His Eternal Flame

by Layla Valentine

  “It’s been a minute,” he explained lamely. “Give me two minutes and we’ll go again.”

  “Two minutes?” I asked dubiously.

  “Count ‘em,” he said, winking at me.

  He pulled out, walked over to a mini-fridge, and pulled out a sports drink. He offered me one wordlessly, and I accepted in kind. He tossed it through the air and I caught it, slightly taken aback.

  It wasn’t unpleasant; on the contrary, I was having a lot of fun. The sort of fun I’d actively sought out six or seven years ago—being one of the guys, with enough girl parts to partake in carnal pleasures. The nostalgia alone was enough to keep me there for round two.

  Still, I found myself missing Dante’s skill. The way he romanced my entire body, cleared my mind of conscious thought, pumped pleasure with that slow deliberation. Enticing. Teasing. Satisfying. Of course, I realized, I might just be fixating on that because I had been left raw and aching, poised precariously on the brink of release.

  Just as the little digital clock clicked over to the two-minute mark, Joel crawled back onto the bed.

  “Now,” he said, taking my drink. “Where were we?”

  “About half a second from coming,” I said wryly.

  “Mm, can’t leave you hanging,” he murmured, kissing me.

  He slid his hand between my thighs, his fingers exploring. He touched the hard nub and I moaned, grinding against him. Eagerly, he began to rub in fast strokes, increasing the ache without granting me release.

  “Fuck me,” I muttered against his mouth.

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  He slid inside, as hard and hot as the first time around. Pleasantly surprised and desperate for release, I arched against him and locked his legs with mine. Joel growled and bit my shoulder as I gyrated my hips, sliding around him, grinding on him, pleasuring myself with his body.

  “Oh, God, you’re good,” he gasped against my shoulder.

  “Don’t you dare let go yet,” I half-chuckled in his ear.

  He tensed and groaned, biting my shoulder again.

  The flash of pain was exactly what I needed. Riding from beneath, I quivered and shook, screaming my release. As my trembling legs released their hold, Joel began thrusting in earnest. Momentum created, I came again as he lifted my ankles over my head, diving deep into me.

  His colorful tattoos added a layer of aesthetic pleasure to the scene, reflected in the mirror overhead. It was odd, watching myself get fucked, but kind of erotic, too; I looked damn good naked, especially with a stallion like this on top of me.

  “Your turn,” he said breathlessly.

  He rolled off of me and lay on the bed, opening his arms. Momentarily satisfied, I decided to take my time. Teasing him with butterfly-light touches along his inner thigh and up his throbbing cock, I kissed his mouth. I kept my tongue to myself, not letting his in, flirting with his lips. He panted, lips quivering, and groped me demandingly. I laughed quietly at him.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he asked.

  “Of course, darling. Why else would I be doing it?”

  His eyes darkened with need, and I laughed again. I wanted my mouth all over him—down his strong neck to his thick collarbone, over the wings inked across his chest, over his muscular pecs and hard nipples. His chest heaved lustily as I moved down over his cut abs, running my soft hands over his skin, brushing my breasts against his thighs. I teased around his cock, licking and kissing his hips and thighs.

  With a desperate groan, Joel tangled his fingers in my hair, guiding my head toward his glistening shaft. I flicked out my tongue, barely touching it, making him squirm and whimper. The hot breath from my mischievous little laugh made it jump, and I caught it between my lips. He moved his hips, sliding it over my tongue and down my throat, coating my mouth with our mingled erotic flavors.

  He was big, but not unmanageable; I swallowed him again and again, teasing his balls with my gentle touch. I tasted the peak in his arousal, heard his breath catch, and released him.

  “No,” he whined. “Why?”

  “Patience, grasshopper,” I said, licking my lips. “Patience.”

  “I’m not good at patience,” he said, his voice quivering.

  I only laughed at him again and pulled him into my mouth. His legs shook around me as I slid my lips down to the hilt, undulating my tongue against him. He groaned, almost a shout, as I touched his sensitive skin again. I considered forcing him to pause again, but decided against it; I would show him mercy this time, as much as it pleased me to make him beg.

  He twitched and moaned, thrusting into my throat. I could feel the energy he was using on sheer restraint, and commended him for it with a twirl of my tongue around the swollen head.

  I tasted the peak again, felt him tense and tighten, heard his breath go quick and shallow. When he stopped breathing entirely, I took him all the way, letting his hot seed spill down my throat as he groaned and bucked beneath me. Something about making a man lose his mind like that got me going like nothing else, and I was slick and ready for him after he was spent.

  He pulled me up to lay my head on his shoulder and stroke me with shaking hands as he caught his breath.

  “Holy shit,” he breathed.

  “You’re welcome,” I said with a grin.

  His hand moved from my shoulder to my breast, and he began to play with my nipple, sending shocks of electricity down to where I was swollen and wet, thirsty for more. I encouraged him with body and voice, and soon he rolled over to invite his mouth to the party.

  As he suckled on one nipple and fiddled with the other, I slid my hand down to touch myself. He watched from the corner of his eye, increasing his speed and pressure as I did.

  “Oh, God, don’t stop,” I begged him.

  The waves of pleasure rolling down from my breasts were driving me hard over the edge, and my fingers were steering. Every ounce of frustrated passion returned tenfold, dripping from me as my loins grew hot and heavy.

  Joel was a good student, watching attentively as he pleasured my top. Hot tingles started from my toes and scalp, rushing over my body to collide in the center, bouncing back the other way with the force of my release.

  Sudden sensitivity in the wake of it had me pushing him away, quickly and gently, bringing his face up to kiss my mouth, lacing his fingers in mine. He obeyed without the slightest hesitation. To my immense surprise, his erect cock was pressed against my leg. The man was ready to go again?!

  “You just don’t stop, do you?” I asked breathlessly.

  “I run out of energy eventually,” he said with a shrug.

  “After how many times?”

  “I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “Nobody’s ever been able to wear me out before.”

  “Challenge accepted,” I said with a grin.

  He laughed and kissed me, and we were off again.

  Chapter 11

  “All right, all right, you win!” I laughed as the first sunbeams shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “I can’t take anymore!”

  “You beat out all the rest,” Joel said breathlessly, collapsing back on the bed. “Almost got me, too. I think one more round would have knocked me out.”

  “I think one more round would have numbed me for life,” I admitted dryly.

  He chuckled and kissed me briefly, then rolled back on the pillows and let his eyes relax, unfocused in the pale light of dawn. My entire body ached pleasantly, satisfied more times than I could count. Waves of exhaustion rolled over me, but I wouldn’t allow the fatigue to take hold. I’d made that mistake once already; I wouldn’t confuse the issue by sleeping beside Joel.

  I slid out of bed liquidly, every muscle and nerve loose.

  “Mind if I shower?” I asked.

  “Go ahead,” he mumbled, waving me in the direction of the bathroom. “Towels in the closet. Bathroom closet. It’s…in the bathroom.”

  “Thanks,” I laughed.

  “My brain’s gone; you took it.”
He grinned with his eyes closed.

  “I’d apologize, but I don’t like to lie,” I teased.

  He chuckled sleepily, and I sashayed into the bathroom. The water felt magnificent against my skin, and his expensive soaps and body washes woke me up immediately, soothing and stimulating my punished muscles. Endless hot water poured over me for what felt like hours—wonderful, glorious hours.

  My tired legs gave out before the water heater did. Breathing easy and smelling like eucalyptus, I returned to the bedroom, expecting to find him passed out.

  “Did you enjoy the shower?” Joel asked from the open door of a room-sized closet.

  I blinked at him in astonishment. “I did,” I said, recovering myself. “But how are you still awake? How are you still alive?”

  He smiled and shrugged, then laughed. “I work out five hours a day—sex isn’t much different, is it?”

  “I guess not,” I admitted. “But damn, boy.”

  He winked at me and pulled clothes out of the closet.

  “My turn,” he said happily, dropping a kiss on my mouth as he passed. “Back in a minute. Make yourself comfortable; mi casa es tu casa.”

  I watched him walk away, his firm ass rippling with every step. He was easy to appreciate, with those hard lines and thick muscles. His body didn’t have quite the same effect on me as Dante’s had, though. Just like his lovemaking, Joel’s body didn’t seem quite finished yet.

  I was dressed and ready to go by the time he came back out. I had a ton of material to work with, and I was eager to go home and get started. His aroma hit my senses before I saw him; a clean sort of masculinity which made me pause.

  Should I stay for round…seven? I had lost count. I turned to him with a grin.

  “Guess you and Dante are even now,” I said with a smirk.

  Joel blinked at me, then his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, your whole secondary competition? I’m sure he told you; it’s not like he would…”

  I saw Joel’s confusion slowly fade under a gleeful comprehension. My heart sank like a stone.

  “Dante didn’t say anything, did he?”

  “No, but you did!” Joel crowed. “He thought he was going to win? Ha! He might be a nostalgic throwback for some of these women, but he’s no match for a young player.” He struck a superman pose with a conniving smirk.

  “Yeah, um…I better go,” I said uncomfortably.

  “Oh, yeah, sure. Let me walk you out,” he said happily. “Oh, I’m going to rub this in his face. After the press conference he was talking about you, you know. Staking his claim, sort of. How guys talk. I didn’t think he’d do it, but he sure as hell didn’t think I would! This is going to be fun. Man, I can’t wait for the next game! I might actually go to practice today. Hell yes.”

  Guilt and fear wriggled through my gut, and l made weak acknowledgments to his comments as he walked me to the door. A big squeeze and quick kiss later, I was in my car and on my way. I swallowed against the sick feeling roiling in my belly. I had fully expected Dante to brag about bedding me, if only to pin down his lead.

  The fact that he hadn’t done so made me wonder if my tearing into him had inspired a change of heart. He had definitely intended to use me, though, I reminded myself. This was his fault; he started it. Right?

  “You sure as hell made it worse, though,” I told my reflection in the rear view mirror. “They already hate each other.”

  I shook my head and slapped the steering wheel. I wasn’t supposed to get involved with my stories. That was like the journalistic prime directive or something. Now, whatever drama I documented would be compounded by my influence, and if anybody went digging, my credibility would be forfeit.

  “I can’t write it,” I realized as my gut turned to ice. “I’m going to have to write that fluff crap from the first interview. Oh no, everything’s fine, no drama here! That’ll really push my career into high gear.”

  My own sarcasm soothed my nerves slightly, but didn’t solve the problem. This article was my shot. Not my one shot or my only shot, but it was my right-now shot at success. If I didn’t go all in and take a risk, I would blow it. I would get another chance, of course. In a month, or a year, or ten years from now.

  But who wanted to wait?

  “Journalistic integrity,” I answered myself dryly. “I stake my reputation on this story, I better be damn sure my reputation is spotless.”

  But it wasn’t, not anymore. If this exploded (which seemed inevitable), it would be my doing. It wouldn’t take a genius reporter to figure that out. The press conference was probably online somewhere. Amateur internet detectives would have me tried and hanged by public jury before I ever had a chance to defend myself.

  My career would be over, not to mention Dante’s and Joel’s. How would their fans react to this?

  I was facing the same problem with this as I had faced with the flame piece I’d been prepared to write on Dante’s womanizing. I shook my head at myself. This whole project had been a disaster. The pull of a pint of ice cream and fuzzy pajamas was nearly overwhelming, but there was no way I could take a break now. I had to figure out how to take vanilla material and make it a career-changing sundae.

  * * *

  I nearly made it back to my apartment without having to talk to anyone. I was not in the mood for small talk, or any other talk for that matter. To my relief, the hallway seemed clear. Just a few steps from my door, though, Luis stepped out of his apartment to pick up his paper.

  “Ah, the walk of shame again! In the middle of the week, no less. Two days in a row?” he leered at me.

  “Life of an investigative journalist,” I said as I kept walking. “The story never sleeps.”

  He stepped in front of me, blocking the hallway.

  “Then the story and I have something in common,” he said, giving me a look intended to be smoldering.

  “You should see a doctor about that. Excuse me.”

  “You don’t need an excuse, sweet thing,” Luis half-sang.

  He reached out to touch me, and something snapped. The stress I had been battling since I left Joel’s mansion culminated in an explosive rage, and I knocked his hand away from me as hard as I could with the side of my wrist.

  Yelping, Luis grabbed his arm and retreated into his own doorway. I walked past him without a second glance, keeping my cool, in spite of my racing heart.

  “Take a compliment, you dumb—”

  I shut the door on the rest of his sentence. I didn’t need to hear it; I knew where it was going.

  “It’s okay,” I said, shaking it off. “Let it go. You screwed up, but now you’re going to do something about it.”

  I cracked my fingers and sorted out my notes from the first interview. Compared to everything else I’d learned, these notes were lifeless. Utterly boring. With a sigh, I ran my hands over my face.

  “There is absolutely no reason why I can’t work in fuzzy pajamas,” I decided out loud. “And I’m sure they eat ice cream for breakfast somewhere in the world. Italy, maybe? No, they have wine for everything. I think. Hey, wine couldn’t hurt either.”

  And so, bedecked in my pity-party outfit with my friends of the grape and dairy variety, I sat down to turn a turnip into a six-course meal.

  Chapter 12

  “It’s crap.”

  Two days had passed since I’d left Joel’s place, and I had finished the article. The finished product was an uninspiring, sugar-coated, manager-approved fluff piece. A compilation of common knowledge at best, a career-ender for me at worst. It was utter, complete, total…

  “Crap.”

  With a sigh, I closed my laptop. There had to be some way to fix this, but after wracking my brain for two solid days, I couldn’t come up with anything. This was the material I could use. Everything else was off-limits.

  Deciding on a TV break, I curled up on my couch and flipped through the guide. I scrolled through without seeing anything the first time, still preoccupied by my conu
ndrum.

  The Harriers were a great team. That was undeniable. My entire article was forty sentences reiterating that point, and it was obvious. Maybe more obvious to me than it would be to an editor, since I had written it, but still…it obviously wasn’t earth-shattering news. Their name on the TV made me pause. Their game was on.

  “Nothing like a little inspiration,” I sighed, turning up the volume.

  The announcers certainly liked to hear themselves talk. I waited impatiently, suddenly aware that I was desperate to see my two guys in action. I missed Dante, which irritated me, but I was concerned about Joel, which surprised me. I hugged my knees as the players began to slide onto the ice.

  There was Dante, flirting with his fans. There was Joel. My concern deepened when I saw his behavior. He barely acknowledged the hordes of people screaming his name. He was looking at something else with a burning intensity. Dante.

  Dante caught the look at the same time I did, and gave a challenging sort of nod. My heart lurched with anxiety.

  The game began without further incident, but I could feel the tension cutting like a hot knife between them. Their teammates gave each of them a little extra room and stayed between them as much as possible, and it was definitely deliberate. There must have been an altercation in the locker room.

  “Whoa! And Palmer misses his first goal of the season. Easy shot, too, wasn’t it Steve?”

  “That it was, Dave. Palmer could make that shot in his sleep. This’ll be a moment for the rumor mills.”

  “Shake it off, Joel,” I told the TV.

  He didn’t. I watched him compress into his rage, vibrating with tension. The game went on, and Dante managed to maneuver into the key position. He hit the puck…and missed.

  “All right, who hexed this team?” Steve asked with a laugh. “There is definitely some tension in the air today. Puck goes in the net, Drake. Man, this is not looking good for the Harriers.”

  The team was regrouping. Dante’s body language was terse and aggressive. He made a pointed gesture in Joel’s direction, lighting the short fuse on the powder keg. Joel snapped and skated into him, pushing him backwards with his chest. Dante shoved back, and soon they were locked in a bloody brawl. The other players moved back, giving them room.