Had he really thought one kiss would be enough?
He'd been a fool.
He shifted on the small loveseat, tugging her pliant body until she straddled him. Her hips rocked against the length of his erection, hesitated, rocked again. And shit, any more of that and he really would go over the edge.
He pulled his mouth from hers and kissed the side of her neck, nibbled the flesh just under her ear. Short nails dug into his shoulders as she sighed and tilted her head back, exposing the long column of her throat. Charles took immediate advantage and ran his mouth along her tender skin, pausing to kiss the spot where her pulse beat wildly.
He cupped the back of her head, his fingers tugging at the elastic band that held her hair back. The long strands fell free, cascading down her back in a waterfall of molasses and honey, and curled around his hands. Soft as silk, thick and smooth and somehow alive.
He tilted her head forward and leaned up, capturing her full mouth once more.
Sweet? There was nothing sweet about Taylor. There never had been. Why had he thought her kiss would be sweet?
Why had he thought he could stop with just a kiss?
He ran his hands along her sides, captured the hem of the soft t-shirt, and dragged it up, his touch light and teasing against flushed skin. She pulled back, her glazed eyes focused on his as she grabbed the shirt and pulled it over her head. Her hair drifted around her shoulders, the ends swinging against the hardened nipples of her firm breasts.
He reached out, surprised to see his fingers trembling as he grazed one nipple with the back of his hand. Taylor's breath left in a rush as her head tilted back once more. Her back arched, the action pushing those small, firm breasts even closer.
Charles wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her closer, his mouth closing over the tight peak of a dusky nipple. Taylor sighed, the sound short and breathy. Her hips rocked against his once more as her hands curled around the back of his head and held him in place.
He pulled the nipple deeper into his mouth, sucking, twirling his tongue around the hard peak before nipping it with his teeth. A shudder went through her, followed by a long moan.
He pulled his mouth away and looked up at her. The soft light from the single lamp on the end table fell over her, casting her body in a warm glow. The faintest of blushes colored her cheeks. Her lips were full and wet from his kisses.
His kisses.
Something primitive stole over him. Not just desire. No, this was much more. The need to possess, to mark her as his own. Charles shook his head and nearly laughed at the notion.
Taylor was her own woman. There wasn't a man alive who could possess her.
Not even him.
And God help whoever tried.
The knowledge didn't lessen the desire, the need. Temporary insanity, it must be. He'd never experienced this need to possess before—insanity had to be the only explanation.
Her lids fluttered open. Eyes the color of whiskey drifted to his, watching him. Their depths glowed with glazed passion, with desire. With need.
With uncertainty.
Charles tightened his hands on her waist, felt her long legs tighten around his in response. He cleared his throat and forced himself to ask the question he didn't want to ask.
"Do you want me to stop?"
Her tongue darted out and swiped across her lower lip, the action tightening something in his gut. He held his breath then let it out in a rush when she shook her head.
"No." She shook her head again, her gaze darkening as she watched him. "No. I don't want you to stop."
Charles reached for her, pulling her even closer as he claimed her mouth. This kiss was different—deeper, harder. Possessing. But it still wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
He wanted her. All of her. To feel her. Touch her. Taste her. Every inch. Every curve and dip.
He reached between them and grabbed the hem of his sweatshirt, shifting as he tried to pull it off. Their hands tangled together and Taylor pulled back, a soft smile curling that luscious mouth. She batted his hands away and took control of the shirt, peeling it over his head and tossing it to the floor.
Her gaze drifted over his body, hunger flaring in her eyes as she traced the lines of his shoulders and chest with her hands. "You've filled out, Chuckie."
He laughed and palmed one of her breasts, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. "So have you."
A shadow crossed her eyes and she shook her head, pulling back a little. Her arms moved, like she wanted to cover herself. "Not really."
He caught one arm, pulling it away when she would have crossed it in front of her chest. "Yes. You have. You're perfect."
Her arm relaxed under his touch and her lips parted in surprise. Why would she be surprised? She was perfect, small and firm, with beautiful dusky nipples that hardened even more under his gaze.
He lowered his head and pulled one into his mouth again, groaning at her sharp sigh as she rocked against him. Her hands tightened on his arms, her fingers kneading the muscles of his biceps as he licked and sucked. She whispered his name, the sound nothing more than a soft sigh.
"Chuckie."
He stilled, gently eased the nipple from his mouth, and tilted his head back. Taylor's lids fluttered open and she stared down at him, confusion glittering in the warm depths of her eyes.
"What?"
"Do me a favor: don't call me Chuckie."
"But it's your name."
"No, it's not. It's Charles. I'll even accept Chuck in a pinch. But for God's sake, don't call me Chuckie. Especially not right now. You're making me feel like that awkward little boy again."
She laughed, the sound low and throaty and totally dangerous. One hand drifted to the center of his chest, her fingers twirling in the light dusting of dark hair as her hips rocked against the rigid length of his straining erection. Once. Twice. Once more.
"You're definitely not a little boy." She leaned forward and caught his lower lip between her teeth, playfully nipping before sitting back. "Chuckie."
He growled—there was no other word for it—and pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her waist. Then he pushed to his feet, almost laughing when a small squeak of surprise escaped her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on.
"What are you doing?"
"Carrying you to the bedroom." He sensed her hesitation and halted in the middle of the hallway, looking down at her. "Is that okay?"
"Um, my room's a bit messy."
"Can you reach the bed?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Then that's all I care about." He caught her mouth with his, silencing whatever protest she had been ready to utter. She wrapped her legs high around his waist and kissed him back, her soft little murmurs driving him wild as he made his way down the hall.
And then they were in her room. She dropped her legs, her body sliding against his. Her hands closed around his shoulders and tugged. She fell back onto the mattress, taking him with her.
Charles claimed her mouth again, his hand reaching between them and tugging at the loose sweatpants she wore. Her hips rocked and shifted as he worked the material down her legs, not stopping until she was bared to his sight.
The breath caught in his chest as he stared down at her, drowning in the sight of her body. Small, firm breasts. Lean waist. The gentle flare of hips. Well-defined thighs and tight, shapely calves. The body of an athlete, complete with the faint scars and bruising of battles won and lost.
He swallowed and looked up, noticed her watching him. He knelt next to her, his hand drifting along the lines and curves of tight, firm flesh. "You're beautiful, Taylor."
Her body relaxed, as if she had been waiting to hear criticism instead of praise. A small smile teased her lips as she reached for him, her fingers tracing the thin line that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
"Your turn."
He sucked in a deep breath when her hand cupped his erection beneath the denim. He reached down, fol
ded his hand over hers, and pressed himself against her palm. His cock strained against the zipper, eager for release.
Eager for more of her touch.
Her fingers fumbled for the button, popped it open and reached for the zipper, easing it down. She rolled to her knees and pushed the denim past his hips, reaching between them to curl her fingers around the rigid length of his cock when it sprung free.
Charles clenched his jaw, his head falling back. Christ, her touch felt so good. Liquid fire, burning him. Searing him. He ached, every inch of him throbbing in sweet agony as she stroked him. Hard. Fast. His hips thrust in time to the rhythm of her hand, seeking the release her touch promised.
Not yet. Not like this.
He reached between them and closed his hand over hers, slowing her touch until he was safely away from the edge.
For now.
He leaned forward and captured her mouth, reaching into his back pocket with his free hand. He snagged his wallet and opened it, his fingers searching for the condom. He tossed the small package on the mattress next to him then threw the wallet to the side. It bounced off the bed and hit the floor with a hollow thud.
Taylor leaned closer, the firm roundness of her breasts pressed flat against his chest. His heart beat faster, a steady thud under his ribs. Could she feel it? She must, just as he felt the steady beat of her own heart.
He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, drinking in each little sigh and moan that escaped her.
Sweet?
How had he ever made the mistake of thinking anything about this woman was sweet? Taylor was fire and spice, heady and intoxicating. So much more than anything his immature and ignorant fantasies had been able to conjure all those years ago.
More than anything he had fantasized about weeks ago, when he had first seen her on the ice.
He ran his hand along her arm, down across the gentle flare of her hip, then dipped his fingers between her legs. She arched against him, her fingers biting into the flesh of his shoulders when he grazed her clit with his knuckle. And fuck, she was already wet. So wet. So hot.
She spread her legs, her hips arching against his touch when he slid one finger inside her. He broke the kiss, dragged his mouth down along her throat, then shifted until she fell to her back. He straddled her, kissing every inch of her flushed skin until he reached the hot flesh he was searching for.
He grabbed one of her legs and draped it over his shoulder, then bent his head and ran his tongue along her clit. Her hands threaded in his hair, her grip tight on his head as her hips rocked under every kiss, every lick, every nibble.
Her breathing came faster, her chest rising and falling with each harsh gasp as her body arched under his touch. He slid two fingers inside her, in and out. Faster. Harder. Her muscles tightened and clenched around him as he stroked her clit with his tongue. He raised his eyes, watching as her head moved from side to side, the soft strands of her long hair tangling around her. And then her body tightened, her back arching for one long second before she shattered.
Charles swallowed back his own groan and reached for the condom, sheathing himself with it as he kicked off his pants. Then he was braced on top of her, her long legs wrapping around his waist as he plunged into her.
Filling her. Stretching her.
And God, she was tight. So fucking tight. Hot. Wet.
He grabbed her hips and held her still, driving into her with a frenzied need that scared him. She reached for him, his name falling from her lips in a ragged whisper of need. He dipped his head and claimed her mouth, their tongues mating in a rhythm as wild and frenzied as their bodies.
She stiffened under him once more, a moment frozen in time before her body shattered beneath him. It was too much, he couldn't hold back, not with the way she felt.
With the way he felt inside her.
Charles clenched his jaw and drove into her. Hard. Deep.
Once.
Twice.
His body stilled, every muscle pulled taut as his own climax washed over him, over and over, the intensity of it searing something deep inside him. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to fill his lungs with air, then collapsed on top of Taylor as stars flashed behind his lids.
Seconds went by, or maybe minutes. Hell, it could have been an hour for all he knew. Time had no meaning. But he became aware of Taylor's hands stroking his back, his arms. She shifted under him, wedging her hands between them. She mumbled something but he couldn't make out the words.
It took more strength than he realized to lift his head, and even then he only managed to move it an inch or two. "What?"
"I—can't—breathe."
Charles blinked, the words finally registering. He heaved himself off her, rolling to the side with a low groan. He heard her suck in a deep breath, felt the mattress shift under her weight as she settled more closely beside him. He draped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side, his pulse kicking up a notch when she rested her head on his chest and snuggled closer.
He needed to get up. Dispose of the condom. Clean up. And then he should probably go home. He doubted Taylor actually wanted him to spend the night here.
He knew all that, but he couldn't make himself move. Not yet. In a few minutes, after his body recuperated.
That was all he needed, just a few minutes.
Chapter Nine
The soles of his shoes made a soft shuffling noise against the carpet of the hallway, the sound too loud in the unnatural quiet that hung over the office area. Charles told himself he was only imagining the deathly silence, that the building was supposed to be quiet because it was still early.
The perfect time of day to make his getaway. There would be fewer witnesses to his humiliation when Murphy fired him.
That was why he was here so early, instead of still sleeping with Taylor's warm body curled against his. Guilt crept in at the way he'd left, without even waking her to tell her he was leaving. But she had looked so peaceful, so content, not even stirring when he leaned over to brush a kiss against the soft skin of her sleep-flushed cheek. Maybe he should have left her a note—
No, she'd understand. She knew he had to come here and face the music, clean out the few personal belongings tucked away in his desk. To leave his notes and marketing plan with Murphy. Charles hadn't been able to make it work, but maybe someone else could.
Yeah. Maybe. And maybe he'd develop real talent as a hockey player, too.
He swallowed back a bitter laugh and headed toward the tiny cubicle, eager to just get everything over with and leave. After that, he'd go home, tweak his resume, then call Taylor and see if she wanted to go to lunch or dinner or something.
"I didn't expect you in so early."
Murphy's voice echoed in the surrounding silence, catching Charles by surprise. He whirled around and faced the older man, bracing himself for the firing he knew was coming.
Murphy stepped closer, his gaze raking Charles from the tip of his old shoes to the collar of his stretched-out sweatshirt. He hadn't bothered to go home to change, not when he knew he wasn't going to be here for long.
Murphy's gaze met his, his gray brows shooting up in surprise. "I didn't realize today was Casual Friday."
"I wasn't staying long. I just—" Charles stopped, the older man's words finally registering.
"Were you planning on going somewhere?"
"I thought—"
"Because we've got a lot to go over, especially after the piece that ran last night."
"Yeah, about that." Charles shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced over his shoulder, grateful the office was still empty. "I had no idea it was going to be like that. And I understand that you'll want to bring in someone new. I was just going to clear my things out and leave."
"Why?"
Charles hesitated, wondering what the older man was up to. Did he expect Charles to do a few more things before firing him? Or was he just dragging things out, drawing out the inevitable?
"I figured after last night's piece, you'd be looking for someone else to handle the team's marketing."
Murphy laughed, the sound too loud in the silence. "Hell no, son. Why would I do something like that?"
"Did you happen to see the piece last night?"
Murphy leaned against a cubicle wall and folded his arms in front of him. "I did. Not exactly what I had been hoping for. I doubt it was what you were hoping for, too. Doesn't mean I'm ready to throw you to the wolves. Not yet."
"But—"
"Have you checked the reports this morning?"
"No. I didn't—"
"Maybe you should. We sold 176 tickets after the piece ran. Doesn't sound like a lot, but that pushed us over the halfway mark."
"That's still a long way from what I hoped."
"Maybe. But it's better than I expected."
Charles blinked, wondering if he had heard correctly. "Better?"
"Hell, Chuck. You didn't seriously think we'd sell out the first game, did you?"
"I had hoped—"
Murphy cut him off with a quick wave of his hand. "Yeah, it would be nice. Damn nice. But it's not realistic. I would have been happy with a few hundred tickets sold. It's a new league. A new team. Something completely different. I'm not expecting a miracle overnight. None of us are."
"But I thought that's what you wanted. That you brought me onboard for that."
"I did." Murphy smiled again and leaned forward, a glint in his shrewd eyes. "But not for the first game. No, as nice as that would be, I'm not expecting it. Now, by the final game of the season? Yeah, I want those seats filled. We've got all season to work toward that. If you do your job—and if the girls do theirs—then we can make it happen."
"By the end of the season?"
"That's the idea. Unless you're planning on going somewhere. Are you?"
"What? Oh. No." Charles shook his head, not only in response to the question, but to clear the disbelief that was running through his mind. "No, I'm not going anywhere."
"Good. That piece last night gave us a boost. I expect you to capitalize on it and go from there." Murphy pushed away from the wall then reached into the pocket of his suit. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and held it out toward Charles.
Winning Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 1) Page 7
