Maddox had paced the locker room during that last intermission, trying hard to keep his cool as he told us we had to be more aggressive on the forecheck, push harder on the boards, get to the net. He’d tried to encourage us, ensuring us we still had twenty minutes of hockey to play, and we were fucking capable of earning back the win. But after the first face-off of the third period, all hell broke loose. Rasmussen allowed himself to get goaded into a fight when one of L.A.’s D-men pancaked him to the plexi. He’d taken the first swing, gotten a minor penalty for roughing, and not more than two minutes into the period, they scored again. Coach’s advice had gone in one ear and gotten lost somewhere on the other side. L.A. outmatched us, played a better mental game. Our game? It fell apart. Irritation—desperation—ate its way from our forward line back to the net. They’d shut us out, and we had no one to blame but ourselves.
“What a fucking nightmare,” Karlsson groaned and chucked his helmet into the cubby next to mine. He whipped his jersey over his head and threw it violently down onto the floor.
I leaned down to untie my laces, ignoring his tantrum. I’d like to say he’d done the best that he could, but none of us had. Blood dripped down my face from the half-inch-long gash marring my left cheekbone. I’d taken a high stick to the face, and of course, the ref hadn’t noticed when it happened. Every damn penalty we pulled though…
“Bullshit.” I heard someone mutter but kept my eyes trained to the floor as I removed my skates.
I shuffled through my bag looking for my phone. I needed to send my obligatory, “I’ll call you later, we lost” text to my sister, and let Stevie know I would head out soon, but the battery had died. Realizing my charger was at the hotel, I zipped up my bag with more force than was necessary as I heard the coaching staff grumbling to one another. Coach would save his speeches for tomorrow, like always, once we were back home. He was a huge proponent of putting a loss behind you as quick as possible, move on, and learn from your mistakes. Maddox had a great mental game, only losing his shit on rare occasions. He and Bryson were a lot alike in that aspect.
“Take this.” Bryson handed me a towel. “You’re bleeding.”
He sank down onto the bench next to me and I stared at the towel. “I’d like to blame your girl for this…” I shot him a warning glare and he laughed. “Calm down, asshole. I was gonna say, I’d like to, but we lost this shit all on our own. If anything, you played your best game tonight.”
I ran my hand through my sweat-soaked hair and leaned back against the wall. I was still wearing my pads, exhausted, I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath. I hadn’t thought about Stevie since L.A. scored their first goal. I’d effectively compartmentalized like I always did. And without sounding like an arrogant prick, what Bryson said was true. I had played my best game tonight. I was all over the place, picking up slack when I could, but…
“It doesn’t matter when you lose the points, though, does it?” I asked.
Bryson punched my shoulder and I opened my eyes. “It doesn’t, but we won two out of three on this trip, and maybe Maddox was on to something at practice this morning with those suggested line changes. I should’ve listened. I like you as a line mate, we’re fucking epic, man, but maybe if he split us up, gave us our own lines like he wanted to try, we’d get more depth.”
“You think?”
“Shit, I don’t know. Maybe it’ll mess everything up, but I think we should at least give it a try. We’ll never make it to the playoffs if we can’t find a consistency that works.”
I wiped the towel across my face and winced as the rough, dry, fabric pulled across the cut. My head pounded, and all I wanted to do was shower and fall asleep next to Stevie’s naked body. Our next game wasn’t until Tuesday, instead of our normal late-night flight home, we were taking off at the ass crack of dawn.
“That looks like it needs stitches,” he said as he stood and removed his shirt.
“I’ll see the trainer.” I shrugged my shoulders. I’d had worse.
I pressed the fabric firmly against my cheek trying to dull the sting, feeling more aggravated than anything by the delay the small injury would cause. If I had my way, I’d be in the cab riding back to the hotel instead of hanging in a smelly-as-fuck locker room with a bunch of pissed-off dudes.
“Good game tonight, Melo,” Bryson said, his tone loaded with sarcasm. I lifted my tired eyes to his. “You deserve a conciliatory blow job.”
I choked on my laugh as I threw my bloody towel at his feet. “Christ,” was all I could mutter as I stood. Every muscle in my body twisted in the wrong direction, begging for hot water.
“What?” He smirked. “That’s what I’m gonna do. I think blow jobs are pretty much a cure-all for everything.”
“I thought you said pussy was a cure-all for everything.”
Bryson’s brows pinched together as his smirk lifted into a smile. “Well, yeah… that, too.”
I shook my head even though the thought of being buried inside Stevie had me thinking I could skip the stitches.
Turned out I couldn’t skip the stitches. I walked into my hotel room around midnight with four stitches sewn into my cheek, every muscle and bone in my body ached as I let my duffle fall to the floor right by the front door. I moved through the suite with silent steps as I followed the path of light creeping from the bedroom door. The only sound I heard as I carefully pushed it open were even, soft breaths. Stevie was sprawled across the bed wearing absolutely nothing. A groan caught in my throat as I approached her. Slipping off my suit jacket I admired the velvet surfaces of her skin and how the sheet had tangled itself exposing her full tits. The light from the bathroom was on, illuminating the dusky pink of her nipples. My mouth went dry, and I loosened my tie, tonight’s game officially forgotten.
I stripped down, leaving a pile of clothes on the floor, and crawled onto the bed. I pressed her back to my chest, my dick—hard—pushed against her ass. A breathy moan, a quiet hmm, and she wiggled against me.
“It’s late,” I whispered, pressing kisses below her ear.
She rolled her head to the side and gazed up at me with sleepy eyes. “I texted you.”
“My phone died.” I kissed her mouth and she arched her back.
A muted growl formed in my throat and I bit her upper lip. She wrapped her arm around the back of my neck, her fingers running up the nape and twisting my hair as she opened her kiss. Her tongue tasted like mint and it swept and moved in languid strokes. I cupped her breast, and I smiled against her mouth when she shivered.
I lowered my hand to her belly, pressing her hips back into mine. She broke our kiss, breathing heavy, and covered my hand with hers. She guided it between her legs and, holy fuck, she was wet and warm, and exactly where I wanted to be. She was slick against my fingertips as I teased her clit. A long, needy breath passed her lips when I slipped my fingers out from between her legs.
I palmed her knee, sliding my hand down a few inches. Not a word was said as she bent her knee, feeling my touch, knowing what I wanted, she lifted her leg. Her back to my chest, I reached down between us, aligning myself with her body. The muscles in my stomach contracted as I slid inside her. She was hot against my skin, her arousal pouring over me, dragging me in deeper and, without thinking, my body sought what it needed.
I dropped my lips to her neck, my teeth taking small purchases of her flesh as she ground herself against my every thrust, tight grunts of praise shuddered past my lips as I fucked her, lost myself inside her. My right arm was wrapped under her, around her, holding her in place. My left hand and its fingers occupied again with the sweet sensitive flesh between her legs. She exploded around me, her climax coaxing mine. It started at the base of my spine. My jaw clenched, my forehead falling onto her shoulder as I fought it, trying to hold on. Her body was too good, and I didn’t want to stop. I slowed each thrust until she begged me to fuck her, to move faster, to go harder, until I could no longer take my self-imposed torture.
“Fuck, I’m go
nna come,” I growled into the crook of her neck as my hips lost their rhythm, as my mind cleared, and all I could feel was the heat of my release as I let go inside her.
We were both catching our breath, sweat beading on my brow as I kissed her shoulder. Being skin-to-skin with Stevie in every way was heaven. Yesterday, after she’d told me she had an IUD, we both decided condoms were no longer necessary. Feeling Stevie come, without any barriers, I was fucking hooked.
I leaned back, reluctantly breaking away from her body. She rolled to her other side, facing me. We kissed slow and deep, and when I felt myself getting hard again, I nipped her lip and chuckled.
I took her hand in mine and lowered it to my burgeoning erection. “See what you do to me.”
She stroked me once and buried her face in my chest.
She lifted her hand to my heart as she tipped her head, bringing her eyes to mine. She gasped and raised her brows. “Oh my God, what happened to your face?”
Stevie raised her trembling fingers as if to touch my stitches and then thought better of it, letting them fall below the gash.
“It’s nothing,” I assured her and kissed the tips of her fingers.
“Mark, that’s not nothing.” She elevated her weight onto her elbow and my eyes trailed down to the sweeping slopes of her breasts. She playfully pushed my chest. “Can you concentrate for a second and tell me what happened?”
“Hockey happened.” She rolled her eyes and I smiled. “The game was shit, their guys were rougher than we were, we lost, and I got stitches… overall, these last twenty minutes, highlight of my night.”
“Getting laid being the highlight of your night over a horrible loss isn’t really a compliment.”
I placed another kiss, unable to help myself, between her furrowed brows. Tiny creases around her eyes formed as she smiled. Instead of aging her, the laugh lines made her look younger.
“Horrible loss? We’ve had worse.”
“Will it get easier watching you lose?” she asked, tracing her nails along the ridges of my stomach and back up to my chest.
My lips found hers as I tried to persuade her away from this line of conversation. Her fingers fisted in my hair and I guided her down onto the mattress.
“Don’t want to talk about it, huh?”
I shook my head with a flippant smile as I let her thighs box in my hips. “Talk about what?”
She narrowed her eyes, her mouth tipping into a smirk, her hands gliding down my ribcage and over the solid curve of my ass. “The game.”
My lips surrounded the tight peak of her nipple, my tongue tasting the tip. The silk of her skin grazed my taste buds and my mouth watered. I watched her lids fall and hood her eyes as I asked, “What game?”
The water I’d set to boil on the stove was about to brim over the edge of the pot when I heard three hard and familiar knocks on my front door. I turned the heat down to medium and set the box of bowtie pasta on the kitchen island. I’d only gotten home from work about twenty minutes ago, enough time to pour myself a glass of wine and decide that I was going to stress eat an entire box of pasta. My heels clicked across the hardwood floor of my living room as I made my way to the door. Seeing his face, having his hands on my body, even if it was only for five minutes, made the carbs I’d planned to over consume almost unnecessary.
He was everything that was sexy and masculine standing in his gray tailored travel suit. His shoulders filled the doorway, his clean scent mixed with the humid, slightly chilled Florida winter air and, as I inhaled it, the stress of what I had to face next week vanished.
“Hey,” he said with the smile that always seemed to send the butterflies in my stomach into a whirling frenzied flight. He stepped over the threshold and into the house, leaning down, kissing my lips gently, pulling away, and then dipping in again for another. We probably would’ve stood in the entryway, door slung open and making out if Atlas hadn’t whined. A reminder of why I was lucky to have Mark stop by before catching his flight to Buffalo.
I laughed, scrubbing my hand over the top of Atlas’s huge head. “He misses you already.”
Mark shut the door before he dropped the leash to the floor and Atlas trotted toward the kitchen dragging it behind him, most likely, looking for the food and water dishes I set out for him on occasions such as this.
“Thanks for watching him.” Mark’s fingers threaded into my hair as he cradled the back of my head, his thumbs resting on my jaw.
“I don’t mind. You should know that by now. I’ve got the little fella handled.”
Mark’s mouth broke into a crooked smile. “You know, he told me he hates it when you call him, Little Fella.”
I puffed out a laugh. “Oh, he did?”
“Yeah, I think he prefers Big Guy, Stud, something less emasculating.” I tried to argue, to tell him I was being ironical by calling his Great Dane “Little Fella,” but he kissed me instead. He kissed me until he groaned again. “I hate long road trips.”
After Mark and I had gotten back from our L.A. weekend in October, we’d been able to balance our relationship pretty well. The road trips sucked and, the longer we were together, the harder it got to say goodbye. I loved watching Atlas because it was like I had a piece of Mark with me while he was gone.
“Me too, but we still have New Hampshire.” I pressed my mouth to his, softly dragging out the moment, and he lowered his hands to my hips. “Do you think it will snow?” I asked.
He hummed against my lips. “My mom said she’s already got a foot or more this past week.”
His mom. I licked my lips, my nerves bubbling in my stomach. Mark invited me to go home with him for Christmas, and as excited as I was, I was also teetering on the brink of panic with a side dish of scared-as-hell. Meeting the parents was big. “Monumental” according to Reagan. His sister Molly and I were almost the same age. I’d gotten over my insecurities about our seven-year age difference after I realized Mark and I, when it came to maturity levels, were right on par. He was smart and had a great head on his shoulders. He ran his career impeccably, worked hard, and treated me like a queen. But I worried what his mother thought about the age difference, if she was protective over her son after what Mia had done to him, if she’d think I was dating him because of his money, or if she wanted grandkids I’d never provide. We’d only been dating since October, and Christmas was almost two weeks away. We hadn’t been together long enough for her to be thinking about grandkids, right?
Mark’s chuckle pulled me from my downward spiral. “Stop overthinking.”
He squeezed his grip on my hips, and I ran my hands up his chest, the smooth fabric of his shirt fit snug across the muscles. “You don’t even know what I was thinking about.”
He lifted one incredulous brow in challenge. A challenge he won every time. Mark knew what I was thinking. He always did. I’d fallen for the fact the man read me like an open book. Ben never had… My smile dimmed. Ben. He’d be here on Tuesday. Suddenly, I was craving carbs again and the opened bottle of wine on my kitchen counter.
He tipped my chin up with his finger. His light brown eyes were serious as he said, “My family is harmless. I promise.”
He was talking about his family, but my mood had digressed for other reasons. Reasons he hated to talk about. It was after the same trip to L.A. when I’d told Mark about Ben coming to town to help out with the audit. At first, he was understanding. I’d told him I didn’t have to work with Ben one-on-one. I think it helped that Mark had sensed how much I really didn’t want Ben here, but after I’d mentioned he’d be here for three whole months, he’d gone silent. I’d watched with anxiety as the emotions moved across his features. Irritation, anger, jealousy.
We’d been at his place, standing in his kitchen, when I’d wrapped my arms around his waist, set my cheek on his chest and said, “Ben is my past.” He’d rested one of his big palms on the middle of my back, the other holding my head. I knew Mark better now, and his silence that night was his way of processing. We’ve had
a few disagreements since then, and I’d seen him get into it with Bryson enough to know, when Mark went quiet, it meant he needed a minute. He wasn’t a guy who went off on a yelling spree, and he wasn’t like Ben, analytically deconstructing every possible reason for why the argument happened in the first place. No, Mark was purely passionate, in everything, so when he went inside himself, he was really pissed off. Looking back, though, he’d handled it well, even if he never mentioned it again.
Right before a road trip probably wasn’t the best time to remind him that my ex-husband would be here next week, but I wanted to always be honest with him. He deserved that, and maybe my distaste for the entire situation could give him some peace of mind while he was away. I sucked in a breath for strength as I met his cinnamon-colored eyes.
“I’m nervous to meet your family, but I’m excited to spend some time with you, away from here, away from work.” Mark didn’t miss the way I emphasized the word work, the pulse in his jaw was almost undetectable. But having spent almost all of my free time with him, his tells had become more apparent. In any other situation, I might’ve smiled. I was able to read him as well as he was able to read me. “Ben will be here Tuesday. That’s four days. How is it already that time?”
Time sped by too quickly when I was tangled in Mark’s arms. My life before, my time with my ex, it had been an eternity. Being with Mark was like riding in a speeding car. Every moment, every curve was fast. Touch, and kisses, and feeling. We had to fight for our minutes. We used each second we were gifted with to the max. We owned the furious sound of the clock because we had no other choice. Our time together was limited, so we made it precious.
“Tuesday.” He sighed, dropping his hands and pushing them into his pockets.
I nodded. “Hurry home, alright?”
I slipped my arms around his neck and kissed him. The firm set of his lips gave way to the softness of my own. He’d recently trimmed his beard, and when I kissed the smooth dip of his bottom lip, he relaxed completely. The hands I craved rested on either side of my neck, and I tipped my head back, letting him deepen our kiss. A quiet beep sounded and a growl rumbled in his throat. I recognized the sound of the alarm he’d set on his watch so he’d never be late to the bus or to a flight.
Breakaway (The Rule Book Collection) Page 19
