Rescuing the Receiver

by Rachel Goodman

  As much as I wanted his strength, his passion, the proof of his desire laid against my skin, I appreciated his restraint, too. In giving me room to be in control, to take things slow, Chris gave me the safety net I craved but was beginning to realize I might not need. Not with him, anyway.

  The realization of that fact suddenly made a brave, beautiful, bold side of me rise to the surface.

  “No?” I asked, arching a brow. “You did. Only seems fair.” I cupped him where he was hard and ready for me under the soft cotton, my pulse skipping a beat at the feeling of him twitching against my hand.

  “Grant,” he hissed, and the sound of my name spurred me on.

  I leaned forward, gliding my tongue along the silky skin of his hip bone, then placed openmouthed kisses against his length, allowing the heat of my breath to torment him through the thin layer of cotton. The second my teeth made contact, his control snapped and Chris was pulling me up until I hit the middle of the bed in a whoosh.

  My heart lodged in my throat at the way he’d taken charge, and instead of it filling me with apprehension, it made me feel alive, fueling the lust and excitement pumping through every inch of me.

  “Preseason’s over,” he said, tossing his boxer briefs somewhere over his shoulder.

  The mattress dipped as Chris eased himself onto the bed and hovered above me, his brown eyes appearing almost black against the moonlight cutting lines across his face. His arms were braced on either side of my head, preventing the full weight of his body from crushing me. Still, I gasped at the sensation of his erection pressed against the inside of my thigh, my legs spreading wider to draw him in closer. The feeling of him right there was everything and nothing I could have imagined.

  Chris smiled his Cheshire cat grin and said, “When we do this again, I want the lights on.”

  Again.

  So certain, so cocky, and yet something about his assuredness that there would be a next time washed over me like a wave, warm and all encompassing, leaving me feeling completely out of my depth. Like I was at the point of no return.

  Rumors about Chris Lalonde and his various conquests had circulated throughout the gossip columns and the media for years, and even though it was common knowledge that Chris usually had one eye open and one foot out the door before getting naked with a woman, it did nothing to dissuade me now or extinguish the fire searing my skin. And while there was a huge possibility that whatever was happening between us could end up in wreckage, in this moment, I didn’t care.

  “Because next time we do this,” he said, ghosting his lips along my ribs, stomach, just below my belly button, “when I suck and bite and lick you here”—he slid his palm over the part of me throbbing with need—“I want to see your reaction in vivid color.” Chris dipped a finger inside me, then another, mimicking what his mouth would do, and I cried out, my body arching off the mattress.

  I dug my nails into his shoulders as I rocked and withered against the pressure and warmth of his touch.

  And then with a twist of his wrist, my orgasm rushed through me so fast and intense my hips jerked up and my toes curled as the air left my lungs. My whole body shook and glistened with a thin layer of sweat as my muscles clenched around his fingers.

  Before I could catch my breath, I grabbed the back of Chris’s neck and pulled his face up to mine, our mouths colliding, tongues stroking and teasing, teeth nipping and scraping each other’s skin. As if unable to handle it anymore, Chris broke away and reached into the pocket of his discarded jeans, retrieving a foil packet. I watched as he tore it open and rolled the condom down over his hard length, stroking himself a few times after he was sheathed.

  Chris hovered over me again, kissing me like he did everything else—with a confidence and sureness that drew everyone to him—and pushed inside of me, both of us groaning. The world became sharp and narrow and focused where he filled me, like the moment before the big leap or the time between the flash of lightning and the clap of thunder.

  And then everything faded away until the only thing that existed was the rhythm of our bodies moving together, the sounds of our labored breathing, the feeling of skin slapping and sliding against skin. My brain was a fog of more, more, more as the ache between my thighs began to build again, stronger than before.

  I wrapped my legs around his waist and dug my heels into the flesh of his ass, pulling him in closer. Chris groaned against my collarbone, licking and sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin there, and quickened his movements, driving himself deeper and harder into me. And, oh god, the feeling was so intense I gasped and bowed off the bed. I was teetering near the edge, my heart pounding so fast I feared it might beat out of my chest.

  “Hazel, I—fuck,” Chris hissed when I captured one of his earlobes between my teeth. I scraped my nails against the wide expanse of his back, not even caring if I’d left marks, and inhaled the lingering scent of soap on his skin. Chris tangled his fingers into the damp hair at the nape of my neck and pressed his forehead against mine. “Look at me.”

  The sound of his voice, gritty and deep and confident, vibrated straight to my bones, and my lashes fluttered open. A moan rose from my throat at the heat in his gaze, mirroring the hunger that was no doubt reflected in my own.

  Chris swiveled his hips, his thrusts growing more erratic and desperate, and the change in tempo was all it took to send me flying. The pressure coiling low in my stomach rushed down my spine and exploded between my legs, and I screamed, burying my face in his neck. Bright white stars blurred my vision as I rode out my orgasm, my muscles contracting around him. Chris swore and called out my name, and with a long, helpless groan against my shoulder, he let go completely, his whole body shuddering as he reached his own release.

  As I lay beneath Chris, my skin hot but covered in goose bumps, my breathing shallow, my muscles wrung out and weak, I realized I’d had it all wrong. Of all the reasons I’d considered not to fall into bed with Chris—his reputation, his ego, the façade he so often wore—any of them should have made it easy to keep my distance. But as it turned out, I’d overlooked the only reason that mattered. Where Chris and sex were concerned, once was never, ever going to be enough.

  * * *

  “There’s cinnamon roll frosting on your face,” Chris said as we walked the few blocks back to my house from the local diner the following morning. “C’mere.”

  He grabbed one of my gloved hands and pulled me closer. His chestnut eyes were startlingly bright in the sun, almost golden, and once again I wondered if they were real. Chris swept a thumb across my cheek. Maybe it was the intimacy of the gesture or how it felt so natural, but it disarmed me—something that had been happening more and more frequently with each moment I spent with him.

  I’d assumed Chris would slip out of my bed in the middle of the night, treat me like the other women he’d slept with, but to my surprise, Chris had stayed. Not only that, he’d suggested breakfast. In all of the super-awkward, morning-after possibilities I’d contemplated, a joint shower followed by food eaten in public and a wander around my neighborhood had never factored in.

  Once again, Chris hadn’t done what I’d expected, and I had no idea how to handle that. And yet, somehow, every time Chris threw me off-kilter, like now, I seemed to fall into a tighter orbit around him, and I didn’t want to contemplate how dangerous that was for me.

  “You’re one to talk, Lalonde, seeing as how you’re covered in confectioners’ sugar.” I tried to keep my voice playful, but I wondered if Chris could sense how absolutely out of my element he made me feel.

  “Want to lick it off? I know a few spots that could use your special attention.” He wiggled his eyebrows, then took a bite of the raspberry-filled doughnut he’d insisted on ordering to go, white powder flying in the air around him.

  Sudden images of him undressing me, touching me, moving over me and inside me, played like a movie trailer behind my eyelids, and I forced myself to look away so he couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks or read the de
sire in my gaze. I already felt vulnerable enough where Chris was concerned—I didn’t need to add to it.

  “Quit while you’re ahead,” I mumbled, the wind muffling my voice, carrying the scent of wood burning in fireplaces and evergreen trees. It was colder than yesterday, but the sun was bright and high in the sky, turning the snowcapped mountains in the distance a cornflower blue. Birds cut through the clouds, singing in an endless ribbon of sound.

  We continued on our trek, passing older homes in a hodgepodge of sizes and styles. I thought Chris might be turned off by my eclectic neighborhood—he lived in a mansion in Cherry Creek, after all—but based on his curiosity and enthusiastic pondering about the families behind each house’s quirk, he appeared genuinely intrigued.

  We rounded the corner to my street, and I waved to my neighbor who lived four houses over from mine. Currently his dog, Pepper, was dragging him down the sidewalk. “I see the match is going well,” I called to him, half joking.

  “Given the way this little lady’s practically walking me, I’d reckon you’re right,” my neighbor yelled back, and I laughed, because wasn’t that the truth? He was a divorced and recently retired CEO with too much time on his hands, and Pepper was a young black Lab with too much pep in her step. They balanced each other out.

  “Why don’t you own one of those?” Chris asked, licking powdered sugar off his fingers before throwing the paper bag into a trash can.

  “A hyperactive Labrador with a penchant for stealing garden gnomes?” I teased.

  “Hazel.” He stared at me as if I was being even more difficult than normal.

  “What?” I asked, smiling sweetly. I loved riling him up. It made me feel like I had the upper hand, something I worked hard to maintain in my day-to-day life, and something Chris had swooped in and stolen with an effortless grin.

  “A dog.”

  “I have a rotation of fifty dogs at the shelter, Chris.”

  He sighed. “But not one of your own that you come home to every day. You have the perfect yard for a mutt and plenty of space.”

  “I don’t have time for that sort of commitment,” I said, hoping the finality in my tone would end his inquisition. We were treading into rocky territory—something Chris was far too skilled at leading me into—and I preferred to stay on even ground.

  “You could easily find the time. Hell, you have one of the only jobs on the planet that encourages you to bring your dog to work on a daily basis. Maybe you’re so busy taking care of everyone else, saving every dog you can, that you close yourself off from going after something you want.” Chris looked at me in that perceptive way of his that made me feel as though he was peeling back my layers until I was standing stripped bare in front of him. “Because I don’t buy it for a moment that you wouldn’t adopt five mutts of your own if you permitted yourself the indulgence.”

  “That’s simple for you to say—everything about you is a giant indulgence,” I said, remembering my uncle’s words—Chris knows how to live life out loud, and you need someone to teach you how. “You can afford to do whatever you want, act however you want—it’s expected of you, praised—but the same isn’t true for me.”

  My mother, the dogs, Rescue Granted—they all depended on me being steady, reliable, dedicated. Reckless behavior and personal indulgences were a luxury—and a rarity—in my world, and they always, always came with a cost. The truth was, as much as I had loved Rhubarb, needed her even, her death had devastated me in ways I wasn’t sure I’d survive twice. So rather than risk the attachment and the pain, rather than voluntarily putting myself through that again, I’d decided that it was better to focus on the dogs I could save—and find families they could save in return—because even though tears often accompanied a placement and a good-bye, my heart grew rather than diminished.

  “Oh, don’t give me that crap,” he said, raking his fingers through his hair. “Yes, I’m beyond privileged, and yes, I enjoy living on the edge, but I own those aspects of myself. At least I don’t allow the fear of taking risks to hold me back from going after what I want. Do you even know what you want, Hazel?”

  “Maybe not. What I do know is that you act as though your approach to living is the best way—the only way.” I hesitated, choosing my next words carefully. “You’re like a jet plane on a one-way trip around the globe, never touching the same spot twice. But I’m not you, Chris. I depend on stability, security.”

  “Why do the two have to be mutually exclusive?” he asked, as though genuinely confused. “You could have both—adventure and safety—if you put yourself out there, stepped outside your deliberately drawn boundaries, quit using the shelter as a mistress.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, bristling at the insinuation that Rescue Granted was akin to something seedy.

  Chris stopped walking and leveled me with a stare. “I mean that you use the dogs that require saving as an invisible fence for why you won’t engage in anything bold or unpredictable or something you might regret. But mistakes are necessary in order for each of us to grow as people.”

  I glanced away, my throat suddenly tight, my mouth dry. Somehow Chris always knew how to read me, knew what was locked in the deepest parts of my heart. Except I didn’t want him to be right.

  “Consider your most successful rehabilitations,” he pressed when I didn’t reply. “Those are dogs that had every reason to stay in their kennel—they’ve experienced firsthand how scary and unforgiving the world can be—but they stepped outside their crate to experience all that life has to offer anyway. You refuse to do the same.”

  “You make it all sound so easy,” I said, tempted by the possibility to put his words into action but knowing it was based in fantasy. My whole existence relied on maintaining those strict boundaries.

  Chris moved toward me and slipped a hand beneath my coat, flattening his palm against the small of my back and guiding me to him. “It is easy. You only have to try.” He cupped my cheek with his other hand, dragging the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. “Can’t you see how much fun it could be? The two of us together? For every inch that you’d rein me in, help me find balance, I’d ruffle you up until you’d have no choice but to realize how much you deserve to indulge on occasion.”

  My breath caught in my chest and my stomach tightened at his declaration. I could envision it all, and that scared me most of all. Because Penny was right. Chris had the ability to challenge me, push me out of my comfort zone, put everything in Technicolor. Never in my life had I allowed a man to hold that kind of power over me, and yet, once again, I felt this thread stitching me to him.

  But how long would it last? I wasn’t lying when I’d said Chris was like a jet plane. He loved the novelty of the new and unknown, and right now that’s what I was—the latest novelty. Soon his stint at the shelter would be over and where would that leave me? I wanted to believe I was different from his usual conquests, but how could I be sure I wasn’t just another whim he’d abandon when the next shiny object came along?

  “So what happens when you’re ready for your next adventure?” I asked, voicing my fear out loud. “When taking the easy way out or playing the part is less work than the challenging path?”

  Chris flinched slightly. My question could be construed as unfair. Still, I wanted to know the answer.

  “Every moment with you has been a new path, Hazel,” he said, gazing at me with those brown eyes that were too scrutinizing, too honest. “Tell me you’ll try traveling them all with me.”

  With me. Hope. A leap of faith.

  I stood on tiptoes and kissed him, losing myself in the sensation of his mouth sliding against mine. It wasn’t exactly a yes, but it was all I could offer him right now.

  * * *

  Tears, like lazy Saturday mornings, expensive chocolates, and blind faith, were a luxury I rarely afforded myself. Crying never felt cathartic or cleansing—it only served to remind me of my mistakes, and my inability to immediately rectify whatever situation I’d found my
self in. Tears were hopeless and helpless, and I resented myself for indulging in them. But as I opened the door to Meatball’s old kennel and let him inside, I couldn’t stop the fat droplets from tumbling down my face.

  His head drooped as he flopped down onto the overstuffed bed.

  “It’ll be okay, bud,” I assured him, scratching behind his ears before locking the gate. “The perfect forever family is out there.”

  Which was true, I knew it in my bones . . . much like I’d known that Jay hadn’t been the right match for Meaty. Sure enough, two weeks postadoption and Meaty was back at Rescue Granted. As the newest partner in his law firm, Jay had been assigned a high-profile case in Chicago, and between the constant travel and the corporate condo rental, he couldn’t provide Meaty a home. At least Jay had seemed devastated he couldn’t adequately care for my favorite pit bull—he’d even offered to pay Meatball’s future adoption fees, so I could only partially detest the guy.

  The door leading to the main kennels swung open, and Chris waltzed through, bumping into me.

  “Ah, Hazel! There you are. I gotta tell you about my next idea. It involves me posing as Mr. December, shirtless and holding Olive—” He abruptly stopped talking when he saw my face. “What’s the matter?” Chris cupped my chin, wiping away the tears on my cheeks. His callused fingers were rough, and my skin tingled where he touched me. I hated how my body betrayed my emotions.

  I moved out of his grasp. “Meatball was returned,” I said, my tone harsh and unforgiving.

  “Returned?” Chris furrowed his brow, then peered past me at where Meatball was curled into a tight ball in his kennel, as if protecting himself.

  “Yes, you know, bought and paid for but ultimately ‘not a good fit’ and so returned. Like a pair of shoes. Or a suit. Or a sports car that looked like fun but cost a fortune to keep up. Returned,” I said, then filled him in on the details. I crossed my arms over my chest, my throat tight as tears burned hot and salty against my face. “I never should have allowed you and Penny to convince me to go against my instincts.”