Because this woman turned me into a straight caveman—nothing but hot blood and urges to pump inside her until she saw stars.
She reached down between us, slipping her hand through the slit in my pants, gasping when she found no other barrier between us.
“I want you inside me.” She accentuated the words by stroking me, long and firm.
I growled, claiming her mouth again, as I moved through the kitchen, only making it to the living room before dropping her on the long chaise next to my couch.
Fucking bed was way too far away.
On my knees between her legs, I smirked as I drew her hands above her head and locked them onto the top of the chaise.
“Stay,” I demanded, and a warm shiver ran through her.
I lifted the hem of my shirt she wore, drawing it high enough to expose those delicious breasts. I palmed them, sucking a nipple between my lips, flicking it with my tongue until she arched against me.
A buzzing hum vibrated between us, shooting straight to my dick, making me so fucking dizzy for this woman.
I worked my way lower, kissing and licking down her smooth stomach, over her hips, until finally I met silk. I hooked two fingers in the edges and tugged it off, throwing the scrap of fabric over my shoulder.
Planting slow kisses to the inside of her thighs, I couldn’t help but chuckle when she lifted her hips, her body begging for me.
“Always in such a hurry,” I teased, darting my tongue out for a quick, torturous taste.
Her flavor exploded on my tongue, my entire body going taut.
“It’s been ten years, Bentley Rogers,” she chided, and I groaned at the use of my full name. “Can you blame me?”
There was a hint of fear in her tone, of doubt, like she really believed I could blame her—for our past, for our present, for everything.
“No, baby,” I said, another long lap between her thighs to prove my words. “I want you just as badly.”
“Then take me,” she said, sighing. “I’m yours.”
Those words shattered my resolve.
Pushed me beyond caveman and to purely primal instinct.
I slid my hands under her ass, sucking her clit into my mouth until I could feel her right on the edge.
She writhed against my face, needing more.
Shifting on my knees, I rose and situated her hot center right on the tip of my dick.
Fucking hell, she was so wet, so perfect.
“Bentley.” She didn’t beg, she fucking demanded it with my name, and I plunged into her.
So tight, her walls hugged me as I seated myself to the hilt.
A gasp burst from her mouth as I held her there, her hips slightly off the chaise, me on my knees, my hands under her as I controlled her body.
A shaky breath ripped out of me as I held us so damn still, allowing her to adjust to my size.
Then she rocked her hips, her hands still above her head, gripping the top of the chaise, her glorious breasts bobbing with the movement of her body.
I pulled all the way out before thrusting into her again.
“Yes,” she said, her head arched back. “More.”
I obeyed, gripping her body to me as I pumped over and over again. Gliding in and out, her warmth coating my dick, slicking it in her scent, fueling my lust like nothing I’d ever experienced before.
I didn’t just want to fuck her.
I wanted to devour her.
Consumer her.
Make her come so many times she wouldn’t remember another man before me.
“Fucking beautiful,” I growled, never taking my eyes off the way our bodies joined, the way she moved with me, meeting me thrust for thrust, like she wanted me deeper, harder.
I obliged, finding that spot in her warm depths, hitting it again and again until I felt her clench and pulse around me.
“Oh my god, Bent,” she moaned, most of her body lifting off the chaise to meet mine.
“Yes,” I hissed, feeling my release prickle at the base of my spine as the woman went liquid for me.
So wet, so slick, so fucking delicious.
She moaned and writhed against me, every clench drawing out my own release, until I’d spilled everything inside her without a second thought.
I brought us down with slow strokes, until my muscles quivered and I laid on top of her, my head nestled between her breasts as we caught our breath.
And then reality crashed over me hard and cold.
“Fuck, baby,” I hissed, raising my head enough just to catch her eyes.
There was no panic there, only hooded lids and lust filled eyes.
“I know,” she said, her fingers scraping against my scalp. “That was brilliant.”
“No.” She jolted against me. “I mean yes it was,” I quickly amended and she relaxed underneath me again. “But I didn’t wear anything.”
She blew out a breath like that was the least of her concerns.
“I know,” she said. “You think I would’ve let us go there if I wasn’t on birth control?”
My body relaxed again, but I smirked up at her. “I was pretty fucking lost in you, Chloe. I didn’t even consider it.” I swallowed hard. “You’re dangerous,” I only half-teased.
“We’re dangerous to each other,” she said with more sincerity.
I kissed her breasts instead of responding, because she was right.
Today proved it—me ravaging her without a second thought.
And I still wanted more.
“We have to be at work in an hour,” she said some breaths later.
I closed my eyes, burying myself in her breasts.
Work.
Where I’d have to pretend not to care that I was drenched in her scent.
Where I’d have to pretend like she didn’t mean the fucking world to me.
I sighed, nestling myself into this sacred happy space.
Yes, we truly were dangerous.
But I’d take the danger, if it meant I got to have her . . .
In any way I could.
Chapter 11
Chloe
“Ms. Lewis?” Eric Gentry, the Shark’s newest goaltender, asked as he knocked on my opened exam room door.
“Chloe,” I said. “Please.” I motioned for him to come in. “What can I do for you?”
I’d been the Shark’s PT for five weeks now, and this was the first visit I’d had without requesting it. I tried to quell the excitement fluttering through me. Not that I wanted him to be hurt, but I did want to have earned the team’s trust.
He left the door slightly cracked behind him, his brow furrowed.
Tall with strawberry-blond hair that hung in loose waves on top of his head, and bright green eyes, the dude was almost mythical looking. Ripped, naturally, as almost every single Shark was, and yet, not a spark.
Sure, I could appreciate the man’s good looks, but my body was attuned to Bentley’s so much I could almost feel him out there in the locker room. Showering, soaping up those abs, running his hands over his large . . .
Fuck, there is the heat.
I blinked out of my fantasy and focused on the Shark at hand.
“I’m . . .” He swallowed hard, raking his hands through his hair.
“It’s okay to talk to me,” I said, encouraging him to sit on the black cushioned exam table. I watched his face, noting the way it pinched together slightly as he put his weight on his right leg to hop up. “I’m here to prevent injuries or fix them.” I glanced down. “Now, is it your right knee?”
His green eyes flew wide. “How can you tell?” he asked. “No one else can.”
I arched a knowing brow. “It’s my job.”
“Right.”
“May I?” I asked, gesturing to his loose athletic pants.
He nodded, and I gently pushed up the fabric on his right leg, until his knee was exposed.
I resisted the urge to hiss—luckily, years of examines and training players had helped me put a lock on any surprises. I flicked
my eyes up to him, gently prodding the purple bruise that rested just beneath the fully wrapped tattoo of black script around his knee.
“How long has this been swollen?”
“Since practice last week,” he admitted, his brows pinched together as I touched the sore spots.
I sighed, dropping my rolling stool’s height, allowing me to be eye level with his massive leg.
“I understand why you didn’t come to me,” I said instead of scolding him. “But—”
“It’s not because you used to be with Ontario,” he said, cutting me off, his eyes sincere as he looked down at me. “I swear. I don’t give a shit about that.”
Translation—some of the other guys still did.
Great.
His offer was genuine, though, and that was something.
“I just don’t want to get benched.”
I smiled, comforting and supportive—as the newest and one of the youngest on the team, his worries were merited.
“You know what would help that?”
“What?” he asked.
“If you told me the second you suspected this was more than a normal bruise.”
“Next time.” He chuckled, nodding. “I promise. I won’t be such a dick.”
I laughed, enjoying the ease at which he now spoke.
Progress.
“You’re not a dick,” I said, drawing closer to the bruise, running my fingers over his thigh, then around the back of his knee.
“Our first game is coming up next week,” he said, like I was unaware. “I thought maybe it’d be gone by then.”
I nodded at the logic. “Most of the time it would be,” I said.
“Oh shit,” he said. “You look like you’re about to say but . . .”
I pressed my lips together, trailing my finger over the swollen flesh around the knee. “But,” I said. “What you have here is a minor knee contusion.”
“Fuck,” he hissed.
“It’s all right,” I hurried to assure him. “It’s not too serious. You probably twisted your knee the wrong direction while making a save in practice, right?”
He nodded.
“I get it.” I’d trained all positions in my camps back in Canada, goalies included. “Trust me. In the heat of the game, you aren’t focused on the limitations of your body.”
He flashed me a confident, challenging look like he didn’t have any limitations.
I laughed again, shaking my head.
“Ice this, four times a day.” I reached for my notepad, scribbling some items down before ripping it off and handing it to him. “Pick up that compression sleeve—like right when you leave here—and put it on. Then elevate it as much as possible. Go easy in practice, and do everything I’ve told you,” I said, eyeing him. “And you’ll be all good for the opening game.”
A deep sigh dropped his shoulders.
“You’re sure?” he asked as if he needed triple confirmation.
I reached for his knee again, double-checking the muscle and tendons around it.
Yes, it was minor.
I nodded. “I can also take some time after practices, if you’d like, to show you some techniques to improve your motion and flexibility while at the goal.”
He cocked a brow at me. “You’d do that?”
“Yes.” I tilted my head. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He shrugged. “Don’t teams and players usually pay out the ass for that kind of help from you?”
I chuckled. “Back when I ran the camps, yes.”
“And you’d do it for free?”
“I’m employed by the Sharks, Gentry,” I said. “I’m at your disposal.”
He pursed his lips like he was making some final appraisal about me. “It’s a date, then,” he said just as my door opened.
Bentley stood there, his hand raised like he’d been about to knock. His eyes darted to my hands, which were still on Gentry’s swollen knee, and then shifted to my face, which was eyelevel with the mass of Gentry’s legs.
Brilliant.
Gentry quickly shifted, shoving his pant-leg down as I rolled back in my chair.
“Fuck, Rogers,” he said. “Ever heard of knocking?”
“Door was open,” he grumbled.
I flashed him a chiding look, despite my heart racing against my chest at the heated look in his eyes.
Gentry hopped off the table, favoring his left leg, and waved the paper I’d given him. “Thanks for this, Chloe,” he said, and I smiled at his use of my first name. “I’ll see you after practice tomorrow?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
He brushed past Bentley, who had refused to move any of his bulk out of his way.
“You okay, Rogers?” Gentry asked, eyeing his tense stance.
“Yup,” he said.
“You’ve been spending too much time with the Trio, man,” Gentry said, the nickname I assumed was for Gage, Rory, and Warren. “Me and the boys are starting to feel neglected. Like you traded up the second they let you into the leader circle.” The tease in his voice did nothing to break the tension in Bentley’s shoulders.
“I know,” Bentley finally said, sighing. “I’ve been busy. Tell the rest of the crew I’ll make it up to them. Soon.”
“I will,” Gentry said. “Whatever you plan—be sure to buy grub from Kinley’s wife first.”
“Noted.”
Gentry flashed me a grateful look as he closed the door behind him.
“Have a date with Gentry?” Bentley asked, strolling deeper into the room.
I stood up, meeting his eyes.
“What if I did?” I teased, unable to not rib him. He was looking at me like he’d caught me making out with the goalie, not doing my job.
His eyes darted to the closed door before they were back to me. A few steps and he’d backed me against my desk that sat in the corner away from the exam table. His fingers on my wrists. “I know I’m your little secret,” he whispered, “but I would not be happy.”
The tone of his voice, so low, so guttural, so possessive.
It sent waves of desire crashing against my core.
“Bentley,” I whispered, my eyes continually going to the door.
This position—him towering over me, his hands gentle yet possessive on my wrist, our bodies nearly flush—this was unprofessional. There would be no explaining this away if someone walked in.
He growled, his eyes closing as he trailed his nose along the line of my jaw.
My breath caught in my lungs, my body aligning with his, going taut and loose all at the same time.
“I don’t like seeing your hands on other men.”
I tipped my chin up, determined to get ahold of my senses—but they were filled with him. His scent, his sculpted muscles, the way I ached for him.
“It’s my job,” I said. “Sometimes I have to examine much more sensitive parts.”
He flinched.
“You have to be okay with it,” I said. “It’s my job and I would never cross any professional lines.”
He chuckled, the possessive lock in his eyes loosening. “Is that right?”
I bit back a laugh.
Well, fuck, he had me there.
“You’re different.”
“Oh, baby, don’t I know.” He smirked. “I’m the best.”
I wetted my lips, knowing full well that was the damn truth, but unable to give it to him. Enjoying the game too much. “You think so?”
Mischief flashed in his eyes and he moved his hands from my wrists to my hips. “Are you still questioning it? After all our . . .” He stopped himself from saying nights together.
Because we’d spent almost every night together—in secret, me leaving before dawn like some bunny on the walk of shame despite the fact that we sometimes didn’t make love. Some nights we simply talked and laughed and fell into the old world that used to belong to only us.
“Do I need to prove it to you right this second?” he teased, pressing his hips into mine.
I wh
impered, the feel of his cock lined perfectly with my center.
“Bentley,” I chided, my eyes once again going to the door.
“Saying my name only makes it worse, baby.”
A warm shiver made my body tremble against him. The risk of getting caught was so close, but it heightened the moment, revving up the desire to an intoxicating level.
His lips moved toward my ear, brushing the shell, sending electric shocks to all of my nerve-endings.
Push him away.
Tell him to wait until tonight.
My brain tried to scream logic, but my body . . . it wanted nothing but him.
“I bet I could make you come before anyone walked by your door,” he whispered and my knees nearly buckled. “I know your body that well, Chlo. I can make it sing in a matter of seconds.”
I released a hiss as he shifted against me, my body a live wire. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”
“Is that a challenge?” He knelt slightly before standing back up, the hard length of him rubbing against me so much I gasped. “Looks like you’re ready to spark,” he whispered, and moved his hand between us.
“Bentley, you can’t—”
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice breathless.
I parted my lips, my breath catching when he rolled his fingers over my slacks. The fabric too damn thin, my mind too damn lost in him.
“Someone could see,” I said instead of saying no.
Instead of stopping him.
Because my very being was centered on his touch, on the way my body flickered to life, soared in a way it hadn’t in so, so long.
A sly grin shaped his lips, that same mischievous look churning his eyes as he spun me, tucking me into the corner between my desk and the wall, his massive body concealing me. Then he flicked his tongue over my lips and plunged his hand beneath the hem of my pants. His fingers found my warmth and he hissed at the slickness that coated them.
“Damn, baby,” he whispered. “Are you always this wet for me?”
“Only for you,” I said, never breaking his gaze.
My heart racing, my brain begging for clarity, my body quelling all logic and risk and turned to pure feeling.
He rolled his fingers against me, sliding between my folds, his thumb circling that bundle of nerves that coiled my insides.
Rookie (Seattle Sharks Book 4) Page 10
