by Luis, Maria
Humor eases the always-present pressure in my chest. Setting my beer bottle down so I can free both hands, I drop my forearm to the bar and invade Levi’s personal bubble. Pop. My eyes fall to her lips. Fuck, I want her. We’ve played the cat-and-mouse game for days now. Correction: we’ve been at it for weeks.
Flirting. Teasing.
A weaker man would have buckled and given in on that very first night.
“What’s the most unexpected thing you’ve ever done?” she asks, catching me off guard.
“Ever?” I echo, my eyes locked on hers. So damn blue they’re almost black in the candlelit pub. “Or recently?”
“In the last year.”
I tilt my head toward the TV behind me. “Besides going on a dating show, you mean?”
As though it pains her to think of me with someone else, her brows furrow. “Yeah, besides that.”
Giving her question only a moment’s thought, I lift a hand to her face. Cup her jaw, my thumb tracing the hairline scar that bisects her upper lip. “It’s ridiculous how much I crave touching you,” I utter in a low voice, unable to look away. Not even Savannah Rose had a grip on me like this. I liked Savannah. I cared about what she thought of me. I wanted to be the sort of man she looked at and thought, Yeah, he fits in my world.
With Levi, worlds aren’t even a factor.
I crave the feel of her skin on mine.
I want to know what’s going on in her head at all times, even when she’ll push and prod at my walls until I’m being just as vulnerable.
I like knowing that soft as she is, as warm as she can be, she’s a total hard-ass too.
Shaking my head—and shoving those thoughts away—I drag my thumb across her plump bottom lip, mussing up the shiny gloss she’s wearing. She blinks up at me, and damn it if I don’t love the look of her smudged lip gloss paired with her big blue eyes. A perfect match. Yeah, I wouldn’t mind being the one to dirty her up real good.
Focus.
“I went skydiving a few months ago,” I finally answer. And, knowing that Levi is the sort of person who always pushes for more, I elaborate without her asking for it: “When you’re free-fallin’ like that, no one gives a shit about who you are or what you’ve accomplished in life or where you’re from. End of the day, it’s you, a parachute, and the rush of wind in your ears.”
Levi reaches for my beer and pulls back only long enough for a sip. “Give me something else,” she prods, bottle neck dangling from between two slender fingers. “Doesn’t have to be something recent.”
Casting a quick glance over to the people filtering into the pub—it’s still relatively early for a weekend night—I cup the back of my neck, idly rubbing the muscles there. “I’m gonna go with the trip I took after my physical therapist gave me the go-ahead with my leg.” I knock the heel of my right boot against the bar stool’s leg. “You ever heard of Hua Shan in China?”
Levi takes another drag of my beer. “Can’t say that I have. Is it a monastery or something?”
“Better. So much better.” Remembering the edge of anticipation that had my lungs pumping for days in advance, I scoot forward so she won’t miss a word. “Hua Shan is a mountain ridge. An adrenaline junkie’s dream. Loads of articles have coined it the world’s most dangerous hike.” I lift a hand, illustrating the invisible line of a sharp peak. “Narrow paths are carved into the mountain side, and there are these . . . real narrow planks that are bolted to the cliffside.”
“It sounds . . . dangerous.”
I flash her a small grin. “I prefer to think of it as thrilling.”
“You would, Mr. Living On The Edge.”
“You tellin’ me that you wouldn’t risk it all for the best sunset in the world?”
She doesn’t even bother to hide her eye roll. “C’mon. For a sunset? That doesn’t seem very . . . you.”
“Why? Because I’m a jock?”
“That’s not what I said. I’m a jock, too. Or I was, I guess. You just don’t seem the sort to stop and enjoy something as poetic as a sunset or a sunrise or anything, really, that doesn’t involve—Dominic, are you listening?”
“Multitasking,” I answer as I open the internet tab on my phone. With quick fingers, I plug in a website that I’ve kept a secret for years now. It’s been no one’s business but mine and I’ve always preferred it that way.
To the world, I’m Dominic DaSilva: world-renowned athlete, TV host, bad boy extraordinaire.
I’m not denying any of that.
But a small part of me will always be that kid who felt invisible and neglected. Who watched the world pass him by and vowed, even if only to himself, that one day the world would be his for the taking, if he only dared to reach for it.
Silently, I pass my phone over to Levi, who takes it carefully after setting aside the beer. I pick up the Bud Light automatically, seeking something to busy myself with as I wait for her to connect the dots—to see more of me than I’ve ever allowed another person.
I hear her sharp, indrawn breath at the same time I watch her thumbs swipe up.
“You took these?” she asks, awe coating every word.
Ignoring the unfamiliar bundle of nerves in my stomach, I dip my chin. “Yeah. I did.”
Her head bows as she continues to scroll. “Dominic . . .”
My heart pounds a mile a minute. “They’re not professionally done, obviously. I bought a camera but it’s not like I know what the fuck I’m doing with it—”
“Where is this?” She shoves the phone in my direction, pointing at the screen. “I don’t recognize it.”
“Tyulenovo.” At her blank stare, I stifle a grin. “It’s in northern Bulgaria, along the Balkan Sea. See?” My hand engulfs hers, my thumb sandwiched between her fingers as I swipe up to view the next picture. Craggy cliffs, turquoise, turbulent waters, and a thirty-foot-plus drop that terrified me as much as it spurred me on. I can almost recall the rush of adrenaline that gripped my lungs like a vice when I made the jump. “People come from all over the world to cliff jump from this exact spot.”
“Insane people, you mean.”
“I think the term you’re lookin’ for is ‘adrenaline junkie.’”
Shooting me an indecipherable glance, Levi angles the phone so we can both see the screen. With her thumb hooked under mine, she encourages me to scroll up with a little nudge. “There,” she says, “where was that?”
Narrow gravel roads winding along protruding mountains. Hot rain pelting my back as I gripped the bike’s handlebars. Stinging calves by the time I finished the path. “Death Road in Bolivia. My heart was in my throat the entire ride. It was . . . awesome.”
“Awesome,” she mocks sarcastically under her breath, “meanwhile, I would have peed myself.”
I knock my knee against hers. “I wouldn’t judge you if you did.”
“No?”
“Of course not.”
She narrows her eyes, disbelief warring with humor in their sapphire depths. “Really.”
“Yup.” I draw out the word, popping the p just to see that flicker of humor truly spark to life. “We’re in this together. Two coaches taking on the world—”
“Or at least this corner of Maine.”
“—and I wouldn’t let you suffer that embarrassment alone.” Cocking my head, I lower my voice playfully. “Nah, Coach, I would have pissed myself right along with you. That’s teamwork right there.”
Levi promptly drops her head, chin to her chest, and just when I’m convinced that she’s going to tell me to screw off for being weird, she laughs. She laughs so hard that her shoulders shake with the force of her mirth and she begins to turn heads. Crazy as it sounds, I revel in the girlish sound.
I can hear Savannah Rose calling my former castmates forward at the ring ceremony. Hear my name said, too: “Will you accept this ring, Dom?” Savannah asks and then there’s my husky response, “Yeah, of course I do.”
The pub’s patrons, Oliver included, erupt into a series of excited
catcalling. No doubt some of them have won this week’s fantasy league stats by having me stick around for another seven days.
But it’s Levi who captures my sole attention. Levi who’s making my dead heart leap and my damn cock stiffen, even though I’m in a very public place with a number of people who probably wouldn’t mind earning themselves a little extra cash by going to Celebrity Tea Presents or another shitty gossip rag with information about what I’m up to these days.
I slip off the bar stool, then barricade Levi’s body with mine so she’s off-limits to Oliver and his buddies. I don’t give a shit what they say about me—it’s nothing I haven’t heard before or won’t hear again—but I’m not dragging Levi into this mess with me. Not here, where everyone can speculate about what might be going on with London High’s head and assistant coaches.
“Where’s Topher?” I ask, a plan already forming in my head.
“At Bobby’s for the night with Timmy and Kevin. Harry, too.” Levi peers up at me, my phone still clasped in her hand. “Why?”
“Because you’re coming with me.”
“Oh, am I now?”
“Yeah.”
I snag my phone from her and pocket it in my jeans. I want to do so much more than that, too. Spread her legs wide and step in between them, her calves looped around my thighs as I angle her for my cock. Feel her nails scrape my shoulders as I lower my head and find her pert nipple with my mouth. Cup the weight of her breast and know, without a single trace of worry, that Levi is with me for me and not because of who I am. Who I was.
Boldly, I watch as Levi’s hands tremble while she adjusts her top, as if she’s gathering her wits about her and coming to a decision I’m not privy to. Her straight blond hair falls forward, a physical shield that closes me off from her expression.
And then . . . and then air comes slow and reedy through my nose when it hits me.
The straps of her shirt hang loose around her biceps, exposing the upper swells of her breasts and the fine lace of her bra.
She’s signaling exactly what she wants from me tonight . . . and I’m gonna give it to her—but on my terms.
Just as I need to find peace in the calm, she’s craving a taste of the insanity. I heard the tremor of excitement in her voice when she looked through my photos. Saw the longing for more that she desperately tried to hide behind questioning why I do such outrageous things.
I cliff dive, and I climb mountains on planks as wide as my forearm, and I risk biking straight off a mountain because it makes me feel as though my fate is entirely in my hands. It’s mine to take and mine to destroy and there’s something empowering about risking it all and knowing that it’s your own free will and mental strength that sees you safely to the other side.
“You trust me, Coach?” I ask softly.
She blinks up at me, wetting her bottom lip in a way that has my jeans feeling too damn tight. “The last time you asked me that, I found myself in a kayak at three in the morning.”
I make a point of checking the time on my gold Rolex. “It’s only ten, which means we’ve got some time before you run the risk of turning into a pumpkin.” Shoulders raised to keep everyone else out of our conversation, my gaze never wavers from hers. “Do you trust me.”
Not a question.
She licks her lips again, but nothing about it is sexual. She’s nervous, I can tell. Being nervous is good—you can’t win if you don’t take a leap of faith. Slowly, she inclines her head in the smallest, most imperceptible nod I’ve ever seen. “You going to feed me to the sharks?”
“Can’t make any promises.”
“Will you make me one promise?”
“Name it.”
Her throat visibly constricts. “Call me Aspen . . . just for tonight.”
Fuck.
It’s my turn to find it difficult to swallow. Harder, still, to keep my distance when I’m uncomfortably aware of multiple pairs of eyes tracking our every move. Londoners are curious, and I’m . . . I’m freefalling.
“Yeah,” I manage to choke out, my voice thick with emotion, “I can do that.”
24
Aspen
Aside from a quick pit stop by our houses—me to drop off my car and Dominic to grab some “necessities,” as he called them, from his place—we get on the road.
Only, I’m blindfolded.
Blindfolded, like a scene out of Fifty Shades of Grey. “I feel like Ana,” I whisper, because it’s hard not to whisper when the world feels out of reach and you’re completely dependent on another person to make sure you don’t, I don’t know, die.
Dominic’s voice is nothing but heat and amusement. “Ana, who?”
“Fifty Shades of Grey?” At the ensuing silence, I try again. “E.L. James? Famous romance author?” Still nothing. Figures—men. “She writes erotica. BDSM-type stuff.”
“Whips and cages and chains, oh my.”
The words emerge so droll that I can’t help but shake my head. Already I’m itching to rip off the blindfold and breathe through the low pulse of anxiety clinging to my skin. “Have you ever tried it?”
“Bondage?”
“Don’t sound so shocked. Clearly you have an affinity for blindfolds.”
Husky laughter echoes in the cab of the truck. “Let’s not get it twisted here, Coach—you’re wearing an old T-shirt wrapped around your head. And nah, I’m not interested in any of that.”
“You’re not going to tell me why?” If nothing else, the blindfold has given me the gift of no filter. It’s absolutely liberating, even if my nerves haven’t quit me yet. I press my knees together, my hands clasped in my lap as I listen to the gentle whir of the wind speed past the car. “I feel like most guys wouldn’t mind tying a woman up.”
“I don’t need ropes, Aspen.”
Pleasure, as sharp and insistent as the moment he kissed me, gathers between my legs—and all because he used my name. My first name. It sounds like heaven dipped in orgasms coming out of his mouth. Sweeter, even, like an endearment. Baby. Sugarplum. Aspen.
I almost beg him to say it again.
I don’t, but only because he continues talking in that rough, deep timbre that could convince even a nun to ditch her habit, it’s so sensually wicked.
“If I want to pin you down, I’ll do it with my hands locked around your wrists. If I want to see your ass turn pink, I’ll skip the paddle and use my palm.” A heavy, masculine hand curves possessively over the back of my skull and I feel him tighten the knot of the blindfold. “And if I’m dyin’ to see your eyes squeeze shut because you don’t know if you can take anymore, I’ll cut out all the toys and put you on your knees instead, slipping my cock between those berry lips of yours.”
Oh.
My.
God.
Without my sight, my hearing is so much more acute. There’s nothing but the sound of tires rolling over a smooth road and my uneven breathing for company. I squirm in the passenger’s seat, my thighs rubbing together. Two of my fingers arch toward my throat to skate over my skin.
“What’re you doing?”
“Checking my pulse.” There, at the base of my neck. Between my legs, my clit throbs to the same fluttering beat. He’s turning me inside out. Stringing me along like a cat in heat. Deep breaths. “You can’t just say things like that—”
“Does it scare you?”
I sink down on my seat. “You scare me.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ve known each other for all of two weeks and already I’ve let you lead me out into the ocean, blindfold me, and then put those images in my head. What will I let you do to me next? Where do I draw the line? I feel like . . . I feel like . . .”
“You’re alive.”
My unadorned fingers flex in my lap. “Yes.”
He drums a catchy beat on the steering wheel. “You know how I feel every time I do something insane?” I can almost envision him throwing up bunny quotes around the word “insane.” The way he says it, the way I’ve heard h
im toss the word around about himself in the past, tells me it belongs to a much bigger story. Something he’s not ready to reveal yet. “I feel like you do right now, Aspen.”
Feeling bold, and curious to know if I can hear joy displace his always-present cynicism, I tease, “You feel like your panties are wet?”
And I do.
I hear the back of his head collide with the seat and the deep rumble of his laughter, and call me insane, but I swear I can hear a wicked smile curve his lips. Breathtaking. That’s how he sounds—breathtakingly handsome.
I imagine his teeth grazing his bottom lip when he murmurs, “How do you always manage to surprise me?”
“Maybe because I’m demolishing every stereotype you had of me.” Holding up a hand that I can’t see beyond the black fabric, I tick off each finger as I speak. “Young woman married to a much older man. Accidental pregnancy. Female football coach. Divorced and not bitter—okay, sometimes a little bitter.” I pause, four fingers curled into my palm with my thumb still standing tall. “Any others I should add?”
“Yeah.”
My heart clenches. Idiot. Idiot. Why wouldn’t he take the opportunity to list his misconceptions of me? God knows that I’ve been judging him for years. I’ve used his bad behavior as a lesson to my players multiple times over. More shamefully, I believed everything Rick ever said about Dominic, never digging deeper than whatever rumors hit the gossip circuits.
“I won’t break,” I edge out, blinking quickly behind the blindfold. Whatever he thought of me when we first met, I can take it. Sticks and stones and all that. “Go ahead.”
The trucks slows to a crawl. My seat belt tightens across my chest as Dominic cuts the ignition. I wait, breath drawn, for the jangle of keys—only to feel the pressure of his big frame leaning over me, one hand gripping my thigh.
Oh, boy.
Ears straining for a hint of what’s to come, I catch the click of the passenger’s side door opening and then there’s no mistaking the way my hair is carefully tucked behind my ear and his lips brush my ear to order, “Get out.”
