Ice Hot

by Tracy Goodwin

  I clutch the mahogany headboard as my core tightens around his cock. As I rock back and forth until that same prolonged orgasm wracks my body. As I scream his name.

  His muscles tense, and this time he groans. Loud, full of awe, his “fuck me” thunders through his bedroom. The amber light of the candles flickers along the walls, the air charged between us. I’ve grown accustomed to it. His heady cologne, with that musky scent that makes me think of tumultuous waves and raw masculinity. That’s Chris. Natural, strong, fierce. This man is like a hurricane. He could destroy me if he wanted to. I just hope he never does. A part of me doubts he would. Especially when he removes the condom and wraps me in his tender embrace, rubbing my shoulders and giving me kisses so sensual, they seem more intimate than the sex we’ve just shared.

  Doubt will set in at some point. Not yet, though. I push it aside for now, basking in his warmth, in his body slick with perspiration, in the way his palms cup my breasts. I want this guy. Worse yet, I want him to want me back.

  He rolls me onto my side. “You are so much more than I ever imagined.”

  “I was thinking the same about you.” I smile. I can’t stop smiling. He has that effect on me.

  Chris plants his palm against my sex. “You’re swollen. That means I did well; so did you.”

  Somehow, no matter how off the charts I think sex with Chris is, I doubt I had precisely the same impact on him that he had on me. I arch my brow.

  “You doubt me?” He places my palm against his cock, still sticky and slick from our encounters. “You made me feel something that I’ve never felt before.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s difficult to believe. The list of women is long indeed.”

  “Not the real list. Not the ones I’ve actually dated, let alone the ones I’ve had sex with.” He caresses my clit, and his gentleness causes me to shudder and moan. His skillful touch causes warmth to overtake me, like waves. I don’t fight the current of heat he’s igniting.

  Instead, I give a gentle squeeze to his cock, and I ask something I dared not before this. “How many relationships have you been in?”

  Chris tugs me against his chest. “One relationship. The rest were just sex. And there haven’t been many of those, either. The gossip sites exaggerate.”

  One relationship. Jealousy coils deep within me, but I have no right to be jealous. What we have is, at best, a fling.

  “She’s beautiful, smart, and gets me like no one else,” Chris elaborates, and I withdraw my hand. I could do without the play-by-play of his relationship with some dream woman. Especially when spoken in the present tense. “When she fucks me, I feel like I am the only guy for her. I want to be the only guy for her.”

  My ire rises, as does my voice. “Then why aren’t you with her now?” I try to pull away, but Chris clamps his hand around my wrist.

  “I am.” He wears a wide smile.

  Son of a bitch. He tugs me closer and claims my mouth in another soul-fusing kiss.

  “Were you jealous?” he muses, tweaking my nipple. “Because trust me when I say no one has anything on you, Serena.”

  When he says it like that, I actually believe him. Then it dawns on me…he said I’m his only relationship. No pressure, right? I mean the sex is phenomenal, but does either of us know what it takes to make a relationship work?

  My inner snark warns that we’re screwed, in more ways than one.

  * * *

  —

  I awaken to the sounds of Chris’s soft, shallow breaths in his sleep. I remain in his arms, like I was before. Naked. Completely exposed. He’s holding me tight. Like I belong to him. And suddenly I question everything. I have no idea what happens next. I contemplate leaving, doing the walk of shame, silently cursing my impulsive decision to strip in his foyer and leave the jersey there. I was afraid I’d lose my nerve. Little did I know that I still would, only after several bouts of mind-blowing sex. Now I’m naked, self-conscious, and cursing myself for being so impulsive.

  His digital clock on the nightstand says it’s two in the morning, which isn’t surprising. That’s when my doubts usually settle. In the middle of the night, when everyone else is asleep. Now, given the amazing sex and intimacies that I shared with Chris, my mind is racing a mile a minute with at least a million questions and me feeling like my carefully crafted world is shaky and suddenly not so safe. I mean, where does this leave us besides me getting hurt…

  “What are you thinking?” His voice is gruff with sleep. I have no idea how long he’s been awake.

  He rolls me toward him, until I face him in the dim light cast upon us by the moon shining between two sets of curtains. “I know there’s something going through that mind of yours.”

  “How do you know? You met me days ago.” It’s true. How does he know me so well?

  He nuzzles my nose with his. “It feels longer.”

  His admission surprises me. Not because I disagree. No, I agree with him. I’m just surprised that he feels the same.

  “I don’t want you to leave.” His baritone is raspy. “Stay the night. We’ve got a shot at something, even if I don’t know what that is.”

  “Neither do I.” I lean my head against my elbow. “All I know is that I want whatever it is more than I thought possible. Does that scare you?”

  “It terrifies me. You?” His hair is messy and makes him look younger. I imagine what he must have looked like on that ice in Michigan. The young kid. Alone.

  Does whatever this is between us frighten me? “Absolutely. But I still want it. I want to see if what we have is more than sexual attraction.”

  Chris encircles my leg with his. “So, let’s get to know each other. Ask me anything.”

  “Who uses a digital clock anymore?” My sarcasm makes him laugh.

  “I use the clock and my cell. I’m paranoid about running late.” He scratches his scruff. “That was an easy one. Toss me another.”

  He wants a tough question? Okay. “Why don’t you deny the gossip?”

  Dragging his hands through his messy hair with a sigh, he pauses. As if he’s thinking. “It made me a big name. My skills on the ice got me far, but being in the tabloids and on gossip sites got me noticed. It got me here. If I can make it there…you know the Sinatra song, right?”

  “Who doesn’t? So, Frank Sinatra and New York are important to you. The Nighthawks offered you an amazing opportunity.” With an incredible salary, I add silently. I wouldn’t dare say it. But, to a guy with a deadbeat dad and no mom, that money must mean a lot.

  Chris strokes my cheek with a callused finger. It doesn’t bother me, the way it scrapes against my face. Instead, I feel closer to him than ever. “My mom used to have a snow globe with the Empire State Building inside. She always wanted to travel to Manhattan. Relocating to the Nighthawks was like honoring her wishes, living for her, I guess. What better place to plant some roots? Those gossip sites helped get me here. Now that I’m here, I don’t want to piss anyone off, or make management second-guess their decision to hire me. Does that make any sense?”

  His candor fills my heart. His smooth baritone is gruff with emotion. Raw emotion I didn’t expect to experience with him. This pull, this tug toward him…the ordinary guy. I nod. “Perfect sense.”

  “When did you start designing clothes?” he asks, smoothing a curl behind my ear, then resting his hand on my neck. He’s warm. He’s comforting. I lean into him, yearning to be closer still.

  “That began when I was a teenager. My mom thought it would incentivize me to lose weight if she made me wear the ugliest plus-size clothes possible. As if going to school in a prep school uniform with size zeros and twos wasn’t shaming enough, she wanted to add a little more humiliation. Thank God my grandmother taught me to sew. I created my own clothes and I rocked them.”

  He smiles at me. “I like your grandmother and I haven’t e
ven met her yet.”

  Yet. His word hovers in the charged air around us. I must be honest. There can’t be any misunderstandings or illusions. “This is me, Chris. I work out, I eat healthy for the most part. This is my body, though. You need to know that. I’m never going to turn into a model—”

  “Stop. I don’t want you to transform into anyone else. Why would you even suggest that, Serena? You know how into you I am.”

  “I know; I’m not usually this hard on myself. But I’m trying to be realistic. If anyone finds out about us, people will wonder what you’re doing with me.” Such is the cold hard, truth as told unapologetically by me. This is why most men shy away from me. Because I’m too bold, too honest. When you grow up with pretense and lies, you tend to be no-nonsense. At least that was the case with me.

  He tugs me closer. Heat radiates from his body in waves, and I welcome it. He is like the sun. Radiant. Powerful. Charismatic. Magnetic. I can’t get enough.

  “When people learn about us, they’ll think you’re too good for me. Even if they don’t, it doesn’t matter.” He is adamant. “There will be plenty for them to gossip about soon enough. Some of my teammates don’t respect me, or the organization for that matter, nearly as much as they should, and I’ve got a brand-new franchise counting on me to bring them together. They paid me a shitload of money to lead them to the cup. This year, not next. They want it now.”

  I study his profile, gasping at his swollen jaw. Why didn’t I catch it earlier? “Who the hell did this to you?” I gently touch it.

  Chris rubs my hand with his thumb. “One of the guys. It’s no big deal. He was aiming for someone else, and I got in his way.”

  “I’ll beat the shit out of him. Stilettos can be used as weapons, you know.” I’m drop-dead serious.

  It makes him suppress a chuckle. “Sorry to dampen your enthusiasm, but Nick got to him first.”

  I gently caress his jaw with my free hand. “I don’t know which one Nick is, but I like him already. Seriously, though, you need to shut that shit down.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Chris studies me. “You are a hellcat, aren’t you?”

  “No one messes with the people I care about.” Oh, shit! I just admitted that aloud. Shit! I jerk my hand away. “Mind if I shower before I go?”

  He nods as if my sudden change of topic is totally normal, as if I’m not acting manic. I go with it, racing across the dimly lit room where some of the candles are burning out. Naked, exposed…Shit! There are two doors on the far side of the large room, one closed, and odds are that the open door leads to the bathroom and not the closet. I run through it and close the door, leaning against it for support. As the lights turn on by themselves, I survey the luxurious bathroom. Thank you for not being a closet. Instead it features travertine and marble, dark faucets and accessories. Impressive, with a Tuscan flair. Speaking of impressive, the shower is as large as my bedroom, with one of those waterfall shower heads at each end.

  No matter how nice Chris’s bathroom is, I can’t stop thinking about what I said. I care. All accounts report that he doesn’t do relationships. Though he may have used the word relationship earlier, I’m convinced it was the haze of sex talking. Now, with my admission, he’ll think I’m clingy or, worse…desperate. I want to hide. Instead, I pee, wishing I had my clothes. After I wash my hands at the travertine sink, I study my reflection in the large mirror. My hair is tousled, my cheeks are flushed, and I am butt naked. Immediately, my mind jumps to solutions. I have a change of clothes in my bag. I can shower and wrap myself in a towel. Yep. Then get to the jersey. Once out, I’ll slip my leggings on in the car. Wash and dash. No big deal.

  I lean under one of his magical showerheads, savoring the warm water as it trickles over my wet ringlets and body. Placing my hands against the luxurious stone, I can’t stop my mind from racing. I should have kept my mouth shut. I was just so into Chris, so off my usual guard, that I admitted what I’d been feeling all night—that I care for him, despite my avowals that this isn’t serious.

  The shower door opens, and Chris closes it behind him. Placing his solid hands over mine against the wall, his naked body melds against my own as he whispers in my ear, “I like that you care.”

  It’s no declaration of his feelings, but he isn’t running from me. That’s something, I suppose.

  He smooths my hair over my shoulder and kisses the nape of my neck. “I want to go all Neanderthal and brand you as mine.” More kisses as his cock hardens against my ass with each confession. “I want to be the only guy you want to fuck. I want everyone else to pale in comparison.”

  He’s saved me from my confession by making several of his own. It’s kind, and his tone is tender. As he releases me to grab the soap and a bath sponge, the shower fills with a masculine scent, similar to his cologne, with notes of patchouli and musk. It relaxes my taut nerves as he rubs my shoulders. Several bubbles drift within the stone-and-glass enclosure. He then travels down my back, to my ass, causing a tingling sensation to linger everywhere his sponge and fingers make contact with my flesh. He slips his finger between my ass cheeks and slides it up. I gasp, leaning against him.

  He admitted that he wants me to be his. As far as I’m concerned, I already am. But I can’t say anything more than I already have. I’ve made enough admissions tonight. Still, he wants me to be his, and, even more surprisingly, so do I. That’s why I bend over, allowing him access. Because I want to be his and his alone, I’ll grant him this.

  Tugging my hair, he gently tilts my head back. “Are you sure?”

  “I trust you.” Turning, I meet his eyes. They’re smoky with desire, and with satisfaction. With this, he’s the only man. I think he senses that, though he never has to know for certain. I know. That’s all that matters. To me he’s special and, regardless of what happens after tonight, a part of me will always be his.

  Since Chris, I’ve experienced a lot of firsts. This is one for the record books. He soaps my body, then caresses my breasts in an achingly gentle way. When his palms make their descent to my ass, he rubs my cheeks gently before probing me with his finger. It hurts at first, and I tense. That’s when he withdraws and spins me under the water. Kissing me with an intense reverence. Like he lives for me. He then turns me again, kissing my shoulders, trailing his tongue down my wet spine, to my ass. He kisses me there, too, in the most tender yet wicked fashion. His finger probes again, this time causing no pain. He pulls out, then enters again, this time with his cock. I can feel the difference. Chris’s thrusts are shallow, gentle. He’s holding back. The veins protruding in his hands and arms prove as much.

  “Don’t restrain yourself.” My words are forceful. “I want you, the real you. I can take it.”

  He kisses my neck. “That’s my girl. Fierce. Feisty. Mine.”

  His palms clamp my breasts as his thrusts grow deeper. The tightness I felt early on is soon replaced with a warmth that overtakes me as he swells inside of me. I bend over more, straining for him, as he undulates with me, pumping and grinding until warmth travels through every nerve, every muscle, until my climax reaches new heights.

  I’ve given him so much of me that I should feel raw and exposed. Instead, I feel contentment mingled with a sense of liberation, which is new. I challenged myself tonight. Me, the girl with trust issues, allowed this man into my most intimate self. It was worth it. I kiss him gingerly, my body spent, but my heart refusing to stop just yet. Our kisses are lazy, his lips lingering against mine, our hands massaging each other beneath the waterfall shower. This is another first. Feeling so enraptured with a man that time seems to stand still, that nothing else matters except him.

  Chris savors me, his hands trailing to the crook in my neck. Our kisses are languorous now, even more intimate than before. When he finally breaks free, his eyes hold mine for a long time. They’re intense, amber with flecks of green, and pupils focused so hard on me that it
feels as if he is searching my soul. There’s a tenderness to his gaze, too, along with intricate fine lines surrounding his eyes. He seems bewildered, mesmerized, transfixed. Was this some sort of first for him, too? I dare not ask. Instead, I kiss him once more, and his lips are featherlight against mine.

  He then reaches for the soft sponge with more intoxicating soap and gently washes me. He starts with my neck, then my breasts, still taut and swollen from his mouth and beard. When he kneels, he lathers my vagina and my legs. “Turn around.”

  I do as instructed, leaning against the wall for support as he massages my ass with his palms before planting a gentle kiss on each cheek. By the time he stands, he’s claimed my mouth one more time under the waterfall. No words. Just hypnotic kisses that add a heavy haze to my eyes, matching my exhausted limbs.

  He towels me off with care before leading me into his massive walk-in. Just as I imagined, his closet is impressive. Large, filled with organized shelves and designer everything. He hands me a fluffy robe that’s too big. I shrug into it, then we lie in bed together. The closet door remains open, and I notice an old pair of skates on the top of some impeccably organized shelves with neatly lined shoes. Those skates…they’re in ragged condition.

  “What’s the story behind the skates?” I ask.

  He nips my earlobe. There’s a long pause, until he rests his head against mine. “They’re my first pair. Hand-me-downs. I keep them to remind me where I came from.”

  His words pierce my soul. This is the real him. The sentimental side that I doubt many see. I’m one of the select few. It’s enough. At least for now.

  I roll over, facing him. The light from the closet casts a dim glow in his masculine bedroom. More candles have snuffed out, and darkness is descending. “Thank you for confiding that.” Kissing him on his swollen jaw, I add, “It’s what I needed.”

  His smoky gaze holds mine. In his ever-changing eyes, I see desire, and gentleness. They leave me aching for him.