s eyes had been closed, but they flew open on the initial stroke. Because he was fighting the very devil himself to stave off his climax, he couldn’t draw enough air to laugh at the panic reflected on her face.

“One more will kill me,” she said, with a seriousness that told him she really believed that.

“One more,” he demanded, thrusting hard as he continued to stroke her clit.

He feared he’d fail, his balls growing tight. He couldn’t hold off for another?—

Chelsea’s head flew back and she cried out, a steady stream of curse words with his name peppered in for good measure. “Jesus Christ! Fuck me. Preston!”

Her orgasm took him down like an avalanche, his own cries mingling with hers as jet after jet filled the condom. He’d never come this hard in his whole life.

“Chelsea. Fuck . Goddammit.”

Her nails scored his back, the sting adding another layer to the pleasure. For a second, he swore to God he had an out-of-body experience, the edges of his vision fading to darkness, everything straight ahead nothing but a bright white light.

Only her voice, breathlessly calling out his name, kept him tethered to Earth.

They remained there for several minutes, him caging her beneath him, his weight resting on his elbows by her sides. He kissed her gently, over and over, obsessed with her lips, her tongue, her. All of her.

Resting his forehead against hers, he smiled, breathing in her scent, certain he’d never smelled anything sweeter.

Chelsea shifted slightly and he realized just how much he didn’t want to leave her body.

Slowly, he withdrew, his dick still riding at half-mast despite the fact he’d just come. He paused when the condom slipped, and he quickly reached between them, his fingers dipping inside to grab it, pulling the condom out of her before it fell off completely.

“Slipped,” he murmured. “I’ve got it.”

Chelsea didn’t say anything, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion, her cheeks flushed pink from all the pleasure.

He left the bed, heading to the bathroom to toss the condom before washing his hands and splashing some water on his face.

He studied his reflection in the mirror, his thoughts hazy as he tried to gather his wits. What a night! When regret that this was all they could have slipped in, he shut the feeling down and returned to the bedroom.

Walking to the bed, he dropped next to her on his back. The bed was damp from their exertions, the room actually steamy. He wondered if she had enough energy to join him in the shower.

Chelsea was the first to break the silence. “Preston?”

“Yeah?”

Please don’t ask to leave, he thought. Preston would drive her home if she wanted, but he really hoped he could convince her to give him the whole night.

And then maybe he’d talk her into staying for breakfast in the morning.

He was ready to be greedy, to take as much as he could before saying goodbye.

She twisted on her side to face him, so he turned his head to look at her.

“Tonight was incredible,” she said. “I don’t think I can express what it’s meant to me. What you’ve done for me.”

He smiled, even though he hated the tone of finality in her voice. He’d gone into this knowing it couldn’t be any more than one night, but apparently, the hopeless romantic had decided to move in for good.

“Tonight was incredible,” he repeated, agreeing. “But it’s not over. Spend the whole night with me.”

She nodded. “Of course. I’d like that. I want to.”

He was suffused with relief, even as he cursed himself for being a fool. For prolonging the inevitable. “Could I convince you to join me for a shower?”

She giggled. “A sexy shower?”

“The sexiest.” Preston stood once more, reaching to help her out of bed.

He let his eyes slide over her gorgeous curves.

Too many of the puck bunnies who hovered around him and his teammates were super-thin women with Botoxed lips, boob jobs, dyed hair, extensions.

Everything about them was more fake than real, as they spent big bucks trying to achieve what they thought men wanted.

He couldn’t speak for other guys, but all that money-generated beauty missed the mark by a mile when it came to what he found attractive in women.

Chelsea, with her curly chestnut hair, expressive dark brown eyes, and curvy figure with round hips and tits that filled his hands to perfection, was all real, and his exact idea of true beauty.

She didn’t wear much makeup because she didn’t need to.

She had a healthy complexion with her pink cheeks, full lips, long, thick lashes, and the cutest damn dimples he’d ever seen.

She blushed under his intense scrutiny of her body. “I, uh, I have a bit of a sweet tooth. While I love cupcakes, they don’t exactly love me.” As she spoke, she covered her rounded stomach with her hands.

Preston pulled them away, then ran the back of his fingers over her side before digging them into her waist softly so that he could pull her against him. “You’re beautiful, Chelsea, and your body is banging.”

She laughed. “I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree on that because…” She drew her fingertips over his chest, lightly scratching him with one of her nails. “If anyone has a banging body in here, it’s you. I swear to God, it’s like you’re chiseled from stone.”

“Too much time spent in the gym.” That time was a necessary part of his job, but he didn’t add that tidbit.

“If that’s the end result, I’d say it’s the perfect amount.”

Preston took her hand, leading her to the bathroom. She leaned against the sink while he reached into the shower, turning on the water and adjusting the temperature.

Once it was warm enough, he crooked his finger, allowing her to step inside first. There was a rain showerhead above them, in addition to the one at the side, so that both of them were submerged beneath the jets.

Chelsea tilted her head back, wetting her hair and slicking it back with her hands, as he pumped a few squirts of shampoo into his palm from the bottle provided by the hotel.

She looked surprised and pleased when he began to wash her hair, the citrus-scented suds filling the air. Chelsea moaned as he massaged her scalp, applying pressure meant to relax her.

“That feels incredible.” She closed her eyes when he guided her under the showerhead, rinsing out the shampoo.

Opening her eyes, she gave him a mischievous grin. “I’d like to return the favor, but I think I need a step ladder to reach your hair.”