The Czar: A Standalone Hockey Billionaire Novel

by Selena Laurence

  Mick is stroking my back and ass, and then he leans over my back, his firm chest pressed against my skin. He’s hot, and big, and he’s also whispering things to me in Russian. And while I don’t know a word of the language aside from “da” and “dosvedanya,” I know what he’s saying is sexy. The words flow across my skin like a hot breeze, and I gasp as he drives into me at the same time.

  One of his big arms is wrapped around my torso and he holds my breast in his hand, squeezing it to the exact right point where it almost hurts, but oh so good. When he’s buried fully inside of me he groans and his head drops to the crook between my neck and shoulder.

  “Ty nuzhna mnye,” he murmurs against my skin, and even though I don’t know what he’s saying, something inside of me shifts, because the feel of it, the sound of it, the emotion of it, is so tender, so deep and genuine, I find tears forming in my eyes. And yet, I have no idea what he’s said.

  He starts to move slowly, in and out, and I can’t help but gasp, the ache in my core growing steadily with each masterful stroke he takes.

  “You feel better than anything else in my life,” he whispers to me, and one of those tears finally falls, landing softly, silently, on the bed linens below me.

  I moan, and he picks up the pace, sitting up on his knees and grasping both my hips to guide me as he pounds into me. I push up onto my hands, arching my back to feel him in just the right—there, oh God, right there. I feel my channel swell around his cock and he growls, “Fucking come for me, Solnishka!”

  So I do, ripples of pleasure washing over me like a warm bath, and before I’m done, he’s coming as well, his hands on me, his voice around me, his cock inside me. I feel as though Mick Petrovich has taken possession of me, and it’s thrilling and frightening all at the same time.

  But it’s when we’ve both come down and he’s left me to dispose of the condom that I really feel the shock. Because I grab my cell phone from the nightstand and type in the word I kept hearing him say over and over, “nuzna.” The miracle that is the Internet pulls up, “nuzhna”. My eyes blink rapidly at the translation. Need it says. And the phrase that’s provided is ty nuzhna mnye. It’s what he was saying to me. Over and over. I need you. I need you.

  Saturday morning arrives, and Mick is still in my bed, because not only is he amazing with his tongue, his lips, and his hands, but he’s big, and once he passed out after his third orgasm and my fourth, there was definitely no way to get him to move. So, I did what any self-respecting, independent woman would do—I snuggled up against all that ripped male heat and passed out myself.

  But now I’m here again—that place where Mick and I are doing things together, like waking up, and he’s saying he needs me, and I’m lying. Like a big, fat, cowardly liar.

  So, I quietly crawl out of bed, slip into a pair of sweats and an old concert t-shirt, and tiptoe to the kitchen. After I’ve fed Ambrose and made myself some coffee, I stand looking out the big living room windows, wondering what in the world I’m going to do about this mess I’ve created.

  I love my job. When I started I realize I only loved the idea of it, but now that I’m there, working on projects for the Petrovich brand, watching the way Mr. Petrovich manages the products and people of this giant corporation—I really love it. Petrovich Vodka feels like home to me, like something worth investing a lifetime in. I get excited when I think about going into the office and finding new and better ways to promote our product and keep Petrovich relevant. I’m part of something that’s bigger than me or Mick, or even Mr. Petrovich himself. The company he started is home for a lot of people, and it’s starting to feel like home to me too.

  I can’t lose that, I know I can’t. It’s everything I’ve been working for since I was a teenager. It’s my place and my people, and I can’t let anything take that away.

  But Mick is so much more than I could have imagined. He’s not a one-night stand, and he’s not just some fun guy who takes you out once in a while. Mick is strong and demanding, but also kind and considerate. He can be a cocky ass, but also sweetly attentive—and not just in the bedroom. Last night he had all the Chinese food delivered, and while I cleaned up after our adventures in my professor’s bed, he laid everything out on the coffee table in the living room, set out pillows for us to sit on, served me food and wine, and queued up a chick flick on Netflix just for me.

  When I mentioned that I found it hard to believe he wanted to watch Love Actually, he just smiled and said, “I don’t. But I’ll just be watching you, and when I watch you I want to see you smile, so I picked a movie I thought you’d like.”

  I lean my forehead against the glass window. It’s easy to understand why the choice between my job and Mick isn’t as cut and dried as I wish.

  I’m startled out of my frustrated thoughts by a warm hand wrapping around my waist.

  Mick nuzzles my neck and murmurs, “Good morning, sunshine,” a play on my name.

  “Hi,” I answer softly.

  He turns me in his arms, looking down at me with his brow slightly furrowed. “I was hoping to wake you up the proper way, but you’d run off.”

  “What’s the proper way?” I ask.

  “It involves my tongue and all your tender places. Want to try? The bed’s still warm.” He grins.

  “You’re insatiable,” I tell him, trying to wiggle out of his arms.

  He only pulls me closer. “You were pretty insatiable last night as well.”

  I wedge a hand between my chest and his and shove. “Just stop,” I snap.

  His hands leave me instantly and he steps back. “Okay…”

  I stomp past him back to the kitchen. He follows at a safe distance and doesn’t say anything while I loudly pull mixing bowls and pans from the various cabinets, intent on making some breakfast to distract me from the queasy feeling in my gut.

  After a few minutes he speaks, only now his voice isn’t tender, or sexy, or much of anything but pissed.

  “You want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  I don’t answer, and I don’t turn around, tossing Bisquick into a bowl and cracking an egg after it.

  “I know I wasn’t alone in that bed last night. You were every bit as into it as I was, and you didn’t seem to mind my company for dinner and Netflix either. You know, last weekend you were plenty enthusiastic too, but come Monday morning you spent the whole week giving me the brush off. I thought you were just really stressed with work, but maybe this is what you do? Is that it? You run hot and cold all the time?”

  I spin to face him, and for a very brief second my mind screams at me to stop, because I know this isn’t right, and I know I’m creating this in order to push him away, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I’m torn to pieces over this mess I’ve gotten myself into, and it seems to be a whole lot easier to take it out on him—the innocent bystander—than to pull up my big girl panties and come clean.

  “Fuck you,” I snap. “Did you ever think that maybe I just need a break? I mean, we aren’t even together. You said it yourself, it’s only been a week. We’ve gone of two dates and had a lot of sex. That hardly looks like a relationship. We’re screwing, and so excuse me if I don’t always want to hang out afterwards.”

  I see his face darken, like a storm washes over his features, and everything about him turns hard and stiff.

  He gives one curt nod. “Okay. Just sex, huh? That’s funny, because it felt like anything but last night. But obviously I misread the cues.” He puts his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “No problem though, I’m fine with just sex. Saves me the trouble of taking you out to dinner again.”

  I flinch at the harsh words, but if he notices he doesn’t care now.

  “You’ll have to excuse me because I need to get to a hockey game. You let me know next time you get tired of your vibrator and want an actual cock. If I’m free I’ll take care of it for you.” He glares at me and strolls out of the apartment, slamming the door hard.

  I look down at the partially
mixed pancake batter and everything in front of me bleeds to red before I pick up the bowl and slam it on the floor, screaming as it hits the expensive slate and shatters. Kind of like my heart just did. But I’m not going to think about that. I have work to do.

  23

  Mick

  “What the hell crawled up your butt?” Deke says as I snap at one of our girls during warm ups.

  I glare at him but don’t answer. “Amanda! Get that stick up or you’re not starting!” I yell as she glides past the bench where Deke and I are standing to watch.

  “Seriously,” he says, elbowing me in the arm.

  I continue to give him the silent treatment, but I can tell he’s not going to leave me alone, or let me take it out on our kids.

  “I’ve been seeing someone—well, sleeping with someone, I guess.”

  He angles his big body more in my direction, and I can feel the curiosity radiating off of him. He’s like a gossipy old woman.

  “And who is this someone?”

  “The housesitter next door I was telling you about.”

  He nods in understanding. “So, apparently she wasn’t so anxious to dump your crippled ass,” he chides. “And you’ve slept with her how many times?”

  “A few,” I mutter. “And taken her to dinner, had her at my place for breakfast…”

  “So you eat together and have sex?” he asks, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

  “I’m not sure. It’s only been a couple of weeks, and I thought things were going well, but then this morning she kicked me out, and she was pissed off, but hand to God, I have no idea why.”

  Deke nods. “No offense, but you probably did something—I don’t know, Mick-like.” He’s so sure of himself, and so sure I’m an asshole, it makes me wonder what I’ve done to deserve the reaction.

  “What the hell does that even mean? Mick-like? Am I really that horrible?”

  “Nooo,” he drags out the word. “You’re just, you. And you is often on the selfish side when it comes to women.”

  I flip him the bird. “I’ll have you know that every woman I’m with gets off before me, and usually after me too. I am not selfish.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’m not talking in bed, but thanks for the details.”

  I grunt at him as I watch one of our defenders round the far curve of the rink and wobble in the turn, I tense, waiting to see if she falls, but she corrects nicely and keeps on going.

  “You’re kind of selfish with your heart, Mick. You don’t share a lot, you don’t let many people get close.”

  I look at him and see the sympathy in his eyes. Yeah, I know he’s right, but that doesn’t make it sting any less. I don’t try to be closed off, but I learned a long time ago there aren’t many people in this life you can trust. My mother wasn’t trustworthy and my father really wasn’t either. He never left us, but he was never there for us either. In my world, trust has meant my Baba, my brother, and hockey. Now even hockey’s betrayed me, so it’s no wonder I’ve never really trusted a woman.

  “Well, I was starting to let her in,” I say to him in a low voice. “And I’m not sure what happened.”

  “Wow.” He stands there for a minute absorbing what I’ve said. “I’m sorry, man.”

  I shrug. “You win some you lose some.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Let’s call them in, talk lines. I know we can beat this team if they’re focused and I want to go over our strategy while their brains are fresh.”

  Deke nods and blows the whistle around his neck.

  If I could find a whistle that would make Solana take back what happened this morning I would. Because I think I was starting to fall for her, and I know that it was a lot more than just sex for the both of us.

  But then I remind myself that I’ve never needed to do anything other than fuck a woman before, and there’s no reason to change that now. I had a moment of weakness—I miss hockey, I’m not used to so much free time. As the game progresses and my girls are handing the other team their asses, I start to feel better about things.

  I don’t need Solana Warner, even if that’s what I whispered to her in Russian last night when I was inside her. I just need to figure out what the hell to do with my life now that I’ve lost hockey. That has to be my focus. Not a complicated blonde who doesn’t want me for more than a quick screw. At least that’s what I tell myself. Even when I’m alone in my bed at night stroking my cock to an orgasm while visions of her body sift through my mind, and I can almost taste her pussy on my tongue.

  But somehow I manage to keep my head in the right game—the one where I’m figuring out my shit—for nearly a week before it all falls apart. I’ve heard her come and go a few times, but I think she might be staying at her own place instead of next door, and she’s only stopping in to check on Ambrose. I sort of miss the cat, but I can’t do anything about that, so I focus on my rehab and coaching, and I even start to take some calls from people with job offers.

  24/7 Sports Network has called at least four times, wanting to discuss a commentator position, so I finally tell my agent I’ll take the call, and we listen to their proposal. I’ve also had offers to write a weekly syndicated column, a book about my life, and even a cooking show. Not sure why the cooking show, but I guess they figure if Snoop Dog can do it then anyone can.

  I’ve just walked into my building after meeting with my agent to discuss a couple of the offers when I see her. She’s coming in the front doors to the lobby, her long blonde hair swinging around her shoulders as she walks. She has a duffle bag in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. She must have just gotten off work because she’s dressed in a straight, form-fitting hot pink dress that comes almost to her knees, and a navy blue jacket over it. Her feet are clad in navy blue heels with little cutouts at the toe and I can see bright pink toenails to match the dress.

  She is like the fucking sun itself, and I’m staring even though I know I’ll go blind. She makes her way across the lobby toward the elevators where I’m standing, having completely forgotten to push the up button. Her compact, curvy little figure moves efficiently and she’s focused on keeping her coffee from spilling so she doesn’t see me.

  When she’s nearly on top of me I say, “Going up?”

  Her head jerks and her cheeks color almost immediately. “Yeah,” she says softly.

  I press the button and we stand side by side, waiting for the car. I can smell her, and it’s driving me insane—lilacs and coffee, it’s warm and sensual like she is, and my dick is instantly reminded of where she’s warmest and most sensual.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally says just as the elevator doors open.

  I put my arm in front of the doors to keep them from closing and gesture for her to enter first. Then I follow. I heard her very clearly, but something inside me wants to hear it again. Not because I want to humiliate her, but simply because my heart needs it.

  “What did you say?” I ask.

  She clears her throat, and I watch the muscles there work up and then down again. There’s a little piece of pink fluff from her jacket stuck in the ends of her hair and I have to stop myself from reaching out and taking it off.

  “I said, I’m sorry,” she answers, keeping her eyes on the blinking numbers of the elevator as we move up.

  “Okay. What are you sorry for? I’m not trying to be difficult, I’m just not sure what part of it all you think needs an apology. We might have different opinions on that.”

  One side of her lips curls up the tiniest bit and all I want is to lean over and kiss that half smile, make it unfurl the rest of the way.

  “I’m sorry for getting angry with you and acting like it was only about sex.” She finally turns to look at me, and I’m weighed down by the torture in her eyes.

  I nod, not sure what to say, but real sure my chest hurts and I feel like I just lost something I didn’t even know I had.

  “I like you—probably too much—” she begins. “But this is a really bad time for m
e. I’ve waited my whole life to have a job like the one I do, and there isn’t room for—this—” she gestures between the two of us, “and my job too. I have to put all of my energy into my work right now. There’s not space for anything else.”

  And here’s where we hit a wall we won’t be able to make it over. Because I know exactly what it takes to be the best at something, and she’s right. It’s undivided attention, absolute focus, and every bit of your mental and physical energy. Over and over, day after day, until you own that job like it was made especially for you.

  No one else will ever be able to play forward for the Chicago Norsemen like I did. It’s a fact, and the team will never be that exact team again. Because that job, on that team, was made for me. I insured it by molding everyone and everything around me to my way of doing things, my unique approach and skills. In order to succeed in any career you need to do that.

  Now, Solana is at the start of such a journey, and who am I to disrupt it? I can’t, of course. I can’t tell her she isn’t right to put that kind of focus into something she loves. I can’t be the kind of man who acts as though her career isn’t as important as mine was. She may not be a famous pro-hockey player, but she’s prepared for this just as hard as I did for hockey. Marketing is her hockey, and this job is her NHL.

  I reach over and press the stop button on the elevator before turning to watch her. She looks nervous, but I reach out and slide my hand around hers.

  “I get it,” I tell her. “I understand how much you’ve prepared for this, and how important it is to you.” She nods and her tongue darts out to wet her top lip. My fucking heart stings it’s so pretty. Everything about her is pretty. She’s feminine, but strong, intelligent and caring. I can see all of that by watching the play of emotions across her face.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t meet at a better time, because I would have enjoyed spending time with you—”