by Jen Doyle
No. No, no, no. She could not do tenderness. Not with him. “I think I need to get a dog.”
He froze. His eyebrow arched up at, yes, her completely out-there thought.
“You know,” she explained, trying to keep her traitorous body from weeping with need. “To take care of cleaning all those cupboards so that the guests won’t have to do it.”
“Mmm.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Kinky.”
Before she could say that that wasn’t what she’d meant—obviously—he was sinking into her and any chance of speech was gone. Her head fell back at the sheer bliss of having him inside her. With her neck exposed, he took full advantage, kissing her and smiling against her skin every time she moaned. He pulled her knee up alongside his hip, a rumble of pleasure running through him when she gasped, then again when he went so deep the tremor traveled up her spine. She thrust her hips up, crying out when he pulled almost all the way out and then right back in. With every ounce of her being she wanted it to last longer, but she’d been on edge for centuries and couldn’t take any more. She put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed.
He got the message. With the slightest shift he rubbed up exactly where she needed him to. She clutched him to her as she exploded. As he drove into her one, two—oh, God; so freaking good—three times before he followed her over.
It was a full five minutes before either one of them could speak—and she loved every second because they were spent with him collapsed on top of her, every single inch of him deliciously warm. She refused to let him pull away.
He shifted so he could look her in the eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, brushing her lips with his thumb.
“No chance,” she said. It was a flat-out lie. He had the potential to hurt her more deeply than any man she’d ever known. That would have been true if all he’d been was Nate Hawkins, the fantasy. But when fantasy combined with the reality of the man she was coming to know, it could be devastating.
She pushed the thought out of her head, concentrating instead on the way his skin felt beneath her hands as she ran them down the sleek, strong muscles of his back. “You think maybe we could try that again?” she asked. “I’m not sure it worked.”
Clearly aware that it had worked impossibly well—three times—he threw his head back and laughed. Then he bent down to kiss her. “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to make you scream.”
Chapter Fourteen
The sound of his phone ringing woke Nate up. He rolled over, reached for it...and knocked a whole stack of books onto the floor.
He sat up suddenly, blinked at the completely unfamiliar room and then realized... Right. He’d spent the night at Dorie’s. His phone, which had stopped ringing for all of two seconds, started ringing again. And now he was realizing it was in his pants pocket in the living room since, by the time they’d made it to the bedroom, clothes had long been shed.
The phone stopped ringing once again. Then, also once again, started ringing after two seconds.
Recognizing the pattern, Nate swore as he wrapped the sheet around his waist, swore again as he stumbled over the books now strewed across the floor—nearly twisting his knee in the process which would have been a freaking nightmare to explain—and made his way to the living room in order to stop the phone stopping and starting yet a fourth time. Failing thanks to his pants being tangled up on the floor, he snatched it on the second ring of the new cycle and glanced at it only to confirm it was Pete, as expected.
“I’ll call you from the car,” he snapped.
They’d been down this road before—Pete nagging at Nate until he’d received verbal confirmation that Nate was on his way to somewhere Nate didn’t want to be going—so Pete’s only response to that was a chuckle before hanging up. Nate threw the phone down to the coffee table.
Now that he was fully awake, he took a look around. The apartment wasn’t big enough for Dorie to be in it without him knowing, so he came to the obvious conclusion that she’d gone to work.
“I do have a job, you know,” she’d said to him when, probably around 5:00 a.m., he’d tried to convince her that spending the entire day in bed was a perfectly reasonable thing.
Well, yeah, but it had surprised him that that’s what her answer was. It also surprised him that he wasn’t entirely happy about it.
He’d always actually preferred waking up alone, even with women he’d been with more than once. Until this morning he’d convinced himself that it was just the way he was; that his job was so physically and mentally demanding—even during the off-season—that he couldn’t quite perform it if he didn’t wake up in the zone.
Turned out that was all a crock of shit. Even today, of all days, when he had to pull himself together and get himself to Chicago to finally face the music, he didn’t give a crap about the zone. Maybe that was a lie he’d been telling himself so he wouldn’t have to confront the fact that he really was an ass for wanting to fuck a woman and then spend the rest of the night alone.
With Dorie, though, having sex pretty much until the sun came up, he already wanted her again. And again after that. And then again and again and again until he was a hundred years old and all the Viagra in the world wasn’t going to help but he wouldn’t give a damn because as long as he could be touching some part of her he’d be fine.
Christ. He’d just liked holding her. Touching her. Laughing.
Yeah, the laughing part was definitely new. When she’d gone into the whole pot and kettle thing—when he found himself trying desperately to hold back his laugh despite how angry he’d been... Hell, when she’d thrown out the comment about getting a dog—he’d known he was in trouble. Like, this-is-a-woman-I-could-possibly-fall-in-love-with trouble. Having barely cracked a smile in two months and then laughing during both fighting and sex?
This was definitely not part of the plan.
Okay. He was getting ahead of himself. Maybe a cold shower would help. She was amazing, yes. Sex with her had been playful and breathtaking and hot as hell. But that was all it was, no matter how many times he’d begun to think about things he couldn’t possibly mean.
And he was pretty close to convincing himself of that, right up until he read the note she’d left by the coffee machine.
Hey, there. Sorry I have to run, but, well, I kind of literally have to run. Marathon thing and all that. And I know you have a long drive, so I’ll just head straight to the library after that. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep, after all, especially since you have that whole gorgeous thing going on. And, um, I can’t believe I just wrote that. I can’t believe I ever said that. I hope Chicago treats you better than it did last time you were there. But just in case it doesn’t, don’t forget that I have a bat—and I know how to use it. So I guess I’ll see you when I see you.
XOXO DD
Oh, and P.S. That was the most amazing night of my life. For your sake, I won’t breathe a word about it to my brothers.
* * *
Nate was driving and talking to Pete on the phone, just about to turn onto his aunt and uncle’s road, when he suddenly realized Dorie had given no indication she intended to see him again. It was an art he’d perfected. Send ’em off with such a big smile that they had no idea you’d just given them the blow-off.
“See you when I see you?”
“Shit.” He came to a complete stop in the middle of the road, only barely registering the squeal of brakes and honking horns around him.
“Nathan Hawkins, your mother will hear about this!”
He looked up to see his fourth-grade teacher waving her fist as she drove around him.
Jesus. “Sorry, Mrs. Bellevue!” he called out.
He pulled over to the side of the road, shaking. He’d done some stupid things in his life, but never anything that idiotic. What the hell? “I gotta go, Pete,”
he said, realizing that Pete had stopped talking at the sound of chaos, but that Nate had no memory at all of what their conversation had been about.
Oh, right. “Yes, I’m coming back tonight,” he promised. “Tell Courtney not to worry about her fucking car.” For heaven’s sake. Did she think he was going to run off to Canada with it? He hung up before Pete could say anything else. The man knew him too well; the questions would be relentless.
As well they should, considering Nate was pulling a U-turn with only a little bit more awareness of the cars around him than when he’d stopped in the middle of the street.
Having driven like a bat out of hell, it wasn’t surprising that he made it back to the library in less than fifteen minutes. It was probably better for everyone that there was a spot right in front. God knew what he would have done if he’d had to look for parking. He got out of the truck and slammed the door.
Had Dorie seriously been saying he should have a nice life? Thanks for the fuck, or four, but now that I’ve crossed that off my bucket list, you can go on your merry way?
Nate’s hand was on the door handle when he finally came to his senses. Realizing that his heart was pounding in his ears, he rested his head against the window. Yes, maybe that’s the way it had been for him in the past. The women who wanted his name notched on their belts, who wanted a story to tell their grandkids one day.
Well, probably not about the fucking part.
But that wasn’t Dorie. He still refused to believe that.
Yes, she’d pretended not to know who he was. He hated that she’d let him stay with her that first night because she felt sad for him. Christ. But if anything, he’d done the pursuing. Not once had she done anything that came even close to the predatory shit he was used to. Hell, even her underwear spoke volumes. He’d been with a lot of women and every single one of them had been wearing matching lingerie, usually red, black or a combination thereof. And, more often than not, see-through. All of which he found incredibly appealing, just to be clear. But Dorie had known exactly who he was—exactly what he wanted from her and how many women he’d already had it with—and she’d still been wearing plain cotton panties and a dark blue bra. That was as far from belt-notching, predatory as it got.
He opened the door and walked inside, steeling himself for seeing Wash or Deke or any other guy who may have decided to make a move. But it was just Dorie, stretched out on her back in the middle of the floor of the reading room, eyes closed and hands holding a notebook nestled against her chest.
“What marathon thing?” he asked, not meaning to scare the bejesus out of her—she had those damn chimes, didn’t she?—yet doing that all the same.
“Oh, my God.” She threw her notebook straight up in the air as she sat up. When it dropped back down, she threw it at him. “What the hell?”
Catching the notebook against his chest, it occurred to him that she had a surprisingly good arm. “Sorry,” he said. And he truly was. But they’d spent nearly the past three days together and he wanted to know why she’d never mentioned anything about a marathon. “Was that just an excuse to get far the hell away from me, or are you really running a marathon?”
She avoided the first part of the question, something he tried not to read too much into, and skipped right over to the second. “I’m in training. With Colin and Christopher.”
“That’s...” Amazing. She was amazing. But he only managed the one word before his mind went blank as he remembered how adeptly she’d used those muscles last night, clamping her legs around him and drawing him in. Yeah. He should have realized there’d been some kind of training involved. “You didn’t think to mention it?”
“Of course I thought to mention it.” She got to her feet and glared at him. “And then I realized that would be the most asinine thing ever, because then I’d have to also mention that the marathon we’re training for isn’t Boston, since it’s a Donelli family tradition to go to the Red Sox game on marathon day. And then I might have needed to admit that I actually know a thing or two about baseball. That if you hadn’t signed with the Watchmen, you would have been playing against us that day.”
He felt his mouth settle into a grim line. Okay, yes. She had a point. And he definitely would have made the connection. He’d played that game in Boston a few times over the years—the 11:00 a.m. game that Boston always played at home so their fans could head straight to the marathon finish line a few blocks away. He loved that game, loved that tradition.
But he didn’t care about any of that right now. “Anything else you haven’t mentioned?”
“I...” Her brow furrowed. “What?”
For all that they’d talked, he was realizing there was a lot he didn’t know. “Well, you clearly know a lot about sports.”
She sat down again, then shrugged. “I didn’t have much of a choice. My parents had already bought every type of equipment known to man—it wasn’t like they were going to run out and buy me a tutu just because I didn’t want to play hockey.”
The thought of her in a Bruins jersey and nothing else... “You played hockey?”
The corner of her mouth twitched and a sparkle came to her eyes. “Is that better or worse than the glasses?”
The thought of her in a Bruins jersey and glasses and nothing else? Holy shit. “Better,” he groaned. Oh, Christ, was it better. He took a step toward her. “What else?”
“Karate. Boxing. Soccer. You’re looking at the best pitcher in the Allston-Brighton Little League circa 2002.” She gave a sly smile. “Why? Were you thinking of approaching the mound?”
He was on her almost before she could finish. His hands were in her hair, under her shirt, then on her hips as he pulled her to him. He was so hard that it hurt and he didn’t give a fuck that they were in the middle of the main room of the damn library.
She didn’t either, apparently. She nipped at his neck and he brought her to the floor, pulling her down on top of him. He pushed her jeans down past her hips far enough for her to wiggle out of them. Today she was wearing those boy short panties and he was pretty sure it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
No. The sexiest thing he’d ever seen was her peeling them off and then reaching down to undress him before bending down and closing her mouth around his dick.
She swirled her tongue, then her hands closed around his ass. It took everything he had not to come. He didn’t want to want her this much. He should be on his way to Chicago right now, not hauling her up by the shoulders until his lips were finally back on hers. He arched up into her, reeling as her wet heat closed around him; pushing away the words dancing around in his head. She rose up until she was nearly free of him. Then, smiling wickedly, eased back down so slowly that he was afraid he might actually come out of his skin. She did it again, and then again, faster and faster until his whole body was humming with need.
She pulled away from him and he felt like she’d taken his air away. “Dorie...”
But then she was straddling him again, right at his knees, bending down and taking him in her mouth, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head.
“Condom?” Her voice sounded as ragged as he felt.
Right. Christ. His head fell back against the floor. “Wallet.”
He should have gotten it himself but he was so fucking tight that he couldn’t move right now. The next thing he did had to be burying himself in her or he was going to die. No fucking lie.
He heard her tear the packet, felt her place it on him, slowly roll it down his cock.
She was playing with him. Fucking playing. A low laugh ran through her and it nearly undid him.
He wrapped his arms around her and flipped them over. He’d make her pay for that. Later. Right now, though, it took every ounce of control he had to wait until she was the one writhing and pleading. Until she came, screaming. But then she pulled his head down to her
neck and moaned his name, and, his hands fisting on either side of her head, he was gone. When he finally collapsed against her, he kept his weight off her as best as he could, but he didn’t want to move away.
Christ. He didn’t want to move away.
After a minute or two, he brushed the hair away from her face and kissed her. “Come to Chicago with me.”
Eyes widening, she went still beneath him. Then she bit her lip and looked away. “Why?”
Rolling to the side, he ran his hand slowly down her back from her shoulder to her hip, caressing skin so soft and smooth that he wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough of it. Then he reached around for her clothes and handed them to her so she could get dressed as he did the same. “Because I don’t want to be there if you’re not there with me.”
“Don’t say things like that,” she snapped, scrambling away from him.
He hadn’t meant to. Fuck, how he hadn’t meant to. He grabbed her hand. “Just come. Please.”
The pause was nearly unbearable. If she said no...
But then she smiled, and she took a handful of his shirt as she pulled him to her. “I’m pretty sure I just did.”
* * *
She made him wait until 3:00, a time she declared was an okay time to leave, especially since she’d decided yesterday afternoon that so much had been accomplished that she’d given his aunt and uncle the day off.
Thank God, since he’d taken her in the middle of the damn room without a thought as to who else might be around.
Although the apartment was well within walking range for someone who, apparently, ran upward of seven miles a day, he waited around so he could drive her back and then they could get on the road straight from there. He didn’t push her again about the blow-off note; he thought he was beginning to understand where she was coming from. And they’d figure it out later. Because, yes, he did wonder if this need he had for her was more about the freedom she’d offered by being one of the few people in his life who didn’t treat him like Nate-freaking-Hawkins, especially considering she’d actually known who he was the whole time. She was smart enough and kind enough to give him the benefit of the doubt, but she needed to be able to trust that his heart was in the right place.
