by Avery Flynn
The mattress hit her thighs and Stryker kept moving, she grabbed onto his shoulders to keep from falling. He splayed one hand on her back and lowered her slowly, while simultaneously releasing the clasp of her bra. The man had great dexterity, another of his talents. He was also an amazing kisser. She reached for his shirt and he stopped her, grabbing her wrists and raising them over her head. “Cher, I love when you touch me. I really do—probably too much, so do me a favor just this once and keep your hands up here.” He pressed her wrists to the mattress above her head. “Hold onto the headboard. I promise you won’t regret it. Okay?”
“But—”
He pulled off his shirt, leaving him in only his boxer-briefs before he kissed her again, scrambling her brain. His tongue explored her mouth, tangling with hers, his teeth nipping her bottom lip and then sucking on it, as his hands, rough and callused, slid from her wrist, over the sensitive spot on the inside of her elbow to her shoulders. His mouth trailed south along the length of her neck and then to her breasts.
She grabbed his head as soon as he sucked her nipple into his mouth—wanting to keep him there indefinitely.
He stopped, released her breast, and stared at her, one eyebrow raised. “Behave, Cher, or I’ll have to tie you up.” He said it with the trademark smirk she’d seen in her dreams almost nightly, but the way his eyes drilled into hers belied his teasing. A technicolor picture of him tying her to the bed formed in her brain and a rush of heat shot straight to her core. Her reaction was as shocking as the intensity of the urge to let him do just that.
“That’s a turnon, isn’t it?”
She shrugged, knowing a blush crawled up her chest—the curse of the black Irish.
“We’ll try it later.” He took her small wrist and gently returned it to the headboard. “Right now, just be a good girl and hold on.”
Trish was going to argue, but he placed his finger over her lips, so she sucked it into her mouth. He stared at her, gritted his teeth, and color bloomed on his cheekbones, making them stand out even more than normal. His pupils dilated and he swallowed back a curse, tugging his finger from between her lips as she raked her teeth over it.
It was as if that sent him on a mission to drive her insane using sexual torture tactics of the most incredible kind. By the time he slid her panties off, she was so close to imploding she couldn’t think straight. All she could do was writhe beneath him, begging him incoherently and moaning. He’d held her on the razor’s edge of orgasm, and then he’d back off only to raise her even higher. He stuffed a pillow beneath her, and she was too overcome to even be embarrassed when he kissed his way up her inner thighs, draping her legs over his shoulders.
“Oh God!”
He slid his tongue over the most sensitive spot on her body, and she swore, shocking herself, but before she could gather her thoughts, she was flying, crashing, exploding, and imploding all at the same time. It was as if she splintered into a million different pieces, levitating like Fourth of July fireworks, exploding again and again and again lighting up the sky.
When she opened her eyes, he was watching her and pulling a condom packet out of his wallet. “You with me, Cher?”
She released the hold she’d had on the headboard, her muscles languid and heavy and slow—like the connection between her brain and her limbs were on dial-up instead of high-speed Internet.
“I… I mean, um…
He smiled at her incoherence. “Yeah, I know how you feel. Kinda like I felt in the car.”
He kissed her then, and she tasted herself on his lips, his tongue. He rolled off her, pulling her on top of him and just kept kissing her, running his hands all over her body. Kissing and caressing, turning her entire body into one big erogenous zone.
She decided two could play that game, and besides, now she had her hands free to roam wherever she wanted. She kissed her way down his neck to that incredible chest she’d dreamt about. God, the man was ripped. She’d never seen anything like him except in pictures on Facebook. She licked her way across a real eight-pack of washboard abs, feeling them jump beneath her tongue and then hit a treasure trail of blonde hair heading south toward her target, shimmying down.
He grabbed her, pulling her over his hard body like she weighed nothing. His erection pressed against her abdomen, “Oh no you don’t. The next time I come, I want to be inside you.” He pulled her close and then sat up like he was doing a crunch, forcing her to bring her knees forward so she rested on his thighs.
Trish couldn’t remember when he’d taken off his boxer briefs—maybe when she’d been in her post-orgasmic stupor. That must have been really attractive.
“What’s going through your mind?”
“I can’t remember when you took off your boxer briefs. How did I miss that?”
He smiled, pushed her hair back over her shoulder and then kissed her again, but not the kind of kiss she expected. This wasn’t a trying-to-get-laid kiss, it was as if he had no agenda, no conscious thought, as if kissing her were as natural as breathing.
She’d never been kissed like that. She stared into his bluish gray, almost silver, eyes that seemed fathomless. It was as if he were waiting for something, some kind of sign. She suddenly felt nervous, naked, and very exposed—more exposed than when he had his face between her thighs. She scooted back, her hands crossing over her chest for cover.
He caught her, wrapped his arm around her, and pulled her close—so close his erection pressed against the juncture of her thighs. “Whoa, what just happened?”
“Nothing.” God, she was dying of embarrassment. She looked away, but he took her face in his hands and gently drew it back toward his so they were eye-to-eye.
“Don’t lie. I may not be very smart, but I’m not that stupid. Once second you’re about to go down on me and the next you’re scooting away like I have a communicable disease—which I don’t, just so you know. We’re all tested, and lectured routinely. It’s part of the contract.”
He looked at her the same way he had in the restaurant, with vulnerable, almost empty eyes. “Trish, don’t run away from me.”
He wasn’t as angry as he’d been before, but she could no more not kiss him now than she could not reach over to touch him earlier, to soothe, to connect, to slip through the crack she saw in the wall he’d erected.
There were no words, just feelings and needs and fears. She wanted to take a sledgehammer to his protective walls, but instead felt as if it were her own that shattered.
She’d never kissed him before. He’d kissed her—a lot and very well. She’d always taken the back seat when it came to the physical, well, except for earlier in Karma’s office and then again in the car. She honestly didn’t know what had come over her. “It’s you.” She mumbled against his lips before she deepened the kiss, breathing his breath, drinking in his very essence, but instead of taking control of the kiss, he did just the opposite; he surrendered.
He may have surrendered, but it was she who laid her soul bare—raw and exposed. She had a flash of awareness and knew she was in real trouble. “I need you.”
He slid the condom on, his gaze never leaving hers, “I’m right here with you, Cher.” He held her, guided her, supported her, but it was she who took, sliding over him, accepting him into her body, into her life, into her heart.
He filled her in ways she’d never experienced, hit places no one had ever touched, stole her breath without trying, snuck past defenses she didn’t know existed, and let her take and give on her terms. He freed her and chained her to him with the same action. He drove her, loved her like she’d never been loved before, and when he rolled them over, he gave her even more until she lost all sense of herself, until she didn’t know where she stopped and he began. When she came back to Earth, she was in a completely different place than when she’d walked into that room an hour before. Not sure where she was, or how to get back to where they’d begun, or if she even wanted to return.
Stryker lay over Trish, sure he was crushing her, b
ut he didn’t have the strength to move. He’d had enough multi-orgasmic, wall-banging, mind-numbing sex to know what he and Trish had just experienced was not that. It was like the difference between driving a Ford Fiesta and a Bugatti Veyron—the only things the two had in common were that they both had four wheels, an engine, and could get you where you needed to go. But only one could make you wish you never had to stop driving, only one could take you so hard and fast you felt like you were flying and breaking the land speed record at the same time, and only one could ruin you for any other automobile. Fuck. He’d just experienced his first Bugatti and knew with certainty that no matter how many other cars he drove, he’d never again feel the way he did at that moment.
He closed his eyes and did his best to man up. He raised himself onto his forearms to take some weight off of her only to slide deeper into her. Damn, she was beyond potent if she could get a rise out of him now. He stilled and focused on her. “Hey, Cher.”
She blinked, looking as stunned as he felt. Questions rose like cartoon bubbles above their heads, but neither seemed capable of voicing them.
He chose avoidance instead, rolled off her, and took care of the condom before sliding back into bed beside her. He pulled her over him, her head resting on his chest like it had the entire night before, and took a deep breath, letting her scent calm his racing heart and mind.
When he awoke, he found himself alone in bed. He shot up and remembered they were at her place. He relaxed slightly, after all it wasn’t as if she could take off, could she? He cleared his throat, tugged on his shorts, and went in search of her.
He found her on her back deck, stretching to water a hanging plant, wearing a tight t-shirt, the hem of which didn’t quite meet the waistband of her worn cut-offs, and flip flops with flowers so big, they almost covered the tops of her small feet.
Music streamed from somewhere, and she swayed to the rhythm as the sun shone down like her own personal spotlight. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun—probably due to the heat.
He didn’t feel himself moving until he slid his arms around her from behind and leaned in, his mouth connecting with that tendon on her neck which called out to be nibbled and kissed.
She almost dropped the watering can, sprinkling the flowers on her shoes before setting it on the porch rail and leaning back to melt into his chest.
And just like that, it was as if an elemental piece of him that had been missing reappeared. Every disconnected thought and feeling that had sent him reeling reconfigured themselves, forming new and beautiful connections—like a magnetic sculpture under the hands of a master.
She breathed new life into him and filled him with something he’d never felt before. He didn’t know what it was, he only knew he needed it.
He slid his hand under the hem of her T-shirt and splayed his fingers across her stomach. She sucked in a deep breath and he smiled into her hair. He loved how she reacted to his every touch. His fingers dipped into the waistband of her shorts and her stomach went concave. “What time is it?”
“Almost five, why?”
“We have seven o’clock reservations. How long will it take you to get ready?”
“We don’t have reservations.”
“Oh yeah, we do. I asked you out on a date, remember?”
She spun in his arms, and he tightened his hold to keep her close. She leaned back to look at him.
“You want to go out?” she asked, watching him as if he were a mental patient talking about taking a trip to Mars.
“Isn’t that what people do when they go on dates?”
“But after everything that’s happened, do you think us being seen together in public is a good idea?”
“Do you plan to spend the rest of the week in hiding? That’s going to be kind of difficult tomorrow while we’re tubing on the river. I suppose we could try disguises, but since we’re kind of the main attraction, that might be counterproductive.”
“You’re the main attraction—not me. Don’t forget why you’re here.”
“I know exactly why I’m here. It’s not easy to forget—especially after those interviews this morning. But you’re the only reason I’m glad I’m here, Trish.”
She might not have moved physically, but she went from being with him, sharing the same space, breathing the same air, to being light years away.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What’s that?” She removed his hands, stepped away, and turned around, looking out over the back yard.
“You’re running away.”
She shoved her hands into the pockets of her cut-offs and her shoulders sagged. “I’m right here. I’ll be here. You’re the one who will be leaving on Sunday. We both need to remember that.”
10
Stryker pulled his Jersey over his head and swore it still smelled like Trish—she’d washed his clothes for him which was just weird. No one had done his laundry since he was a little kid, and seeing her folding his clothes and piling them beside hers, gave him an odd feeling in his gut. He just wasn’t sure if it was a good feeling or a bad feeling—it could have been those dirty hash browns and eggs she’d made for breakfast too. He still wasn’t sure if the food was better than hot sex in the shower, but then it was a very close call.
He laced up his skates, tossed a few things in the locker they’d given him, and headed out to the ice for a few hours of mayhem with thirty or so kids under the age of thirteen. It was going to be like herding cats in a thunderstorm, and he couldn’t wait.
He hit the ice to screaming and applause and took a lap looking for Trish. She was on the ice in her street shoes surrounded by kids in hockey gear, her hands on the shoulders of one boy and if Stryker’s eyes weren’t deceiving him, she had a hold of the kid’s jersey, keeping him still. She looked a little relieved when Stryker stopped beside her. He wanted to bend down and kiss that relieved look right off her face but the kids were surrounding them and the press was swarming the place too.
Karma had the Humpin’ Hannah’s banners in full view of all the cameras. He didn’t know much about marketing, but he’d bet Karma was a genius in that regard—an evil genius.
“Stryker,” Trish gave the kid’s shirt another tug. “This is my friend, Riley Cooper.”
Riley wasn’t a big kid, he looked like one of the younger ones in the group and was as skinny as Stryker had been at that age. He took a knee so he wouldn’t tower over him. “Hey, how’s it going, Riley?” They did a fist-bump. Trish still had a grip on the back of his jersey and Riley leaned forward, he was wound up. “You look like you’re raring to go. Do you want to take a warm-up lap with me?”
He got a hold of Riley and stood. “Hey everyone, let’s take a few laps to warm up, then we’ll do some drills.”
The kids took off and Stryker pulled Trish close, making sure she didn’t get steamrolled by the crowd. “Come on, Riley, let’s help Trish off the ice.”
He picked her up and skated to the door of the bench and set her down. “You good?”
“Great, thanks.”
He shot her a wink and wheeled off, Riley following close by. He slowed, letting Riley set the pace, and smiled when the kid picked up speed. Riley was fast as hell for kid his age, blowing by the others. He wasn’t showboating—he just looked as if he had one speed—hyperdrive. He wasn’t sloppy either, for a little squirt, he was sure on his skates, weaving through the slower kids with skill and precision. Damn, leave it to Trish to spot a miniature Bobby Orr.
He caught her watching them and made eye contact with her as they sped by. He was so busy watching her, he almost skated into the boards. Man, she was beaming, he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it, but he’d take it.
Stryker let the coaches set up the drills, and he was there to give encouragement, doing his best not to step on the coaches’ toes. They did the usual stick handling chaos drills, shooting drills, and a few dump-and-chase drills before starting a scrimmage. Stryker and a few of the coaches played the refs and t
he kids went at it.
Damn it was fun, and Stryker kept an eye on Riley which was easy because Riley was always in the thick of things. The kid had no fear—and was a natural defenseman if Stryker ever saw one.
Riley’s team was up by a goal when everything went sideways—Riley was supposed to wheel left, but wheeled right instead and ended up checking his own teammate. Trash talk ensued and the gloves were off before Stryker could get there. The other kid, Nick, was a total duster and twice Riley’s size, but that didn’t stop Riley from going after him. He heard Trish’s scream as she shot onto the ice in heels no less—damn, the girl needed a pair of skates.
Stryker got a hold of Riley, and pulled him off Nick just as Nick called Riley a retard. It was all Stryker could do not to clock the little shit himself. He skated with one hand on Riley’s neck and saw Trish headed for Nick when he grabbed her too. “Penalty box. Now.”
He lifted Trish right off her feet and took them to his office as he liked to think of it. Once he had them on the bench he checked to make sure the coaches were dealing with the little prick, Nick. And then sat beside Riley. “That happen often?”
The kid was looking at his skates. “What, me screwing up or Nick calling me a retard?”
“You losing your temper.”
Riley finally looked at him. “I don’t know my left from my right, okay? I usually get it right but it’s hard, and he’s in my class at school and knows I’m in special ed for stuff.”
“I get it.”
Riley looked like he was about to cry—a freakin’ horror for a kid his age.
Trish moved to wrap an arm around Riley and Stryker stopped her, if she so much as touched Riley, he’d break, and every one of those little fuckers who teased him mercilessly would witness him crying. That would be the worst thing that could happen, but Trish didn’t get it, all she saw was a kid who needed a hug and she was gassing up to go all Mama bear on his ass.
“Trish, why don’t you give Riley and me a minute? Would you get my backpack and bring it back here for me?” He pulled her away and bent to whisper. “I got this. I know what I’m doing. I’ll take care of him, I’ll explain everything later.”
