His hands dwarfed hers and his thumb found a raised scar on the webbing between her thumb and index finger on her left hand. He rubbed it, back and forth, back and forth, and they skated slowly in silence.
The colored lights he’d draped along the boards earlier that day cast a rainbow on the ice and flashed in the residual wetness of Lea’s eyes.
He’d never throw this jacket away. And he was never washing this shirt. Because they both held parts of Lea she’d chosen to share with him. With him. She’d allowed him to provide support and comfort in what he suspected was a rare show of emotion. No one had ever let him do that for them.
Now he was addicted to being that man for her. He wanted always to be the one with Lea’s nail marks in his jacket and makeup stains on his shirt. Lipgloss on his lips and taste of her in his mouth.
He hoped she’d see he could be.
When did he become the man who fell this hard this quick?
“Tell me about your family,” she said, taking him out of his head.
They’d made one loop around the track. He wanted to ask if she was okay to keep going. Her hair on her temples was damp and her hands gripped his tightly, but her face was lined with determination, so he didn’t question her.
Although the last thing he wanted to do was talk about his family.
“Uh, I’m the youngest. I have two brothers, Calvin—er, Cal—is the oldest and Brent is the middle. They work with my dad at his car shop.”
“You get along with your brothers?”
He shrugged. “Sure. They are five, six years older than me. I came along because there were swimmers left after my dad got snipped.”
Max continued rubbing the scar on her hand.
“You get along with your dad?”
“Not really.” The truth was out before he thought about the questions that would follow in its wake.
She cocked her head. “Why not?”
Jeez, like a dog with a bone. But the wetness of her tears on his shirt clung to his stomach and he couldn’t be anything less than honest. “He never wanted more than two kids. I think I could cure cancer and I’d always be an irritation, a reminder that his wife left him soon after I was born.”
Pause. Then in a quieter voice. “Your mom?”
Now he looked her in the eye. “Jill.”
Her brows dipped. “What?”
“That’s how she signs her cards she sends to me on Christmas and my birthday. Jill.”
He hoped that said enough so he didn’t have to explain further. He waited for the grimace of pity, the whispered, I’m sorry.
But instead her lips tightened and eyes hardened. She tugged on his hands and he stopped skating. As they glided to a stop on the ice, Lea craned her neck and brushed her lips along his jawline. His eyes drifted shut as she muttered into his neck, “Her loss.”
He wanted those lips everywhere all at once and he wondered how he was going to get through the rest of this date. His clothes were tight and his skin itchy. His body was covered in goose bumps, so he was aware of every hair. He would have let someone pluck them out one by one if it meant she’d keep kissing him.
But she pulled back and he suppressed a whimper.
“Tell me how you learned to skate.”
He opened his eyes. Her lips were wet and her face was flushed and he had a modicum of satisfaction that she was as affected by him as he was her.
“Um, I played hockey as a kid.”
She cocked her head. “You still play?”
“I wish. I thought about finding a men’s league or something.”
“What do you like about it?”
He thought a minute. “I like to skate. I like playing on a frozen surface and at the same time I’m sweating bullets. I like how much skill it takes. The sounds. Everything really.”
“So do you plan to stay involved in the sport somehow?”
His mouth moved before he could communication to his brain to stop talking. But Lea had a way of dredging up all his feelings and ripping them out of his throat. “I thought about maybe volunteering to help out a high-school team . . .” He bit his lip as his voice trailed off and he looked down, watched their skates glide slowly over the ice.
“Why don’t you?”
He blew out a breath. “I don’t have the time now and after graduation . . . I don’t know. I doubt Dad would let me take time away from the shop to coach, even though he lives for sports. He lives for his business more.” He didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t want to get into all the reasons he felt trapped in a future that hadn’t even begun. He didn’t want to admit all the reasons he admired her for pursuing her dream of teaching.
Her brows furrowed. “But—”
“Want to eat?” He hated to cut her off but he’d spilled enough of his guts tonight.
She paused, then nodded hesitantly and they shuffled to the table. She plopped into her chair gracelessly across from him and bent forward, rubbing her knee with a wince.
He scooted his chair to her left side, picked up her leg and placed it on his lap. As he unlaced her skate, he jerked his chin to the cooler on the table beside the poinsettia plant. “Would you open that? I made sandwiches. I hope that’s okay.”
She watched him as he pulled her skate off, then scrunched her sock down so her ankle was bare. He pressed his fingers into her flesh and massaged, just like he’d been taught when he was in high school and worked as an assistant to the physical trainer.
When he looked up, her dark eyes were on his fingers, her lips parted. He kneaded up her calf and she moaned.
Well, shit, if she made noises like that, he wasn’t sure how he was going to get through this. Thank God they were sitting on ice or he’d be busting out of his jeans.
She took a deep breath and said, “sure,” reaching for the cooler.
He continued to work on her leg as they dined on the turkey sandwiches, cranberry sauce and red potato salad. He ate with one hand, using the other to caress her leg under her jeans. She shifted in her seat a couple of times and winced once or twice but didn’t ask him to stop.
After she swallowed her last bite of sandwich, she leaned back in her chair. “That was delicious, and your hands are magic.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He grinned. “They can do other tricks, too.”
The lashes swiped her cheeks as she blinked. “Is that so?”
Fuck, the cold wasn’t suppressing his . . . situation . . . anymore. “You want to skate some more or are you ready to get off the ice?”
She shifted her leg in his lap, like she was testing its strength. “I think I’m ready to get off the ice.”
He smiled. “Me too.”
Before she could reach for her skate, he stood and scooped her into his arms. She squealed and clasped her hands around his neck. “Are you seriously going to carry me?”
“It’s stupid to put your skate back on just to get off the ice. Plus, I kind of like looking at your sock.”
She giggled. “I didn’t know we were going to do anything where you’d see them.”
“I was hoping I’d see more than your socks,” he muttered.
“I heard that.”
“I wanted you to.”
She pulled her head back, eyes searching his face. He went for his most charming grin. She pursed her lips to hide a smile.
LEA AND DANICA’S apartment was small, but unlike his bachelor-pad town house, her place looked like people lived here—from the pale yellow walls to the braided area rug to the beige couch with blue and yellow afghan.
The scent of the apartment—a mix of Lea’s coconut scent and something else spicy and warm enveloped him. He wanted to curl up on the couch like a cat and never leave.
Lea didn’t ask him if he wanted something to drink, just handed him a bottle of water and took a gulp from her own. He washed down the taste of German apple pie they’d had for dessert and wondered how it tasted on Lea’s lips.
“I like
your place,” he said, and thought he was losing his touch if that’s all he could say after a great date with a pretty girl while alone in her apartment.
Her lips curved into a smile. “Thanks. Danica and I had fun decorating it.”
Max walked over to a table alongside the couch. A framed picture sat on the scratched surface. Behind the glass, a family of three smiled at him, a mom, dad and a little Lea with big eyes. They looked happy and loving. He wondered if his dad even had a picture of all of them.
When he straightened, Lea’s eyes snapped up from his ass.
He cocked his head. “Were you looking at my butt?”
Lea blushed but met his eyes. “Do I have permission to look at your butt?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? Doll, you never have to ask. Look your heart out.” He turned his back to her, bent over so his butt stuck out, then air-kissed at her from over his shoulder. He wiggled. “How’s that?”
Lea bent over with laughter and this time, her tears of laughter remained happy tears.
When she tapered to chuckles, she began backing slowly down the hallway, beckoning him with a finger. He followed slowly. “You gonna return the favor?”
Lea bit her lip and nodded, that finger crooked in front of her face.
Fuck, he wanted her. Like he hadn’t wanted anyone in a really long time. Her dark eyes shone in the dim light under her bangs and her hair hung in glossy sheets on either side of her head. Even with all her makeup rubbed off her face, she was still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
When they reached the doorway of her bedroom, he made his move, grabbing Lea around the waist and hauling her against his body. It was a move he was familiar with—setting the pace, deciding when to move from kissing to the heavy stuff—since he’d lost his virginity at sixteen. Women saw his size and his muscles and expected him to take charge. And Max always tried to live up to expectations.
But when he lowered his head to take her mouth, she clapped her hand over his lips. He froze and raised his eyebrows, breathing heavily through her fingers, nostrils flaring. Did he fuck this up already?
Lea’s face was in shadow, the only light provided by a slice of moon through her bedroom curtains. “I’d like you to take off your shirt and pants and lie on the bed.”
That musical voice, quiet but firm with an unmistakable undertone of dominance, seeped into his skin, entered his blood stream and plunged straight to his pulsing cock.
He didn’t think, he just listened. His shirt and jeans were off in seconds and then he collapsed on the soft sheets in only his boxer briefs, eyes on Lea as she stood at the end of the mattress.
“Don’t move,” she said and he almost laughed because his whole body was one stiff divining rod and it was pointed right at her, the only well of water for a thousand miles. He wasn’t going anywhere.
She circled an arm over her head, then swiped her hair over to one shoulder. She removed a necklace and then slowly, with a knowing grin on her face, removed her sweater. His breath caught as she tossed it to the side and placed her hands at the bottom of her tank top.
And then her hips moved, undulating to music that beat with the thump of his heart. He didn’t know where to look, at her dark eyes, her wet lips, the swell of her breasts or those sexy, hypnotizing hips.
Then her tank top joined her sweater on the floor and with one hand, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra.
And his heart stopped.
Her breasts were small and round, surely enough for a handful but it was the metal glinting off her nipples in the moonlight that sent his body into shock. He couldn’t look away from those matching rings as she bent over to slip off her jeans, then stood before him in only a scrap of purple lace. “Holy fuck,” was all he managed to say as he sat up and reached for her.
But she shook her head and didn’t come closer. “Lie back, raise your arms and grab the spindles on the headboard.”
Did she—? Did she tell him to grab the headboard?
He didn’t move, seated with his arms braced behind him, one leg bent at the knee. That firm voice beckoned to him, but this wasn’t anything he’d done before.
“Do you trust me?” she said.
He tried to talk but his throat was dry. He needed her like water. He tried again. “Yeah.”
She took a step around the bed and that’s when he saw the dark lines etched onto her hips, ink twisting and curving on her skin. His eyes snapped up when she started talking.
“Just lie back down and let me take care of you. You try so hard to impress everyone and live up to what they expect of you, right?”
All he could do was nod because how was she in his head?
“You’ve already exceeded my expectations, Max. So now let me do this for you. Just turn it off, Max. Turn off all that pressure and let me take care of you.”
It was amazing how clear his lungs felt, the pressure of a lifetime of trying so fucking hard easing as her palms caressed his chest.
“Lie back, Max,” she whispered. “Close your eyes.”
Like his muscles had liquefied, he collapsed on the bed, raised his arms over his head, grasped the wooden spindles of the headboard and closed his eyes.
The bed dipped near his hip and then warm, soft thighs closed around his hips, knees nestled at either side of his waist. Hair—soft, thick hair that smelled like coconuts—brushed his head and then lips that smelled like her cherry lipgloss brushed his temple, nibbled his nose and teased his lips. She licked the seam and the corners until a whispered, “open” had him parting them for her in an instant. And then she was inside, soothing his parched throat, rehydrating him until his skin swelled with her flavor.
He drank. And drank and drank and she gave it to him, gave him everything she had. He wanted to weep, hoping she wasn’t some mirage and he’d wake up tomorrow dying of thirst.
Before he could flood, she pulled away. He opened his eyes and she stared down at him, those glossy pupils reflecting his need back at him. He’d never been this naked.
Her lips were wet and swollen and she quirked them in a grin before raising her hand and closing his eyelids. “I didn’t say open,” she whispered. He didn’t protest.
A tongue dipped into the indent in his chin and who knew that was some kind of erogenous zone, because his dick twitched where it was nestled in her heat.
Then her lips traveled down his neck and across his collarbone. A nail scraped over his right nipple and his brain melted. “Oh my God,” he moaned and her chuckle came with another scrape along his left nipple.
“Men have sensitive nipples, too.” Lea’s voice came from above but he didn’t dare open his eyes because then she might take this delicious feeling away. Her fingers rubbed his lips and he stuck out his tongue and licked them. She giggled and then fingers returned to his nipples, this time wet with his saliva.
“Christ,” he whispered, fingers tightening on the bed slats. “That feels fucking awesome.”
Then her hands were on either side of his waist. Her weight shifted and two points of cool metal scraped along his body.
“Please, please let me open my eyes.” He’d never begged in his life but he felt no shame.
“Since you asked nicely,” she said.
When he opened his eyes, her face was near his waist, eyes wide under long lashes. Then oh so slowly she slid her body up his, the rings on her nipples running along his skin and chest hair.
When she reached his head, she lined up her right nipple with his lips and lowered. He opened immediately, sucking that ring into his mouth, swirling his tongue along the edge and through the hoop and then pushing it aside to get that swollen bud in his mouth.
She tasted delicious, hot skin and cool metal and Lea. He closed his eyes again and tugged the ring with his teeth while she writhed above him, her breath in pants on his forehead, his name on every exhale. He let go of her nipple with a pop and she shifted so he could give her left one equal attention. No Nipple Left Behind.
When she pulled away, he was drunk. Completely drunk on Lea and his moment and feeling weightless for once in his life.
There was the sound of a drawer, a crinkle of plastic near his ear and then cool air hit his aching cock and heavy balls as she slipped his boxers down his legs.
A hot hand wrapped around his shaft and stroked and he arched his back off the bed.
“Open your eyes.”
He did, looking into those dark eyes he craved, like an aged Scotch. “Lea.” Her name was a plea on his lips and her returned, “Max,” was his granted wish.
She ripped open the condom wrapper by his head and slid the condom down his length. At some point, she’d removed her underwear and now straddled him, gloriously naked. Her nipple rings beckoned to him and those tattoos on her hips tempted him.
“Touch me,” she said, and sheathed him with her heat.
He came apart, like his bones flooded and ligaments dissolved. He never wanted to dry out and be pieced back together.
Lea leaned down, her hair in a curtain around his head, hands braced on the bed, and rotated those hips on him.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
So slowly. Giving him enough to make him crazy but not enough to drive him insane.
“Lea.” His brain had one mode. And that was it.
“Max.”
“Lea.”
“Max.”
She sped up, her hips not just rising and falling, but rolling and he knew he didn’t have much more time.
He gripped her hips just so he had somewhere to put his hands, because she was in charge. She changed her angle and then cried out after a few more thrusts. Once her muscles clenched him, he went over the edge, shouting out his climax in a Lea waterfall.
They lay together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and heavy breaths.
Lea was on her side, the sheet wrapped around her knees. He ran a hand over the skin of her right hip, fingers tracing the ink, just dark lines in the moonlight. “What is this?” He spoke in a whisper, worried anything louder would make him wake up and he’d be back in his bed, cuddling with his cat.
Make It Right Page 11
