by Casey Hagen
A rough groan rumbled from his chest. With his arm still wrapped around me, his hand went straight to my throat, holding me against him, keeping me upright while his cock nestled along the crease of my ass.
His other palm danced over my abdomen and slid between my legs, cupping me, his long fingers tracing over me, dipping inside, swirling, playing—never relenting until my throat strained against the hand locked there, the whimper shimmying up my throat against his palm only making him squeeze tighter as my body spasmed under his unyielding exploration.
Wave after wave, with his erotic whispers of encouragement in my ear, I rode out every last ripple of my orgasm—my body entirely—until my knees finally buckled.
I’d never need another drink.
No drug could match this.
No other man, or woman, had the power to coil me so tight and give me sweet relief in the same moment.
Just this man, his touch, his kiss, his unshakeable dedication.
And every minute only made me more desperate for him to stay.
To be in my circle and be in his.
To live in my heart.
The more I wanted him—all of him—the more I needed to know why I couldn’t have him. Why he would be the second loss capable of devastating me.
With the water finally giving out, he lifted me out of the tub and dried us both from head to toe, squeezing every last bit of water he could from the strands of hair along my back.
“Stay,” I said quietly. “Just for a little while.”
He didn’t say a word, just led me to my bed, laid me down, stacking pillows in front of me to prop up my hand, and climbed in behind me.
Lying there peacefully—his chest against my back, his hand skimming over my hip—I finally asked, “You lost your mother, but your father…where is he?”
His hand stilled at first, his chest swelling with his deep breath. “Jail.” One word jagged and raw. Four letters like a cap on a soda bottle. If you twisted carefully, success. If you weren’t careful…explosion.
“Is he the reason you’re a cop?”
“One of them,” he said quietly.
“What did he do?” I whispered, my heart beating thick and heavy in my chest.
“He tried to turn his kids into drug mules in a low-level drug operation.”
I bit my lip, my sharp intake of breath turning into a hiss. His answer…the way he said it—holding himself apart as though his father was just another case—nothing more, nothing less.
As though Priest wasn’t one of those kids.
My heart pinched. “And he’s paying for it now?”
“If you want to call it that,” he said, his voice taut with bitterness.
“What would you call it?”
“Getting off easy.”
“Why?” I whispered.
“Because he left in a patrol car. My twin brother left in a body bag.” The slicing bitter edge in his voice revealed a well of pain still holding so many secrets.
But I wouldn’t go there. Not tonight. When he’d have to go to the farm soon and be alone in his bed with tortured memories and no one to hold him.
I reached back, forgetting about my sprained hand, but he caught it and stopped me.
“No, keep it on the pillow.”
“But—”
“No. No more talking about my brother,” he said, his voice ending in a low growl as he took a ragged breath against my skin as his palm locked over my thigh.
He was going to bury his pain in me, with sex. I could feel it…and I was going to let him.
“Why?” I gasped out as the head of his cock slid against me.
“Because all I have left is his memory.” He shuddered against me then, his breathing labored. “It’s the only part of him I can keep safe now.”
One brother survived, one didn’t.
And he’d protect his brother from everyone, including me.
I had more questions than answers.
“You’ve only ever had your mother.” He whispered the words along the shell of my ear as he lifted my leg and draped it over his own, exposing me.
“Yes,” I said past my thick throat as we resurrected the people we lost to this sliver in time—the people we missed.
The people who still had so much control over who we were today.
“How did you move on?” he asked quietly, his fingers flexing on my thigh as if I had the secret to ending his pain if only he held on tight enough.
“I live for both of us now.”
With his arm sliding around my waist, his fingers going straight to my breast, he thrusted inside me, our twin sighs of pleasure chasing away the pain.
25
“I’ve got a surprise for you ladies today,” Priest said as he faced us on the track, skates on, fully padded, a helmet hanging from his fingers.
So the man planned to pull out all the stops to distract me and knock me off my game with all of his man goods on the track now too?
Bring it.
Our last practice before we flew to Philly for the exhibition. I thought that meant we’d go hard, him hammering us with everything we learned from start to finish, but the smile on his face, the familiar audience he’d gathered outside the track told a different story.
We were in for fun today.
He’d lined one side of the track with chairs. Lana and Zach kept their heads together as she pointed at the setup, likely explaining the game. Milton and Gerald fawned over Lilith as she rubbed her growing belly. She had more color in her cheeks now, her face a bit rounder, her hair a glossy sheet over her shoulder. She radiated motherhood from the inside out, a huge change from how I’d found her the week before, which helped explain Priest’s newfound playful mood. The more he worried about Lilith, the more we all suffered.
But totally in a good way.
Patti whispered to a woman I’d never seen before and if I had to take a guess from the wistful look on Patti’s face followed by her spirited laugh, she’d started pulling out some of her favorite stories from her days as Pinup Patti.
Even Scooter came out which meant he’d closed The Shipwreck for this.
No pressure or anything.
If the man was going to close his restaurant for a special occasion, we better be on our A-game and ready to deliver.
“Today it’s boys versus girls,” Priest said, sticking his fingers in his mouth to let out a sharp whistle.
Music kicked out of the sound system Priest set up along the far wall. The beat filled the air, not loud enough to make it hard for us to hear, but hella loud enough to kick up our heart rate and give us a thirst for some good ol’ ass kicking.
The door to the office—yeah, that office—flew open and Jackson came skating out first in full gear followed by three big-ass dudes I didn’t recognize.
All in padding.
All strapping on helmets.
All adept at skating.
Smooth moves and confidence, they glided up and hopped onto the track.
This was gonna be good.
“I know we’re supposed to play against them and all, but damn—I kind of just want to eat them,” Rory said with an appreciative gleam in her eye. “You think any of them are single?”
“Focus. We’re not dating here,” I warned as I totally appreciated the guys towering over us as they skated past.
“Says the one of us riding the coach like a hobby horse,” Sean added.
I glanced around, looking for Eve, gauging her reaction, and even she smiled.
Thank fuck.
“You bet your sweet ass I am. And guys, he’s a shower and a grower. In case you were wondering.”
“Leave it to a coach as hot as Priest to have a hidden collection of man candy on skates,” Marty said.
A bunch of us let out a collective sigh when they skated up behind Priest and flanked him—hands folded behind their backs, feet shoulder width apart.
That kind of male showing, smooth skin, corded muscles, and tattoos should be fuck
ing illegal in these quantities in a small town like Galloway Bay.
“Anyone else want to take bets on whether or not they’re military?” Eve asked. “I always thought I was a little more gay than bi, but this wall of muscle is making me rethink my position.”
“Ladies, meet Remy, Linc, and Dom. They’re experienced, so don’t think they’re just going to roll over and take it today. They’re going to give you a fight. I expect you to give it right back.”
Zach carried Lana across the track and set her up in a manual wheelchair in the infield. The look on her face, the way her eyes lit up with passion for the sport and a longing, made me wish I’d had a chance to see her in action before the accident.
Her mischievousness and determination would have been a potent combo.
No wonder Priest was drawn to her.
I would have loved to play with her.
A shrill whistle sliced through the air and we all snapped around to where she sat.
“Sorry, just making sure it works.” She shrugged, but grinned with that sly smile of hers, the same one she got when she was in the ER and thought she’d managed to sneak away from her mother.
Older than me, but in a lot of ways so much younger and a prankster at heart, she and Priest were so different yet so much alike—both hesitating to break free.
She from her mother, him from the past.
I wonder if he realized it.
But her time was coming. More precocious, and in love, she’d have to break free soon.
And who knows, maybe a taste of the bank would give her the final push.
“Hustle up and pick your first five. Best out of ten jams. And don’t be afraid of Dom. He may be big, but just the mere mention of flip-flops turns him into a total pussy cat.”
“You’re a real asshole, Priest,” Dom said, shooting him a dark look.
“Never tried to sell myself as anything else. Now get your helmet on or I’m going to have my girlfriend kick your ass.”
“Not man enough to do it yourself,” Dom tossed back.
“Sure, but why when she’s so much sexier doing it?”
His girlfriend, huh. Maybe all he needed was a few rules. Like about wandering off and shit.
If only it were that easy to keep him.
We skated off the track, each team heading for their benches, until Priest reached out and took my elbow, spinning me around to face him. “Hey, you better kick our asses out there today.”
“Count on it,” I said, smiling up at him.
He traced his fingertips along my eyebrow, over my temple, and down my cheek before sliding those long fingers around the back of my neck.
I swayed on my skates, blood rushing straight to my head. Seeing the wristguards on him as he did it, knowing we’d go head-to-head on the track—yes, fucking please.
He gave me all sorts of lusty thoughts like this.
Like laying him out like a damn buffet and biting into him.
Thanks, Rory, for the total food horn dog influence.
“Watch out for the hand,” he murmured as he hovered over my lips.
“Yes, Coach,” I said on a rush of breath.
“Hey! Stop trying to sex up our best jammer,” Rory said with a snap of her fingers and a slap of her thigh. “Mayhem. Come.”
Marty threw her head back and laughed. “I think she just did.”
Eve skated up to Marty and knocked into her shoulder while making a show of studying me. “Mmmm, not yet, but she’s close. I’ve seen that face.”
“Oh. My. God. Guys…stop!”
Priest leaned in, that fiery gaze of his on my mouth, but I pushed at his chest and watched him roll back on his skates. “No kissing.”
“That rule is retired. Permanently,” he said, coming to a stop. “Get your ass over here, Mayhem.”
“Fine,” I said as I pushed off and rolled right to him. “But keep it PG. You have a way of short-circuiting my systems and I’m pretty sure that’s cheating.”
He slanted that registered weapon of a mouth—the first go-to in his arsenal—and settled over mine, slow, soft, with a quick shot of pressure before he lifted his lips—just a glimpse at sexual energy rippling inside him.
“Now go,” I murmured giving him one last shove.
CAIN
I had to force myself to concentrate because the look in Mayhem’s eyes right now—fierce, calculating, so fucking in tune with the players on the track—nailed me in every vulnerable spot I didn’t even know I had.
She’d been nailing me since the moment I rolled into town.
At the bout.
At The Shipwreck.
Definitely at Rockabilly’s.
Obliterating me when she climbed on that bar at Banked Track.
And she did it without even trying.
Lana blew the whistle with the lungs of a damn opera singer, setting us in motion. After the second whistle, Mayhem and Jackson pushed off the jam line, closing in on us.
Spotting left, then right, then back to the left again, I kept my eye on her, closing gaps, opening others, hoping to get my man Jackson through while shutting down every one of Mayhem’s attempts. Remy, Linc, and Dom kept pace with me, shifting as I did while staying on Mayhem’s teammates.
The pack made it halfway through the corner when Mayhem upped the pressure. Her height gave her an edge to get low and stay there. When there wasn’t a gap to be had, she was impressively adept at creating one.
Wedging herself sideways in between Remy and Linc, she gave them only illegal zones to hit, her back and front, making it impossible for them to do anything but try to squeeze her back out.
Pitching forward, she shimmied and broke through, her skate catching on Remy’s briefly while they tried to put the final squeeze on her. On takeoff, Remy and Linc collided with one another, leaving them tangled in each other’s skates before crashing to the floor.
“Get up! Get up! Get up!” I yelled as they tried to scramble to their feet.
“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” Linc shot back.
“Making out with my track. Jesus, Linc, you’re going have to get on your feet a hell of a lot faster than that.”
Jackson broke through the pack then, but even with the longer legs, she’d gained precious seconds and he’d never catch her.
“Get ready, she’s closing in,” I warned them as she made her way around, her eyes already searching for a way through us again.
We tightened up enough to make ourselves a wall on the track while stopping her blockers from opening up pockets for her to score, giving Jackson a few extra seconds to get around too and pressure her to call off the jam before he could score right alongside her.
“Don’t let her through. Don’t let her through…”
Mayhem went low, Tilly right there fighting to clear the way for her.
No fear between them on the track anymore, just pure concentration.
An ass beating had been the answer all along.
Despite using the coping, no matter how Mayhem maneuvered, she couldn’t get past the chaos there, her every attempt resulting in a good amount of shoving, bumping, and a symphony of grunts.
Her gaze shot to the top of the track, the gap here, and she smirked. Toes digging in, she ran up the bank at an angle.
Remy spotted her, caught up, and kept pace, shoulder to shoulder until she slid back, waited for him to react, and shot out at a run to burst through the gap before he could even reverse his direction, blowing through the whole pack for four points.
Lana blew the whistle, ending the jam and I swatted Mayhem on the ass as she skated past. “You’re fast…keep up that energy.”
She smiled over her shoulder and set up behind the jam line again.
I skated into position and shot a look at Remy and Linc. “Could you guys stop trying to dance with each other out there. You’re killing me.”
“I thought you want your girlfriend to win?” Linc said.
“I do, but I don’t want you to let her
win.”
“You want her all sore and shit so you can rub her down later. I see what you’re aiming for,” Dom said, nodding at the ladies.
“He’s got like ten years on her. He’s the one who’s going to need the rubdown. I’ve got a tube of muscle rub with your name on it,” Remy said.
I smacked his helmet. “Yeah, why do you have a tube of muscle rub huh?”
“Stole it from Linc. Was going to put it in his underwear.”
“Don’t drag me into your shit,” Linc said. “Nothing wrong with my muscles. I’m a well-oiled machine.”
“Hey, you ladies done chatting over there?” Lana yelled, wheeling up next to us. “Get your shit together and share your makeup tips on your own time.”
Full of piss and vinegar, Lana gave us hell and I couldn’t even be mad about it. I should have had her out here a long time ago. She still had a place in this sport; I just didn’t see it. All this time and I didn’t see it.
Well, I was paying attention now.
“She’s mean,” Dom said.
“Don’t say that too loud; she might pull a flip-flop on you,” Linc said with a snort.
“You guys need some new material,” Dom said as he crouched in position.
With everyone in place, she blew the whistle again, sending us into another jam.
And another ass kicking.
Followed by another after that.
And another.
We finally found our footing on the fifth jam. Jackson managed to pull off two points and call off the jam before Mayhem could score her first point.
Now, we might just have a competition ahead of us—if we upped it to best out of fifteen.
No doubt Mayhem would call that cheating too.
At the whistle we took off clean, Mayhem and Jackson dead even as they closed in on us, but Mayhem didn’t look for a gap this time, she kept her momentum and worked at those barriers until she and Remy went shoulder to shoulder again, running to the top of the track at an angle, but my man miscalculated, assuming she’d slide back.
She didn’t.
Because she was relatively new to the bank and hadn’t gotten comfortable with go-to moves yet. It would work to their advantage in Philly.
