Mr. Hat Trick

by Ainsley Booth

  Full props to the trainers.

  Coach huddles us up as a group to set up the next exercise, then we’ve got some waiting around time again.

  Simec, true to form, has found a group of hot young things to bury himself in. He waves me over. I grab Onetti, because he deserves a reward for being a star team player, and go over to be polite.

  Three hours later, when we get back to the chalet, my phone is blowing up because a picture of me surrounded by Victoria’s Secret models has hit social media, and fans are loving it.

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuckity fucking fuckers.

  I abandon my beer and excuse myself. “I’ll see you guys at dinner.”

  Sasha picks up on the first ring. “Hello.”

  “Hey.” I wince.

  “You had fun today.”

  “Not really.”

  “I told you not to do that,” she says silkily. “I was kidding, of course. But did you have to have that much fun?”

  “I swear it was zero fun.”

  “You went skiing with Victoria’s Secret models.”

  I went skiing and there happened to be models on the slopes at the same time. I start to burn under the collar, because while I fucking miss her like crazy, that’s only an important distinction if Sasha were my girlfriend. And two weeks ago, she made a hella big deal about the fact that she’s not. “Jealous?”

  “No.”

  “Liar.”

  “I’m not fucking you again until you get tested.”

  “But you will fuck me again. Which is good, because I’m not interested in sinking into any pussy that doesn’t have a direct wire to your smart mouth. For real. It didn’t even cross my mind. I only want you. I only have eyes for you.”

  “We haven’t talked about being exclusive.”

  “We haven’t talked about a lot of things, but they’ve happened anyway. We’re exclusive. There’s nobody else. I didn’t even know they were models, and the second I got back to my phone and saw the picture, I called you.”

  She sighs. “I didn’t like seeing it.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want to care about them.”

  I get that, too. “Nobody gets to make up the rules for us, but us. Outside drama doesn't touch us. Nothing touches us. This is sacred. You and me. Ignore everything else.”

  “I only have eyes for you, too,” she whispers. “I only see you.”

  I like the sound of that. “Never worry that the feeling isn’t mutual. And if you want me to get tested, I will.”

  She makes a humming sound. “Maybe.”

  “If I did, we could ditch the condoms.” I want to be inside her. Bare. Skin on skin.

  “That’s an unnecessary risk.”

  “You’re on the pill.”

  “I like the double protection.”

  “I’ll pull out. Nothing wrong with spilling my come on your skin. That’s hot, too.”

  She laughs despite herself. “You’re so filthy.”

  “Is that a maybe?”

  “That’s a…I don’t know. Yes. Maybe. Get tested, and we’ll see.”

  Hot damn. “Okay. Consider it done. I’ll email you the results as soon as I get them.” But they’ll be free of infection. I’ve never gone unwrapped, and I’m stoked that Sasha might be my first time for that.

  “Tate…” Her voice goes small and soft, and I want to be on the other side of the country with her.

  “What is it?”

  “Do you have to go do something with the team?”

  “Nah. Dinner’s in a bit, but I’m all yours until then.”

  She’s silent for a long stretch. Then she sighs. “I should tell you about my ex.”

  “If you want. But I don’t need to know.”

  “Maybe I need to say it out loud. Get rid of it being a big deal in my head.”

  “Sure.”

  She tells me about some asshole named Brian. A pro basketball player who I vaguely know to be more flash than substance. “We weren’t together that long, about three months, but in that time, my name kept popping up in gossip columns and photographers would look for me at events. It turned out, he was using me because the scandals kept his profile up. It was stupid and short-sighted, and by the end of our relationship, he was openly dating other people. The last scandal was him dumping me by way of a paparazzi video. I let him disrupt my first attempt at my MBA, and I had to start over the next year at another school. I know you aren’t anything like him, but that’s why I’m so cautious about having a public life. It doesn’t take much for someone else to twist how you are seen.”

  “I will never do that to you.”

  “I know.” But her voice is still small. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard her like this.

  “Not long until you visit again, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be in Vancouver in time for the All Star Break.”

  I want to stay on the phone all night. Screw dinner. Screw team building. I’m working on a team of two here.

  “I should let you go.”

  “No.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Yes. And I have work to do. Always.”

  “Call me later.”

  “You call me.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” Now I can hear a smile in her voice. And she hangs up first, which is for the best. I probably would have kept going like that forever.

  35

  Sasha

  A week later, I land in Seattle for my conference. Monday night, I go out for dinner with a couple of the Entrepreneurship faculty from the business school at U of W.

  We talk about micro-lending lessons from developing nations until the restaurant is closing up around us, and I find myself very tempted by the unspoken suggestion—if I were interested, I could probably come back for a guest lecture.

  Do some heavy lifting on a co-authored paper.

  Visit again and meet more faculty.

  Put my hat officially in the ring for a potential job.

  In Seattle.

  When I get back to the hotel, I’ve got a bunch of emails to catch up on. The owner of the lingerie store I’ve backed in downtown Ottawa had a boudoir photographer come in and do some networking. Might I be interested in meeting with her?

  I don’t know. Maybe.

  Mabel’s found a manufacturer in Quebec to put together her escape room kits, complete with a Weirdaker Games screwdriver.

  I love that. I tell her to set one aside for me when I get back.

  And then as I’m just about to clear my inbox down to zero unread messages, a new one pops in.

  A thank you note for dinner.

  I hit reply right away.

  Dr. Ali,

  * * *

  I’m the one who should be thanking you. Tonight’s discussion helped clarify some of my thoughts on re-investment autonomy. I look forward to exploring that further via email, as you mentioned. There may be a paper in it for us.

  * * *

  All the best,

  Sasha Brewster

  My phone rings as I hit send. I glance at the screen and smile. “Are you home?”

  Tate yawns. “Yeah. We came home last night, actually. I’ve been asleep for most of the last twenty-four hours. I just woke up from another nap. Oh, shit, I didn’t realize it was this late, I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s not so bad. I’m in Seattle, remember?”

  “No way! Really? Did I know that?”

  “I thought you did.” I laugh. “Did I forget to tell you that? That’s why I could come up for the All Star Break. I’m just down the road a few hours. I’ll fly up at the end of the week.”

  “Excellent. Tell me about this conference.”

  “There aren’t likely to be any Victoria’s Secret models.”

  He snorts. “Magic Mike 3 auditions?”

  “More like The Wolf of Wall Street. I like my little corner of the biz world, but in general…” Damn. That’s a good reminder before I get too excited
about the U of W group. “Anyway, it’s a lot of suits. You wear them better.”

  “Damn straight I do. I think it’s your turn to tell me a bedtime story, don’t you think?”

  “Sure.” I fumble my way through a sloppy blow job fantasy, and we both like it, but the real thing will be even better in a few days.

  The next night, I watch his game while I eat takeout noodles in my hotel room.

  They lose. Until I watched this season so closely, I didn’t realize just how many games they wouldn’t win.

  That has to be a real mind fuck. Maybe I’ll ask Tate about that once the season is over.

  At the end of the game, I leave the TV on so I can listen to the commentators discuss the Lumberjacks’ standing in the division. They’re in fifth place, but only two points out of fourth, and apparently a few games can make all the difference. But they’ll need to make that surge soon, or they’ll end up too far out of the standings across the league for a chance at the wild card spot.

  Which is more information than I ever thought I’d know about hockey stats.

  I crawl into bed with my phone and read about the play-offs until my eyes are itchy and the words blur in front of me.

  I present my poster on Wednesday morning, then sit in on Dr. Ali’s presentation in the afternoon. I check my email on the break, and there’s a message from Tate.

  From: Tate Nilsson

  To: Sasha Brewster

  Subject: For your reference: blood test results (NSFW)

  I know better than to open the email in public. I duck into an empty room and click on it.

  Attached is a .pdf scan of his blood work results.

  And embedded in the email is, as promised, a not-safe-for-work GIF image of wall sex.

  The porn actor’s butt is almost as nice as Tate’s, and I bite my lip as I watch the little animation. Thrust, thrust, thrust…

  Okay. Sold.

  I close that and navigate to a new browser window. If there’s a decent-priced flight out tonight, I’m leaving as soon as the sessions are done this afternoon.

  And maybe I don’t care how much the flight costs…

  36

  Tate

  Sasha: Are you going out tonight? Might not be able to call until pretty late.

  Tate: Nope. And I had a nap today, so I’ll be up late. Call whenever.

  I’m watching game tape at a bit after midnight when the intercom buzzer sounds.

  I roll my eyes, and it stops. Hopefully whoever it is doesn’t bug too many other residents before they find the right one.

  A minute later, though, I hear someone fumbling at the door, then a key slides into the lock.

  I’m on my feet when it swings open.

  But it’s not a drunken neighbour’s friend.

  It’s Sasha.

  “Hey,” she says on a breathy exhale, grinning at me. She drops her bag on the floor and holds up the spare key I gave her at New Year’s. “Glad I kept this. You didn’t answer the intercom.”

  “I never do.” I cross the room in three quick strides and pick her up, spinning her around as she laughs. “My Wednesday just got a fuck-tonne better. What are you doing here?”

  “I got your email.”

  Set aside absolutely everything else between us—jealousy, distance, fear, still learning how far we can trust each other—when I tell Sasha my blood test has come back clear of infection, she gets on an airplane so I can fuck her.

  That means something.

  Maybe it means something dirty, but it means something. I will fucking take it.

  “You got my email.”

  “I did.”

  “And you came straight over.”

  “I was in the neighbourhood.”

  “You were—” I laugh as I twist us in the direction of my room. “You gorgeous little liar. You got on a plane for the D.”

  “Not if you’re going to call it that.”

  “The bare, just-for-you, unwrapped C.”

  “Nobody calls it that.”

  “Rock hard, velvet B.”

  “B?”

  “Boner. Cock. Dick. You want it. You want it bad. You—”

  “I want you,” she whispers as we stop in the doorway to my bedroom. “All the fucking time. What have you done to me, Tate Nilsson?”

  I hook my fingers under the hem of her shirt, my pulse hammering away. “I don’t know.”

  She gives me a tremulous smile as she lifts her arms, and I peel her shirt off. Unwrapping her has never felt quite like this. Like a gift.

  I take my time with her jeans. The button first, my knuckles brushing her belly, then the zipper. She’s wearing blue panties, and my dick aches to get inside them.

  Bare flesh. Sasha in the raw.

  I tug her closer and kiss her, soft pulls of my lips as I bring her hands to my waistband.

  I want her to strip me bare as well.

  Please let me be a gift to you, too.

  Instead of shoving my sweats down my legs, she pulls the waistband back just enough to slip her hand inside. I shudder as her fingers wrap around my heavy cock, lifting off my body in its eagerness.

  She strokes me as the scent of my sex rises between us. Clean skin, but beneath that a musky earthiness.

  Nothing between us tonight.

  My scent on her skin. Her scent on mine.

  I play with her hair as she glides her palm up and down my length, as she cups my balls gently before dropping to her knees and swallowing the swollen, glistening head into her mouth.

  “Ah…” I drop my chin, gaze glued on hers as she looks up at me. “You like the taste of me? Big cock in a little mouth.”

  She bobs her head and I tangle my fingers in the golden brown strands brushing her cheeks.

  “Swallow me down. Take as much as you can. Fuck, yeah. That’s going to be inside you soon. You’re all mine, Sasha. And I’m all yours. Every last inch. Yours to do whatever you want with.”

  She opens wider and slides her tongue wide against the sensitive spot under the crown, then presses a delicate kiss right to the tip. “I want it all,” she murmurs as she rises.

  We tumble onto the bed and roll. I kiss her neck, her tits, the dip of her stomach and the rise of her mound. Then I slide my tongue between her pussy lips and taste the slippery sweetness that promises she’s ready to take my cock inside her.

  I push her legs up and out, revealing every inch of her plump, ripe sex. A fucking gift which I appreciate until she’s on the edge of exploding.

  When I surge back up her body, she lifts her hips to meet me, and we fit together perfectly.

  Wet pussy, hard cock. The body knows what it wants, and my body wants to be inside her like nothing else. My dick swells as she rocks him against her wet slit and up to her clit.

  She gasps a ragged, perfect little cry every time her hips roll down and her hard nub makes contact with my erection.

  Fuck, I could come like this. Grind against her and blow on her belly.

  But I want more, so I set a firm grip on her hip and hold her still. “Shhh,” I urge her as I get up on my knees. I rub the crown of my cock through her folds. The last thing I see before I notch us together is a bead of pre-come forming on the swollen tip.

  I press into her, working that drop of my seed inside. She cries out and clutches at me. I thrust again, reeling from the tender, wet warmth of her. Big cock, tight pussy. Base, crude thoughts war with warmer, sweeter realizations as we begin to move together in unison.

  It’s sweet, slow, crazy emotional sex, and I never want it to end.

  “You feel…” There are no words.

  “I know.” She tangles her fingers in my hair as she holds our heads together. Her breath is hot against my face, her eyes squeezed shut as her body works so hard with mine. Her tight nipples brush against my chest and I push up again, wanting her flesh in my palm. I cup a breast and tug on the peak with my fingers. There’s a tightening inside her in response, and I do it again.

  Her eyes fl
y open and she lets out a low keening sound.

  Tension mounts deep inside me as I hold her gaze and thrust again. I think of her mouth, her ass, her sweet words and her perfect sass. I chase all the different Sashas twirling through my mind, and the very real one in my arms. I ride her hard until she explodes beneath me, then I thrust one last time as my own orgasm barrels in.

  I pull out as the first jolt of come blasts out of me, and I stroke myself hard through the remaining spurts. My jizz paints the crease between her hip and her leg, and up onto her trembling belly.

  As I brace myself above her, catching my breath, she reaches down and swipes her finger through the trail of come I’ve marked her with. Slowly, with cat-like grace, she brings it to her mouth and licks her fingertip clean.

  Fuck. Me.

  The head of my dick is aching and sensitive to the touch, but I keep stroking, because deep inside I feel the unmistakable resurgence of arousal.

  “Do that again,” I growl. “Lap up my come.”

  She arches beneath me and bites her lip, but she doesn’t move her hands.

  “Sasha.”

  “Make me,” she whispers.

  Oh, sweet mercy. My cock strains as I roll onto my side. I prop myself up on my elbow and with my free hand, I touch the wet smear of my release on her skin. Twenty years of sex, and I’ve never spilled on a woman’s skin.

  Twenty years, I’ve never wanted to. I learned early on that you wrap it up. Period, no exception, or you run the risk of having a kid at sixteen instead of being scouted for the NHL.

  Easy call.

  And then it was the constant threat of a paternity suit, although knock on wood, I’ve never had anyone try. No question, condoms have been my best friend.

  But with Sasha, this isn’t scary.

  A new and unfamiliar tightness pulls inside my chest, and touching it isn’t enough.

  I crawl down the bed, kissing and sucking at her skin as I go. Her nipples, her ribs, her hip.

  I settle between her legs and breathe in the familiar scent that’s uniquely hers and wholly addictive.