Page 7 of Unrivaled Love (D.C. Renegades #2)

Jo

Bryson Fucking Svoboda

After Coach sent me off the field, I threw my shit into my car and drove. When the exit for my apartment approached, I accelerated and followed the signs south to Provo. After Provo, as I drove alongside the mountains in the distance, I realized where I was headed.

A big smile cracked across my face as I drove towards Telluride.

I queued up the audiobook of Fifth Flame at 2.

5x speed as a refresher before I dive into the next book in the series on this impromptu vacation.

Raven Squall has been sitting in my backseat for months but I haven’t started it yet because training for my professional team and my country has taken every spare minute I have.

The sun is almost down when I pull into the parking lot at Sunshine Foods.

The locally owned market has served Telluride for generations and I remember coming here with my siblings and the Svoboda kids to spend spare change on ice cream cones or snack cakes during our many family vacations back in the day.

I methodically move through each aisle and stock up. The idea of hunkering down alone and not seeing another fucking human for two whole weeks is appealing.

The drive from Salt Lake City to Telluride was long but still not long enough to clear my head of the resentment towards Pee Pee for her betrayal and righteousness I felt for how I handled it.

I tried to let it go, and move on, but the devil on my shoulder would chime in, riling me right back up.

Vengeance won out.

Fuck Pee Pee.

I pull two bottles of wine off the shelf. I don’t drink during the season but maybe with this unofficial suspension I can do some unofficial partaking in rosé.

The bottles clank together as I roll the wobbly cart to the checkout.

I stutter step when I am accosted by the "Wall of Fame". Pictures of local ski and snowboard superstars, a poster of me in my rookie season at Seattle, and a shiny new one of Bryson holding up The Stanley Cup. They’re fucking quick around here, aren’t they?

He won it like a month ago. The fire in my belly, the one I thought was reserved for Pee Pee, burns higher at the reminder that Bryson got his championship first.

Since college I have pushed myself to best him. It’s not always easy to compare apples to oranges but I have my ways of calculating rankings and scoring percentages.

And until this last season, we were neck in neck.

I unclench my jaw and remind myself I'll get mine. Next summer. Just you wait. World Cup, here I come.

If I can keep my spot on the team.

The smallest appreciation slides in for Coach McEmbry keeping this suspension off the books. I acknowledge it briefly and then send it back down so my fury can keep simmering.

“Can I see your ID?” The cashier asks after a snap of bubble gum.

She doesn't even look old enough to check the ID but I guess that's how the world works. Young people constantly come in to replace the old.

Not that I’m old. But the youngsters seem to be coming for me today.

"Wait, are you?" The girl turns towards the poster as she holds my card in her hands. "Are you really Jo Hamilton? "

"Guilty." I give her a closed mouth smile.

"Holy cow. Can I get your autograph?"

"Sure." I wait for her to find a scrap of receipt paper and a pen.

The ink doesn’t work at first so I have to drag this interaction out through drawing circles in the corner, wetting the tip with my tongue, trying another pen, and finally using a permanent marker she dug out of the register.

She chitters on while I bag my own fucking groceries because apparently I’m not old enough to warrant a bag boy. It’s fine, I just want to get the hell out of here.

It isn't that I hate the attention. Normally, I love interacting with fans.

I am proud to be an athlete in women's sports and take my role model status seriously.

But today, at the end of a long fucking drive where I spent six and half hours stewing over my suspension and the hairy balls on my rookie teammate, I don't want to interact with any humans.

Finally in the sanctuary of my own car again, I relax and wind my way up the mountain to the vacation home. The sky has turned that unique shade of purple I only see here in Telluride when the sun has just set after a perfect alpine summer day.

As I make the final turns towards my destination the sky darkens further to an inky almost black. Without my high beams on I might have missed the little sign at the end of the driveway greeting me.

“Welcome to Casa de Svobilton.” I say out loud as I turn in following the family tradition.

Memories of childhood summers with the Svobodas come flooding back.

How we'd play Kick the Can and Ghosts in the Graveyard for hours.

How on winter breaks we'd leave before the sun had fully risen in the sky to get to the ski lodge and then return with wind-chapped faces to eat chili and play cards or board games while the adults sat in the hot tub .

I smile remembering taking my nieces and nephews up the gondola last year. Winter at the mountain house has been my only vacation for years now. Bryson can’t come because it’s the middle of the hockey season and I take advantage of his absence.

But I’m struck by the beauty of the house now, surrounded by leaves and greenery and the spark of wildflowers that dot the ground. For the briefest of moments I allow myself to regret staying away from summer family gatherings.

As soon as I have my World Cup Championship I'll be able to walk into that house with my head held high, knowing I finally achieved more than Bryson Fucking Svoboda.

Carrying the groceries with me to the door is easy since the only bag I have with me is my backpack from practice. It’s stocked with my travel skincare I never leave home without, an extra pair of socks, and my slides.

Maybe I'll spend a day buck ass naked while I wash the one pair of panties I have with me.

That'll be liberating. I haven't felt freedom like that… ever.

The key is in the faux rock as it's always been and after I unlock the door I replace it like we were trained to do as kids.

Crossing over the threshold brings a physical feeling of comfort.

This was home as much as our suburban Grand Junction house.

But this place has the special distinction of being where my parents weren't working or stressed or complaining about driving my siblings and I from one practice to the next.

I turn some lights on and move towards the kitchen. Al told me about the remodeling plans for the other side of the house but I will simply use the suite behind the kitchen.

That is Mr. and Mrs. Svoboda's room so it might feel a little weird to be in there at first but beggars can't be choosers when they secretly sneak off to their family's vacation home to hide from the world .

There’s an open package of vanilla wafers on the counter.

That’s kinda gross, and unlike our families to leave food out.

After setting my grocery bags on the island I slide the cookies into the garbage and step out onto the deck to get the hot tub warmed up.

A long soak is exactly what I need at the end of today.

"Oh shit." I exhale with a squeak and a jump backwards when a spider scurries away from where it had been nestled under the jacuzzi cover. "Fucking spiders." I grumble as I use my foot to kick the cover the rest of the way off and just leave it on the patio where it landed.

I carefully approach the settings panel looking for other spiders waiting to torture me.

All clear.

Once the tub bubbles to life I turn back to put my groceries away.

I yank the large fridge door open. It's one of those with the front panel that looks like the cabinets and since this house usually has a dozen people in it, the fridge is massive and part of a twin set.

The light in the fridge hits my face along with the chilly blast of air and I freeze. "Ew, they left food in here too!?"

I can understand leaving ketchup or mustard or a jar of pickles behind but yogurt and lunch meat? No one has been up here since the spring ski season so this shit is months old.

That lunch meat might be green.

I hold back my gag as I pull out a serving spoon and nudge it to the other side of the fridge and into the back corner, ensuring the nuclear sack of nitrates is as far away from my organic artisan yogurts as possible.

After the groceries are unloaded, I drum my finger nails along the counter.

I never really imagined what being here alone would be like.

It's kinda weird .

But the hot tub is calling my name so I take my backpack with me to the bedroom and strip out of my kit. No wonder the cashier recognized me. I'm wearing my fucking jersey. I'd be in my cleats too if I hadn't toed them off, left first, then right, as soon as I could put the car on cruise control.

I sit on the bed and pull my socks down and off, left first, then right, and head to the bathroom.

Yeah, walking around naked is empowering. I feel like a fucking super hero. I take my hair out of the pony tail and fluff it in the mirror.

My hair falls against my shoulders and I watch my breasts in the mirror as they move with my arm movements. Tingles dance under my skin at the sensation of the open air. It's been a minute since I've had a good Jill off and I think a little self care is exactly what the doctor ordered .

As I walk to the hot tub I run my hands up and down my body. I've built muscle, especially in my ass, in the last few months and I'm appreciating how tight and firm I feel.

The romance novels I read usually describe the love interests as soft and curvy and unfortunately that isn't me. I'm solid, tall, my thighs could crack walnuts, and I can probably bench just as much as the average man.

Good thing I don't need an average man to get myself off.

The evening air is cool and the breeze causes my already sensitive body to pucker.

Goosebumps erupt and my nipples turn to stone as I step into the hot tub.

I groan with pleasure as I sink into the steaming, bubbling water and lift my hair on top of my head and secure it with a band again before lowering so only my head is above the surface.

A sigh escapes me as I lean my head back and close my eyes. My hands settle on my thighs and I know I'll relax better after a release so I get to work turning myself on.

Mentally, I focus on the sensation of my own hands as they trail up and down my thighs as I tease myself.

I don’t hold out long. My clit is throbbing.

I surrender to my need and press hard with my middle finger.

I just hold it there until the pressure causes my hips to jerk and only then do I create the friction I know will finish me.

My left hand presses tight circles, rubbing my clit around, and then my right hand becomes someone else's. Like somehow doing so will prevent me from reliving the memory that won’t fade.

He's laying at my side, not touching me anywhere else.

My fist is wrapped so tightly around his shirt I'm afraid I'll tear it.

His mouth is so close to my ear his breath feels warm on my skin and then chills cascade down my body.

"Holy shit, Jo." He whispers and I feel my insides clench.

His fingers are flying over me and my breath gets caught in my throat.

My friends have told me they've been fingered by their boyfriends but none of them told me it would feel like this.

I feel his exhale on the side of my neck and when I turn to face him my chest aches.

He's mine and by the look in his eyes I can tell I'm his.

My momentum fades slightly as the memory of my best finger fucking gets emotional. Determined to finish, I roll my shoulders back and refocus on the memory of his strong hands, the bicep that fired as he manipulated my body, and the words he used.

"C'mon Josie, that's it. Fuck, you're so hot."

Fucking right I am.

I'm hot.

I'm talented.

I’m strong.

I'm one of the best forwards in women's soccer right now.

Maybe ever.

I’m a fucking force to be reckoned with.

“Yes.” I huff out loud.

The praise works.

Sensations roll through my bloodstream and then every muscle in my body flexes. My hips jerk and I press harder, knowing I need a full strength orgasm tonight. My chest tightens and waves of ice and heat cascade down my body.

The sensations fade but I keep my fingers in place. I want to wring every possible moment out of this.

“Oh fuck.” I call as an aftershock hits and my body pinches with the delicious, almost pain. “Yes.”

Slowly my body relaxes. My arms go limp as I withdraw my fingers from my core. I take a full, deep breath. I splash some water across my face and let the evening air cool the droplets.

I blink and look up to the sky. There are a million stars visible in the clearing through the trees. I let myself get lost in them until my face starts to feel warm again and I check my fingertips.

Completely raisined.

Time to go in.

I roll over to climb out and only then realize I forgot to grab a towel.

It'll be cold to walk back inside without drying off but I can wipe up any water I leave behind. This is my time to relax and feel free. And after an intense orgasm and a fantastic soak, I stand tall and proud, naked as the day I was born, and head inside.