The Final Move

by Victoria Denault

  Despite my words, my hands, which no longer seem to be listening to my brain, slip down his back and under the waistband of his pajama pants. His ass is smooth and hard under my fingers.

  “Last night was about the past,” he murmurs in a heated, hoarse voice against my collarbone. “Tonight is about the future.”

  I don’t like that. There is no “future” for us. There is no “us.” I want to tell him this—I need to—but he’s pulled my tank top over my head and is now sucking my left breast into his hot, wet mouth and his long fingers are pulling the waist of my tiny pajama shorts down.

  Unfortunately the need to fuck him far outweighs the need to set him straight at this point. His lips move to the other breast and he’s gotten my shorts down to my knees and I’m not wearing any underwear. Completely exposed, he moves his hands between my legs and pushes them farther apart. I start to push his pajamas off his hips.

  My back arches and my head rolls back against the pillow as he teases me, running his fingers through my wetness and flicking my clit lightly. My fingers dig into the flesh on his ass. He growls into my neck and pushes two fingers into me at once. I can’t control the moan rolling out of me and my hips buck against his hand.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers into my hair as his fingers move in and out of me slowly. I reach between us, wanting to grab his dick and make him as out of control as I am, but he tilts his hip, pushing it down against my thigh and making it impossible for me to reach between us. He knows he’s got all the control right now and he wants to keep it that way.

  His fingers keep pumping in and out of me, his thumb pushing and rubbing my clit with every thrust. My breath is ragged and my spine is arched and then he curls his fingers and touches my G-spot and my eyes snap shut and he starts whispering in my ear.

  “You’re fucking amazing, Callie. So hot. So sexy. I see you and my dick gets hard. I want you so bad. All the time. I want to make you come so hard. I want to…”

  I move my lips to his, shutting him up with a kiss. He hits my G-spot again, pressing into it for a long glorious moment. My body melts and my orgasm rolls over me like a tidal wave. Devin rides me through it with his hand.

  As it ends, I struggle for breath and he moves his hand from me. I feel his rock-hard cock against my thigh. I fight the urge to grab him and guide him into me; I have never wanted anything more in my life but I’m not on birth control. That’s always been enough motivation to stay the hell away from an unprotected guy, but somehow with Devin, I have to remind myself of the danger.

  “Suitcase,” I pant and point to the mostly empty hard-shell zebra-print suitcase against the wall at the side of my bed.

  He gets off the bed, flips it open, grabs the box inside and pulls a condom from it. I sit up, kick my pajama shorts fully off my body and snatch the condom from him. His pajama bottoms fell off when he stood up and now he’s standing naked in front of me as I kneel on the bed, naked, in front of him.

  I lick his penis as it stands at attention in front of me from base to tip, sucking the wetness off the head as my hands tear the package open. I carefully roll the condom onto him. As soon as I’m done, his hands are on my shoulders pushing me back and he’s on top of me, sliding into me gently.

  He is looking down at me intently. His eyes are clear and soft. His full lips are bent into a small, satisfied smile. As he moves inside me, his hips pulling up and pressing down with a fast and steady rhythm, one thought takes over my brain—I have never seen a more beautiful man in my life.

  And then he lets his lips graze my forehead and he catches my eye again and I can see something there—something I haven’t seen before—and it makes me uncomfortable. He is looking at me like he is thinking the same thing about me.

  It’s too much. I can’t do this like this.

  I buck my hips and put my hands on his chest and push him. He rolls over and takes me with him so I’m on top. I let him slide out of me and turn around.

  “Callie…” he says in protest and reaches for my hips, trying to turn me back to face him.

  I ignore him and slide down on his dick, my back facing him. As soon as he’s inside me, the air rushes from my lungs. I’ve done reverse cowgirl before but with Devin being so big it’s a completely different feeling. He must love it too because his protests stop and he makes that growling moan sound he does when he’s close to coming. Devin puts one hand behind him and pushes himself up so he’s sitting. He nips the back of my shoulder blade as his other hand wraps around my waist.

  He’s helping lift me up and down and the extra force makes me feel him in every part of me, but it’s not uncomfortable. And then I lean forward a bit and he pushes me down hard and the tip of his cock hits my G-spot where his fingers had been before, and I whimper.

  “Come with me,” he commands. “Come, baby. Please.”

  “Fuck, Devin,” I say and bite my lip to try and hold in another whimper as he hits that sweet spot again. “Fuck yes.”

  My body tenses, then breaks open around him. I feel him slam up into me and grunt and collapse behind me as his dick twitches and spills its release. I fall back gently onto his chest and he wraps his arms around me and holds me.

  I feel his lips in my hair, pressing into my temple.

  “That was unbelievable,” he whispers in a raspy voice.

  “Yeah,” I manage to sputter out as a response as I struggle to come to my senses.

  What’s with this hugging shit? My brain starts screaming. I push his arms off me and carefully roll off him. He lets out a little groan of protest. I force myself to get up and start putting my pajamas back on.

  He watches me, lying across my bed completely naked and exposed and not the least bit insecure about it. I guess if you look like that—like a perfectly muscled sex god—there’s nothing to be insecure about. And to be honest, I have to fight my natural instinct to just stand there and admire him. His lips are pulled into a sexy smile.

  “What are you doing?” he asks me.

  “Getting ready for bed,” I explain. “You need to head back to your room.”

  “This is my place so, technically, all the rooms are mine,” he retorts snarkily.

  “Ha. Ha. Seriously. Thanks and everything,” I say firmly and matter-of-factly, “but I need to sleep. Alone.”

  He stares at me for a minute, like he expects me to say “just joking” or something, but when I don’t, he gets up and walks to the bathroom. I’m fully clothed now. I reach down and pick up his pajama bottoms and hold them out to him as he walks back into the bedroom after disposing of the condom.

  “Devin, that was fun,” I say calmly. “More fun than last night, which I didn’t think was possible. But we’re not doing this again.”

  “It was more than fun; it was amazing. It got even more amazing the second time,” he surmises, giving me a stare that says I’m nuts. “And you know what else is fun? Spending the night in the same bed and waking up together. And morning sex. That’s fun.”

  “The sex will start to become more than sex if we keep having it,” I explain tersely.

  “Oh.” He thinks about that for a second. “It’ll become more…”

  I know what he’s implying. He’s implying that it already is more. And it angers me a little that he would think that. And that I think he might be right.

  “I don’t fuck guys I like, remember?” I tell him.

  “So you don’t like me?”

  “Of course I like you. You’re the best.” I shake my head, growing more frustrated. “And because of that I never should have slept with you. And I won’t do it again. I’m not Ashleigh. I don’t want a husband and a picket fence.”

  “I don’t want you to be Ashleigh.”

  “But you still want a wife,” I argue back, and my chest feels tight. “So we can’t keep having sex. In the end, the orgasms won’t be enough, Devin. And I want to stop this before you start wanting from me what you wanted from Ashleigh, because I can’t do that.”


  “You can’t do kids?”

  “I could. I will one day. On my own,” I say and smile at the thought. “That’s been my plan since I first learned what the term ‘sperm donor’ meant.”

  He stands there motionless for a long minute. I can’t watch him watching me anymore. It makes me feel like shit, so I turn my back and start to pull back the covers.

  “Good night, Callie,” he says simply, and by the time I turn back, he’s gone.

  Chapter 34

  Devin

  She’s out on the back deck when I come downstairs at around eleven the next morning. I can see her lying on one of the two loungers on the cedar deck. She’s wrapped in her winter coat, jeans and Uggs and she’s got big dark sunglasses on, a coffee mug in her hand and her laptop on her lap.

  I don’t go out and say hello. I don’t know what to say to her. I can’t say what I want to say, which is “What are you so afraid of?” and “We should see where this goes.” I just go about my morning routine pouring my own coffee and poke around for something to eat. So I decide to just stay silent and get out of here and head to the airport early. I’m suddenly grateful for my three-day road trip. As I’m pouring my morning coffee and trying to decide whether to have cereal or toast, I notice the tray of muffins on the stovetop.

  “I made them fresh this morning.” Her voice comes from behind me. “Banana nut.”

  I nod and sip my coffee. “No work today? And aren’t you cold out there?”

  “Night shoot. And I’m trying to force myself to get used to the cold,” she explains. “Have a muffin.”

  I want to say no, reject her the only way I can, but I’m hungry and they look really good. I reach over and pop one out of the tin. It’s still warm. I bite in and almost groan. It’s delicious.

  “I had no idea you were such a good cook,” I mutter and finally for the first time look up at her.

  She smiles, happy with the compliment. “Well, Jessie kept us in line and Rosie kept the house clean, but I kept us fed.”

  I think back on her childhood. I don’t know as much about it as Jordan or even Luc because I was drafted around the time their grandma dumped them to go to Florida, but I know it was hard. I know my parents and my brothers really worried about them.

  “When do you leave?” she wants to know.

  “I have to be at the airport for twelve thirty,” I explain and take another giant bite of the muffin.

  “Who are you playing?”

  “Los Angeles, Sacramento, San Fran, then home,” I reply.

  “Kick their collective asses,” she requests with a smile. As I nod, her eyes fall to my hand holding the muffin. “You’re not wearing your wedding ring anymore.”

  I glance down at my bare left hand. There’s a slight tan line where the solid platinum band used to be.

  “Yeah. I met a lawyer yesterday,” I reply, trying to sound casual. “He said if Ashleigh doesn’t argue any of my terms, it should be done in a few months.”

  She looks surprised. “You didn’t tell me you went to a lawyer.”

  I give her a long stare for a second and then shrug as I finish the muffin and sip my coffee. “I was going to, but you went on your date. And then afterward, I got distracted.”

  She looks flustered at that. She almost blushes. “Right. I want you to know you can talk to me about that, the lawyer stuff, if you need to. We’re friends. I want to help you through this.”

  There’s that word again. Friends. I try not to frown, and remember what she said last night. She didn’t want what I wanted. I should be lucky she’s up front about it now so I don’t actually fall in love with her.

  “It’s fine. I talked to my mom. Told her everything. She made me feel okay about it,” I explain and finish my coffee. I put the mug in the sink and turn back to her.

  I have an overwhelming urge to just lean in and kiss her. God, I wish I could just kiss her. I sigh.

  “Later, Callie,” I mumble and give her a pat on the shoulder as I walk past.

  My suitcase is already in the hall and so I just grab my keys and slip into my suit jacket, which I had left on the end of the banister. She’s leaning against the doorway into the kitchen staring at me with a look I can’t quite read.

  I give her a wave and head out the door.

  Chapter 35

  Callie

  I curl up on the couch. It’s been snowing all day so I’ve been stuck inside and the townhouse feels cavernous and depressing—because I’m lonely. I think about calling Sam and inviting him over, but as lonely as I am I don’t want company. Then I think about calling Jessie or Rose but, well, they’re going to want to talk about Devin and that is the last thing I want to discuss.

  So I turn on the gas fireplace, curl up under the blanket on the couch and turn on the TV. I don’t want to watch Devin’s game—I really don’t. I didn’t watch every single game he played before I moved here so I shouldn’t watch them now. After all, nothing has changed. I’m still just his buddy. I don’t need to see every single game he plays.

  I sigh. Unfortunately, because it’s the middle of a Sunday afternoon, all the channels are filled with infomercials and bad movies. So I end up on the Thunder-Barons game by default. I make myself feel better with the fact that I didn’t watch the Tigers-Barons game the night before.

  It’s the middle of the second and the Barons are down 2–0. The game seems overly intense. This isn’t a franchise rivalry so I don’t know why there is so much aggression on the ice. Also, the San Francisco Thunder aren’t known as an overly physical team—and neither are the Barons—so why are there so many hits and penalties?

  When I tune in, Devin is in the penalty box. He’s never in the box! The camera focuses on him, his jaw clenched sternly and his eyes dark and narrowed. He’s rocking back and forth with pent-up aggression. The caption says “Devin Garrison, two minutes for boarding.” BOARDING?! What the hell is he doing?

  I fight the urge to text him.

  The game goes on and they kill off his penalty and manage to even get a goal, but the third period turns into a slugfest. There are three fights before the halfway point. And then one of the Thunder players flat-out slew foots Tommy Donahue—using his own leg to hook Tommy’s from behind, wrenching his knee. Tommy goes down in a heap on the ice and Devin goes after the guy who does it. His gloves fly across the ice and he gets off two solid right hooks before the Thunder player even knows he’s being challenged.

  “Devin Garrison, calm the fuck down!” I yell at the TV. The linesman starts grabbing at the back of Devin’s jersey, trying to pull him away, while the ref tries to get in between them. Before the fight can be dismantled, the Thunder defenseman gets a solid shot off, clocking Devin across the jaw.

  I jump off the couch. Devin teeters backward but the linesman keeps him upright and drags him to the penalty box. They break for a commercial as the trainer runs to the ice to deal with a still unmoving Tommy.

  I pace the living room until they show Devin again in the penalty box. He’s pressing a towel up to his left cheek. When he pulls it away, there is blood on it from a small cut and I can see his cheek is already swelling.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I whisper to his image on the flat screen.

  The game ends in a 2–1 loss for Brooklyn.

  I want to text him and see if he’s okay or call him and yell at him for fighting, but I don’t let myself do it. It’s not my place. I’m not his wife or girlfriend. It’s not a big deal. He’ll be fine.

  Chapter 36

  Devin

  I open the door at one in the morning and carefully and quietly lift my suitcase into the hall. The house is dark and silent. I slip out of my shoes and start up the stairs, leaving my suitcase downstairs in order to avoiding making unnecessary noise.

  Her bedroom door is closed. I pause in front of it. I want to see her so badly. I know—even though it makes no sense—that just seeing her will make me feel better. And she’ll have some opinion or rationale about the g
ame that will be bold and crazy yet completely logical and it will make me smile. But I can’t. She’s not my wife or my girlfriend. She’s just my…roommate? At least that’s all she wants to be, so I leave her sleeping and head into my room.

  I strip out of my clothes, leaving on just my underwear, and head into the bathroom. I study my face in the mirror. There is a small cut—it only needed two stitches—but the welt forming is pretty big and angry looking.

  I head back into my room and stop dead. She’s sitting on the edge of my bed. She’s in gray capri sweats and a baby-pink T-shirt that says “Bar Star” in pink glitter across the chest. Her hair is pulled up in a sloppy half ponytail–half bun thing that girls do. In her hands she’s got what looks like a washcloth with something wrapped in it.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “I wasn’t sleeping,” she replies and motions me over. I walk to her and sit down beside her. She reaches up and touches my cheek with what’s in her hand. It’s cool and damp against my puffy cheek. I realize it’s ice wrapped up in the washcloth.

  “Does it hurt?”

  I nod. “A little. The freezing they gave me when they stitched it is wearing off.”

  “Devin, what the fuck were you thinking?” she demands in a quiet but firm tone. “You don’t fight.”

  “I can fight if I’m pushed, and they pushed us,” I argue back calmly. “Tommy is probably out for the season. It doesn’t look good at all.”

  “It was a crazy game,” she whispers and shakes her head. “I was so freaked out watching it I was yelling at the TV. I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t call the cops.”

  I smile at that. “I thought you liked hockey fights. Didn’t you once say that they turned you on? ‘Hockey fights are hot’ were your exact words.”

  She laughs self-consciously. “You remember that?”

  I nod and smile. She had said it one year when Jordan, Luc and Cole were still on the Silver Bay Bucks and they had made the play-offs. I was already at home, my first Barons season over. We ended up at the same house party and the girls were talking about the Silver Bay game earlier that night. Jessie was recounting Jordan’s two goals in detail, much to her boyfriend Chance’s dismay, and Callie was recounting every single fight with a giant smile on her face.