“You aren’t boring.”
She pauses as a whip cracks in the background, then gives me a half-smile. But before she can respond, Max and Violet return. She strips down to her underwear, just like Corinne did, all the energy in the dungeon shifts in their direction.
For the best. I’ve probably pushed my luck enough.
And tomorrow is a game day—maybe the most important game I’ll play this fall.
I should worry less about why Sasha doesn’t like me and more about how I’m going to dominate on the ice tomorrow night.
11
Sasha
I can’t sleep when I get home. I finally drift off in the early hours of the morning, and when my alarm goes off, I feel like death warmed over.
I’m sorely tempted to go back to sleep, but I’m a teaching assistant for a first year course, Social Context of Business, and I need to be on campus in two hours anyway.
I’ll nap this afternoon.
I put on gym clothes and pack everything I need for the day into a backpack, then run to campus as a warm up. The gym is busy, but the flat-screen mounted above the free weights is on a sports channel and they’re talking about Tate’s return to Canadian Tire Place tonight, so I elbow my way in there.
I’ve got earbuds in to discourage people from trying to talk to me, but I’m not listening to music. All my attention is focused on the muted television.
Expectations are low for the Lumberjacks tonight. Everyone thinks their offensive lines are a mess—which is code for Tate has messed up their already-fragile dynamic—and now they’re talking about what kind of non-wins would be wins-enough.
That makes me laugh.
Only a win will do for Tate, I’m sure of it.
Eleven hours later, I’m proven right.
I had no doubt.
Watching hockey has never been better than porn—at least, not until tonight. And I might be the only person in Ottawa who thinks so. We’re at the start of the third period for the Senators’ home game against the Lumberjacks, and Tate and his gang of oversized thugs from the west coast are dominating his former team.
I’m more than a little turned on. He’s fast and aggressive tonight, totally in their faces, and I’m standing up in front of the couch because I was getting dangerously close to jumping on it when I was trying to sit.
There’s no sitting when Tate Nilsson is wearing a Lumberjacks jersey and owning the Senators’ end of the rink.
Right now he’s circling, waiting for the ref to set up a face-off, and he’s watching them. He’s oblivious to the fans booing him, the cameras, anything else. He’s laser-focused on his former teammates.
They’re so going down.
Be still my traitorous ovaries, who want to go down, too.
Not happening. Tomorrow, he’ll get on a jet plane and head to Buffalo. Pretty soon he’ll be back on the other side of the country, safely out of temptation.
The face-off is going to be against a young kid they brought up to replace him, and Tate’s not having any of his attempts to own the space. It might be his house now, but it was Tate’s for eight years.
The kid skates in front of him, then stops, bumping against Tate’s chest.
Tate shoves him back, hard.
The camera zooms in as the ref slides in between them, and his mic catches the last bit of their exchange. Tate’s voice is vibrating and savage. “Seriously, you gonna keep that shit up? Andrushko’s gonna pound you into the fucking ground, you clown. Get the hell out of my way.”
It’s not the classiest thing that’s ever been caught on a hot mic, but where the announcer is blathering on about it not being a good use of Tate’s energy, I see something else.
He’s pissed, on behalf of his team—his new team, his now team—and he doesn’t care that the guy across from him is wearing his old jersey.
This moment might not be elegant, but it’s important. Right now, tonight, is maybe when Tate becomes a Lumberjack for real. He had an awesome game against Edmonton, sure, but this was a real test, and he’s passed with flying colours. Ottawa might be frosty at the end of the game tonight, but I bet everyone in Vancouver is cheering pretty damn loud right now.
I know I’m grinning as the refs push them apart.
Definitely better than porn.
As soon as the game ends, I reach for my phone.
Sasha: You were amazing tonight. Good job.
He doesn’t respond right away, and I ignore the pang of disappointment I feel over the silence. It’s silence of my own making, after all.
But when my phone lights up an hour later—long after I’d accepted he wasn’t going to reply, and that was fine, because it’s for the best if he doesn’t—there is no ignoring the anticipation that soars inside me.
Tate: Thanks.
What?
That’s it. No lewd suggestion, no leading comment.
My pulse pounds as I start a new message back. He might be done with me. He’d have every right to be.
Sasha: Are you celebrating?
Tate: The guys are going out.
Who is this monster, and what has he done with gregarious Tate?
Sasha: Are you going with them?
Tate: Are you asking me something here? Because…
A text message bubble appears, then disappears, as he writes the rest of that thought. I cut him off at the pass.
Sasha: I know I shut you down before. I won’t tonight. If you’re interested, come over.
And then to make it even worse—or better, really, because we both know what I want, I add—
Sasha: Any time. Late is fine. Go out first with your teammates.
Tate: I’ll be there in twenty minutes.
12
Tate
Hot. Fucking. Damn. I just got home, but I turn around and head right back out to my garage, arming the security system on my way out.
Sasha wants another night? I’m in.
We’re going to do a better job of talking about some boundaries this time, though.
I park on the street across from her building. She buzzes me up, and I take the stairs two at a time.
When she opens the door, all my plans to talk first and fuck later get wobbly, because she’s wearing not much of anything—black volleyball shorts that are painted on, and a loose, swinging tank top through which I can see the outline of her nipples—and my brain short circuits.
“Nice suit,” she manages to say before I pick her up and turn us, pressing her against the door a beat after it clicks shut.
Her mouth is hot and sweet and wet. As we kiss, I fist one hand in her hair and palm her ass with the other. Her leg is warm and smooth to the touch, and I can touch a hell of a lot of it because her shorts barely cover her ass.
So much skin. I love those shorts. I love her ass.
“We need to talk,” I growl as I move my mouth down her neck.
She cries out when I bite her gently, then not so gently.
I press my entire body into hers as I suck on her flesh and try to get a fucking handle on myself. Breathing hard, I finally bring my mouth to her ear. “First. We need to talk, first. Before we fuck.”
“Don’t be crazy,” she whispers. “We’ve tried that a few times and it doesn’t go well. Let’s stick to our strengths.”
“You want me to fuck you so hard your eyes cross?”
“You know I do.”
But I know there’s a solid chance she’ll have second thoughts after. “No regrets tomorrow.”
She stills in my arms. Then she nods. “No regrets.”
I nip at her skin again, because I can’t get enough of the taste of her, and I love the way she squirms in my arm. “You sure?”
She waits long enough that the silence is agonizing, then she says a single, quiet word. “No.”
I tighten my grip on her and lift her away from the door.
She buries her face in my neck as I carry her to her bedroom.
I dump her on the bed and cross my arms.
“Why did you invite me over?”
She flops out on her back and waves for me to undress. “Because you had a good game. Strip off that fancy suit, Mr. Victorious.”
I’ll show her victory. The adrenaline rush from winning a big game can keep me going all night—and tonight was a big game, no matter how much I may have downplayed it to the press.
I tug my tie loose, then toss it at her. “Hang on to that. We might use it.”
She bites her lip and tugs her tank top up, until I can see the bottom curve of her breasts. She trails my tie over the creamy pale skin of her belly, and I grit my teeth to keep in the dirty, filthy, fucking perfect things I want to say to her.
Show me your tits.
Show me your cunt.
Touch yourself.
Lick those fingers and tell me how you taste.
No, my brain doesn’t want to talk right now, but that’s what we need to do. I shrug out of my jacket and hang it on the back of a chair she has in front of a dressing table. “I’ll make you a deal,” I say, my voice full of gravel as I unbutton my shirt. “We can talk about two things. All the dirty things you want me to do to you, and how long I want to be able to do them.”
She slowly wraps my tie around her hand. “The answer to the second point is not just tonight, is it?”
I shake my head. “Not by a long shot.”
Her lips part and her eyes darken as she searches my face. “I’m not an easy girl to date.”
“I’m an easy guy to please. You let me worry about whether or not I’m happy.”
“I have rules.”
“I bet your rules have rules. That doesn’t faze me.”
“I want you to go down on me. Like, all the time. I could just date your tongue and be perfectly happy.”
“Lies. You like my dick inside you too much for that. But I love the way you taste, tiger. You can ride my face as soon as we agree that we’re dating.”
“We’re not dating.” But she smiles. She smiles, and the room lights up. I drop my shirt on the floor and crawl onto the bed, onto her. “You’re the devil,” she whispers before I kiss her. She says it again as I tug her shorts over her hips and down her legs.
Then I roll us over, so I’m on my back and she’s sitting astride my chest, her legs spread and her pussy so close I can already taste her.
“I want to do this again,” I growl. “I want to know that when I’m in town for Christmas, you’re going to be in my bed. When I’m on the east coast, I want you to consider meeting me.” I pinch her hip before she can protest. “On your own dime, because you’re building a business empire and I don’t want to impress you. I just want to fuck you.”
“Oh.” Her eyes flare wide and her lips part in surprise.
I squeeze her ass and nudge her pussy closer to my mouth. “Come on, Sasha. Let’s do something crazy and start seeing each other like normal people do.”
“Normal people do not bribe each other with oral sex.”
“Pretty sure this is how marriages are held together, babe.” I turn my head and kiss the inside of her thigh. “But really, zero expectations. We can keep this quiet. I just want you to answer your damn phone once in a while.”
“You haven’t actually called me,” she says, another smile threatening to curl at the corners of her mouth. “Just texted. A lot.”
Well I missed her. A lot. But I’m not going to admit that. “And I’ll keep texting.”
“Next time try calling, and I’ll answer.”
“God fucking damn it, you are a stubborn woman.”
“Mmm.” She rolls her hips, and now she’s within an inch of my mouth. “I’m definitely considering letting you do this again.”
I breathe in the scent of her and lust jams all my brain circuitry. Negotiations can resume later. The celebration needs to begin now. I lift my head and squeeze her ass in my hands, serving her pussy to myself like the delicious treat it is.
Above me, her hand connects with the wall, and she leans in, shifting her weight as she spreads her thighs on either side of my head.
Heaven.
She’s wet, her entrance slick and swollen, and I lap my tongue against her in selfish, wolfish licks before remembering myself. Then I slow down, settling in to giving her the best head she’s ever had. So good she’ll need to have me back, even if there’s a long list of reasons why us being together shouldn’t work.
None of that matters.
This matters. Her cunt rubbing against my face, her clit getting hard for me. Her pussy soaking my chin as I slide my tongue along the frilly ridges of her inner lips. And she fucking likes that. She gasps and shivers under my touch, my tongue.
Mine is a dangerous thought when it comes to a woman who barely tolerates me most of the time.
I shove it away and think about how good her pussy is going to feel gripping my cock. Fucking. This is what we have together, and it’s hard enough to negotiate. Nothing else is on the table.
That’s okay. We’re going to make fucking so damn special it’s going to be enough.
I work her over until she’s grinding against me and then I give her my fingers. She’s got such a greedy cunt, she takes two right away, even though that’s effing tight. She squirms and whimpers as she fucks my hand, as I suck her clit, and when she comes in a gasping, clutching mess, I lick it all up.
All of it.
Every fucking drop, because she’s delicious.
When she slumps, I catch her, and roll her onto her side. She reaches for me immediately, her hands greedily going to my belt. I haven’t even taken off my shoes yet. I catch her hands. “Hang on.”
I swing up off the bed and quickly strip, palming a condom before I drop my suit pants on the floor.
She’s up on her knees by the time I turn around again, and we meet in the middle of the bed. She’s still wearing that nearly see through tank top, but I like it. I like the way it shows me side-boob through the arm holes, and hints at turned-on nipples, and casts delicious shadows on her hips and over her sweet, swollen, well-kissed pussy.
I really like that tank top.
But it has to go.
I haul her against me, kissing her mouth hard as I give in to my urge to squeeze her tight. To hold and maul and contain her, just for a second, in the hard confines of my arms.
Then I fist the shirt with my hands. “Is this like the bra? Any rules about ripping it?”
She hesitates for a second, but she’s caught up in this moment, too. I’ve driven her just crazy enough to give me this. She shakes her head. “It’s old.”
The fabric gives a small protest, but then gives way. I tear it right down the front, baring her soft, perfect breasts I’ve been thinking about for months. How good they feel and taste in my mouth as I drive my cock deep into her belly.
The way she’ll claw up my back if I suck on them long enough.
I give her the condom as I tumble us to the bed. I fall on her, getting a heady charge out of how she feels beneath me. Lithe and soft against my big, hard body. She makes me feel like a conqueror, something primal that pushes my buttons in a new and interesting way.
Sex is a chemical reaction. Two or more people coming together and making magic together, and the magic I make with Sasha is something else. I buck into her hand as she rolls the slick condom down my length, her fingers nimble and light.
I need to be inside her. I roll onto my back and she follows, our bodies tangled together. Limbs entwined, hands grabbing at slick flesh. I grip her hips and drag her against my cock. The rub of sex against sex is deliriously good, and it gets even better when she rolls her hips and catches the tip of my dick right at her entrance.
Her breath catches as I thrust into her, that little gasp telling me I’m almost too big for her, almost too much, but then her body makes room. She welcomes me inside, her body going pliant as I move in and out, each intrusion deeper than the last. There’s that little voice again. Mine. For tonight, anyway. For the holidays too. I’ve got so many p
lans. So much pleasure to give her.
I squeeze her wrists in my hands, holding her arms like reins as she rides me. I could watch her on top of me for hours. Bouncing flesh, swollen lips, bright eyes. All that perfect hair mussed up and tangled because of my hands, because of how we tangled and rolled and rubbed against each other.
She looks wanton, undone and sexy. Polished, perfect Sasha is a sex doll right now, and I’m going to pretend that’s all my doing. That she’s never like this for anyone else.
I trace my fingers over the shadowy curve of the inside of her thighs, the dip where her legs meet her torso, then over her smooth mound and up the tight curve of her belly. Her skin tenses and contracts beneath my touch, and I keep going, up to her soft breasts and those puffy, pink nipples I want in my mouth.
Tugging her down, I change my grip on my her body. I slide one hand into her hair, winding the golden brown strands around my fist, and with the other, I curve around her hip and squeeze her bottom.
Fuck, I want her there, too. Nothing says possession like claiming her ass. Want roars inside me, fierce and loud, and my fingers drift over the crease between her cheeks, finding her softest, most sensitive skin.
She gasps, but she doesn’t pull away.
“Is this okay? Do you like that?” I ask as I nip at her breasts. I glance up at her and give her a charming grin.
Horny uncertainty is written all over her face. She drags the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip and nods shakily. “Yeah.”
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Another nod, and her eyelids flutter shut as I circle her tight rear hole, slowly, in time with the dragging thrusts of my cock in her pussy.
She sways above me as I fuck her, as I explore her ass with my fingers and suck on her tits, and my dirty, perverted brain is so happy I can hardly handle it. Deep down, Sasha is as hedonistic as I am, I’m sure of it.
“Come on my cock,” I growl as I slam up and into her. “I want to feel your pussy squeeze me so tight it hurts.”
Mr. Hat Trick Page 7
