Page 18

Chapter 18

Violet

“ M ake yourself comfortable,” I say as we enter the front door. I hang my coat in the entryway closet, having already tucked my shoes away. Behind me, I hear Crosby shuffling about.

The drive here had been almost perfunctory. There was a little discussion about music, a few giggles about the temperature of the SUV, and a comment about the traffic around the arena. We talked about Bea, Crosby being thoughtful and checking again that I didn’t want to see her tonight. I told him we already made plans to meet for brunch tomorrow while the team met for a post-game dry-land workout. He had cringed at that, all players hated dry-land workouts, but he was looking forward to his time with the physiotherapist for a good stretch.

He kept hold of my thigh the whole time, making driving with one hand seem effortlessly sexy. His fingers traced nonsense patterns along the top of my leg before sliding along the inside and back up. If I could have pressed my thighs together to relieve the tension his teasing was building in me, I would have. But trapping his hand would have been a blessing and a curse: the relief instantaneous, but the desire for more would have grown.

Now, alone in my house, I’m determined to follow my craving. To consume this man and be consumed by him. There’s a cage of butterflies inside me threatening to break free. I welcome the feeling. There isn’t room for doubt or second thoughts when you’re in free fall, and right now, I’m standing close to the edge.

Crosby shocked me during the game tonight. He went after Olivier with no other aim but to hurt the man who hurt me. It was possessive and hedonistic. A better woman would have found fault with that. She would gasp and chastise, covering her face in horror.

I am not a better woman.

When he was pulled to the penalty box, there was a hardness in his face. It wasn’t his usual assessing concentration I’ve come to expect when he plays. Instead, he looked powerful. Dangerous. I could do little more than stare and feel my heartbeat banging inside my chest, its beat kicking up with feverish delight. Only when he spotted me in the crowd did his fierce scowl relax. The sweetness returned to the corners of his eyes, his face softening as he stared back.

He told me it was for me, and any lingering walls pitifully guarding my heart crumbled without resistance.

I turn from the closet to see Crosby standing in his slacks and the cashmere sweater he wore for walk-ins. His shoes are next to mine under a small bench against the wall, his jacket carefully draped on the seat. His hands are in his pockets, thumbs hooked over the side, and his eyes are on me. I lean back against the closet door, seeking support because those butterflies? They have officially taken flight under the weight of his heated stare, bouncing around inside me with such velocity I’m concerned my legs won’t hold me much longer.

I don’t need to be concerned. In two steps, Crosby is in front of me, bracketing my face with his large, warm hands. He holds me reverently as his thumb traces along my bottom lip.

“Are you okay, Sparks?” Crosby leans his forehead against mine, checking in with achingly sweet thoughtfulness. I nod once. “I just couldn’t leave it alone. I couldn’t leave him alone when I finally got on the ice with him. It probably wasn’t my place, but Violet, men like him make me sick.”

He pulls back, his eyes searching mine. I don’t know what he expects to find. I’m grateful for him, something I have every intention of showing him in words and actions.

“I wasn’t expecting you to do any of that tonight—go all ‘caveman’ on my ex. It made me feel safe,” I whisper, turning his right palm, kissing it tenderly. “Protected.” I turn the other way, pressing a matching kiss to his left palm. “It was kind of hot.”

I can’t help it. I giggle, breaking from his hold to smother my heated face against his chest. His sweater is soft under my cheek and cloaked in his spicy vanilla and citrus scent.

“That turned you on?” I feel the question through his chest. It’s a low, rumbling thing, matching the throb I recognize building in my center. I silently bob my head in agreement. Crosby steps closer, pressing his hips forward, trapping me against the door. I feel the outline of his length, hard and long, near the crease of my left hip. The familiar sensation has me gasping as he grinds a little, close to my core but still too far.

“Hmm.” His voice is thick as he trails his fingertips along the sides of my body, tracing the curves there, learning the map of me. They tease up the hem of my shirt, drawing on my exposed skin with such tender intention I lift my head to look at him. Crosby has a sharp smirk on his lips, curled in the corners, his eyes blinking slowly while he savors my reaction.

The heat building in me is torching the butterflies, turning them to ash, chasing away the nervous excitement. In its place, my body lights up at every brush of his touch, fueling a brighter blaze I only know one way of extinguishing.

With a determined grip, Crosby shifts me until his broad thigh slips between my own. The presence of his firm muscles pressing against my center has me bucking toward him.

“I think this turns you on, too,” he says, leaning in. I moan, my head hitting the door with a small thunk. Crosby wastes no time attacking my exposed neck, sucking kisses along the skin leaving a trail behind while working toward my ear. “I want to learn all of the things that turn you on, Violet. What I do that makes you feel good, what you want me to do to make you feel good, and what you want to do to me that will make you feel good. I want it all. But I need your words. Does this turn you on?” He pulls me tighter against his thigh. It presses deliciously on my aching clit, and we both groan. He nips playfully at my earlobe as he waits for my answer.

“Y-y- yes ,” I stutter, ending with an unexpected hitch of my breath, when Crosby directs my hips in a little circle before pulling me against him again, never breaking contact with his leg. “Holy shit. Yes. That.”

“What about this?” His hand slips further under my shirt, ghosting up my stomach to the swell of my breast. His fingertips toy with the lace scalloping at the top of the cup, tracing along the rim, never touching the skin underneath. I’m steadily rocking my hips against him, as if I can pull him closer with every pass.

“Yes.”

Crosby gives a little hum, covering my breast with his large hand, a gentle squeeze drawing a moan from me. He quickly swallows the sound with a bruising kiss as my mind goes blank beyond the sensations he’s pulling from me. It’s an overwhelming kiss. The kind that speaks of consuming, of claiming me fully. With a stroke of his tongue against mine, there’s a promise I’m hoping he’ll keep.

All too soon, he’s pulling back, his hand leaving its place under my shirt, the nipple inside the satin cup straining for the warmth to return. I’m squirming now, any rhythm forgotten as I search out more of his touch.

“Listen to you.” His whisper is reverent as he dips his fingertips just inside the band of my leggings. I shiver at that. He removes his leg from between mine, twisting his hand to flatten his palm against my belly. The possessive action makes me feel small and delicate. But he doesn’t treat me like I’m about to break, sliding into my leggings just until he reaches the elastic of my underwear.

“This?” Crosby husks out, continuing his quest before giving me another kiss and seeking my consent. His eyes find mine, widening briefly to prompt my answer. “Is this something else you want me to do to turn you on?”

“Touch me, Crosby,” I say, widening my legs to make room for him to slip into my lace thong. He watches me the entire time his fingers make the journey over the top of my mound and dip into my slit. There’s limited space between his large hand and the tightness of my leggings, but I like that it keeps him closer to me.

His fingers slide through the wetness there. “Fuck, baby, is this all for me?”

I only nod. My arousal has been steadily growing since we left the arena. I would feel embarrassed at the dripping mess I’ve made if Crosby hadn’t chosen that moment to slip one finger just inside me.

“Oh.” I lift up on my toes, uncertain if I’m trying to get away and adjust from the new intrusion, or if I’m angling to get him where I want him. My hand flies to his forearm, flexing as he draws his finger back, pulling out to slide up to circle my clit and back down. When he enters again, he angles it differently, moving slowly to brush against my most sensitive spots. It’s been so long, and I’m so worked up for him, my orgasm is already starting to coil inside me.

“That’s it,” Crosby encourages as I begin to move my hips, seeking more. “You want another? Want to fuck yourself on more of my fingers?”

“Yes. Fuck, yes, I want more.” I barely remember to use words, but I’m ridiculously nodding at his suggestions. I’m gasping and panting as Crosby’s long and thick fingers pump in and out of me, the heel of his hand pressing against my sensitive clit.

Crosby’s other hand comes up to tangle in my hair, angling my head back to offer my lips like a sacrifice. He growls as he takes the moans I make, each kiss drawing me closer and closer to the edge. His fingers are pumping faster, curling just so, and he’s replaced the pressure on my clit with fast circles he’s drawing with his thumb. I’m nearly there, moving with abandon, when his command falls across my lips.

“Come for me, Violet.”

A strangled scream echoes in the hall as I break apart. My hearing goes fuzzy, and there are spots clouding my vision. I feel Crosby steadily bringing me down from the high by slowing the movement of his fingers inside me and gentling the swirls on my clit. He releases my hair, running his hand through it and pressing kisses along my jaw and throat while I regain my breath. A little aftershock rocks me as he tenderly brushes his lips along mine.

I’m sighing contentedly as my hearing returns, his soft words of praise causing me to smile into the kiss he gives me. A shuddered, unsteady laugh of delight threatens to break free, but I don’t think I can manage it. Instead, I float in the afterglow, the buzzy high tickling my bloodstream like champagne bubbles. It’s officially the only kind of drunk I want to be from now on. Drunk on Crosby Wells.

Crosby smiles, kissing me again once before pushing my hips flush against the door and pulling his fingers free from my pants. I’m panting with desire as he raises them to his mouth, sucking each one clean. With his other hand, he palms the erection straining the fabric of his slacks. I don’t recognize the whimper that escapes my lips.

“We’re not done.” Crosby cocks his head to the side, pupils blown wide and color high in his cheeks. “I don’t know if I could ever be done with you after that. But I’m not fucking you against the door. I want you somewhere I can lay you out and enjoy it. Where I can hold you after. You have somewhere like that, Sparks?”

I love that his questions are helping to clear the lust from my head. I want Crosby like that, too. I want this slow and dirty, not fast and rough, even if my body can barely distinguish between the two right now.

“Upstairs.” I point feebly at the staircase. He comes back to me, looping his arms around my waist, pulling me close. I push my hands through his hair, the curly strands soft as I scrape gently along his scalp. I like the almost purring sound he makes in the back of his throat. When I reach the nape of his neck, I leave my arms to rest around his neck. I lean forward, laying my head over his heart. The sound is soothing, a thump that is deescalating with my own. His cock presses hard, hot and needy, along the length of my thigh.

“Perfect. Time to show me more of what you like.”

Then, with a smoothness I’m not expecting, Crosby squats, scooping me behind the thighs to wrap me around him. He smiles at me, the butterflies returning before he makes for the staircase.