Body Check: Blades Hockey

by Luis, Maria

  Everything is hard.

  My cock, my body, the rough way that I crush my mouth over Holly’s. I’ve got her hands tangled with mine, lifted to the wall above her head. The hotel hallway is empty, save for us, and even if it weren’t, I don’t think I’d find the strength to stop and step away.

  The night that we were together outside of the practice arena, there’d been a measure of hesitance in my touch. Would she tell me to stop? Would she turn away and leave me standing there, my dick out of my pants and my heart bleeding on the concrete?

  There’s none of that hesitance tonight.

  I kiss her like I own her.

  She mewls into my mouth like I’ve always been hers and hers alone.

  I lean into her body, my hands palming hers flat on the wall as I nip at her mouth and growl, “Legs around my hips. Now.”

  A shiver wracks her shoulders as she throws her head back. “Give a girl a boost.”

  Never let it be said that I don’t know how to take an order.

  I give her the boost.

  My hands under her ass. Her hands locked on my shoulders as her feet come off the floor. I hoist her up until her muscled thighs are clamped around my hips and I’ve got her back pressed to the tiled wall. She moans when my hard-on brushes the apex of her thighs, one hand clinging to the nape of my neck.

  Nose brushing the underside of her chin, I mutter, “Hands on the wall, sweetheart.”

  “Tell me why.”

  A husky laugh rips from my throat. “What do you mean, why?”

  She lowers her weight ever so slightly, taunting me with the very real possibility of her riding my cock once we get in the hotel room. Fuck, even that slightest graze of her panties on me . . . My forehead falls to her shoulder.

  Like a temptress, she uses her hold on my neck—her fingers splayed over my traps—for balance as she grinds down on me. She swivels her hips to a rhythm she only hears, but that doesn’t mean I don’t lose my mind all the same.

  Her blue eyes flick up to meet mine, pupils dilated with desire. “You think you’re the only one who can have control around here?” she taunts playfully. “I don’t think so, Captain. I don’t think so.”

  She punctures each word with another roll of her hips, using my frame like a pole as she undulates like rippling water. A groan works its way up my throat and I don’t bother to silence it. Holly does this to me: strips my control and leaves me a panting, hot mess.

  My forearms fold in on either side of her head, my legs planted evenly as she fucks with my mind, my body.

  Teeth nip at the juncture of my shoulder and throat. “You’re not the only athlete in this hallway, Jackson.” The words are whispered against my heated skin. Her nails bite into my shoulders as her rocking turns dirtier, more pointed in the way she hovers and dips over my dick. “Do you remember coming to see me dance at Cornell?”

  Dance, as in Jazz, Hip Hop, mixed in with a season-long stint on Cornell’s gymnastics team before an injury sat her out for good. She’d been music in motion, twirling on her toes and leaping through the air. So different to what I did for the school—bulldozing guys into the boards, dropping mitts and going to bat, fists snapping out to connect with jaws and skulls and noses.

  Holly was poetry, all lean muscles and elegant lines.

  I was a beatbox rhythm, fast counts and broken expectations.

  “What do you want?” I rasp against her skin.

  Her lips skim the underside of my jaw. “To bring you to your knees.”

  Famous last words, right there.

  Without giving her the chance to protest, I readjust her weight in my arms and stride down the hall to my room. There’s nothing but the sound of my soles brushing over the thin carpet and our heavy breathing as I close that final distance.

  Ten feet.

  Six feet.

  Three feet.

  “Reach into my front pocket, sweetheart. Get me the key.”

  She doesn’t need to be told twice. Her fingers delve into my shorts, pulling out the flat key card that she promptly swipes over the lock. We’re inside the room within a heartbeat, my foot kicking the door firmly shut. I waste no time in getting her exactly where I want her: her back up against the closed door, her pretty blue dress tugged up around her hips.

  I fall to my knees before her.

  “Jackson?”

  I only tap her ankle in silent encouragement to lift it. Up, up, up it goes until her trembling thigh is on my shoulder and her fingers are sifting through my hair. I kiss the soft skin near her knee. Press another one to her inner thigh, no longer as tight and as muscled as back in her dancing days.

  She’s no less beautiful in my eyes, no less enticing.

  My hand wraps around her leg and I squeeze the supple flesh, bringing my gaze to her face. I make sure to hold eye contact when my lips move farther north, so close to the line of her panties and the road to my idea of bliss.

  “You have me on my knees.” Another kiss, this one a mere inch from paradise. Her chest heaves with a sharp breath. One last kiss, this one over the fabric of her underwear, directly on top of her clit. “Now do something about it.”

  Blue eyes burn down at me like the center of a candle’s flame, so damn hot that I’m surprised I don’t combust. And then I do, my cock straining in my shorts, my fucking heart ready to burst from my chest.

  In a move that’s smooth and seductive, Holly skims her palms up her chest to the strap of her halter dress. Her leg never moves from my shoulder, not as she unties the knot behind her neck and lets the fabric fall to her chest. Not when she cups the weight of one breast and flicks her thumb over a pebbled nipple.

  My mouth dries at the sight, and I dig my fingers into her hips to keep from passing out.

  “Holls.”

  She never cuts our eye contact, not once. Her fingers tug at her nipple, rolling the hard peak as her hips do the same. Air catches in my lungs when one hand leaves her breast to lay flat on her sternum and skim down past her ribcage, down past her once-pierced belly button, down past her pelvic bone. That finger teases the waistband of her underwear, dips briefly under the cotton, and steals what’s left of my oxygen supply by running along the elastic and pulling her panties to the side.

  Revealing herself to me completely.

  Making me almost come in my shorts.

  “I’ve brought you to your knees,” she whispers, “now do something about it.”

  Challenge accepted.

  Like a man possessed, I don’t stand a chance in telling her no. I drag my hands from her hips to under her ass. Her clit is pink and swollen—and mine. At the first touch of my tongue, Holly shoots upward onto her toes, her calf muscle flexing like she’s doing one of her old relevé moves. She doesn’t get far; I lay a forearm across her lower stomach, keeping her locked in place.

  She wanted me on my knees.

  Now she has to suffer through the consequences.

  And suffer she does. I fuck her with my tongue, swirling it over her clit in tight, little circles that has her crying out my name. Her hands fist in my hair, and I bite back a grin before seeking to push her right over the edge.

  Tongue swirling, I drag my finger from the curve of her ass, through her wetness, until I’m gliding two fingers into her heat.

  “Jackson,” she whimpers, and I don’t mistake the way her knee almost buckles.

  I don’t ease up on her. Instead, I alternate the timing between my thrusting fingers and when I heighten the pressure on her swollen clit. Her stomach clenches behind my forearm, her inner thigh shaking with the effort to stay standing upright on only one foot.

  I’m doing something about it, sweetheart.

  I work a third finger into her heat, then curl my fingers inward.

  She splinters immediately, coming against my mouth as her nails bite into my skull with the force of her orgasm. I ride the wave out, slowing the thrusts of my fingers until she’s no longer got me in a vice. Slowly, I pull my fingers from her pussy
and, when I’m sure she’s watching, I pop them into my mouth and lick off her juices.

  “Oh, my God.” Her blue eyes are wide and luminous as she struggles to catch her breath.

  Reaching forward, I tweak her bare nipple with the fingers I had inside her. “Get on the bed, sweetheart.”

  She practically throws me to the side in her haste to climb onto the mattress.

  Chuckling, I stay back and enjoy the view. Her dress hiked up around her waist, her naked breasts on full display. She reclines on her back, propped up on her elbows. Almost blindly, I move to my suitcase to grab the box of condoms I bought before our trip to D.C. Did I know that she’d hop in my bed? No.

  Had I hoped she would?

  Hell, fucking yeah.

  Shucking my shorts, along with my T-shirt, I roll the latex down the length of my dick as I stride toward the bed. Holly’s waiting for me, legs tipped open wide, and I grip the underside of her thighs and haul her butt toward the edge of the mattress.

  I line up my cock with her pussy, then swing my gaze up to her face.

  “I’m not going to last long,” I tell her in a low voice. “You’ve got me so wound up that I feel like I’m going to—”

  Holly’s heels dig into my ass. “Now, Jackson.”

  I give her what she wants in a single thrust. The skin on my throat pinches as I throw my head back with a groan. Goddamn, she feels even better than the last time. Tighter. Wetter. Or maybe I’m so turned on that she could touch one finger to my dick and I’d be ready to come.

  My ass flexes as I pull out and push back in.

  I should slow down my pace. Make sure that it’s as good for her as it is for me right now. But I can’t stop the churning of my hips, the walls of her tight pussy clamping down on my cock every time I thrust deep. It feels like heaven. It feels like sin. It feels like love.

  Dragging my eyes off where we’re joined, I focus on Holly’s sweet face.

  Beautiful, so unbelievably beautiful.

  I grip her legs, unwinding them from my back and straightening them so that her ankles are resting on my left shoulder, her inner thighs pressed together. The position creates a vice-like grip on my dick, and Holly’s mouth parts in an O.

  “I’ve missed you,” I confess as I watch her small tits bounce with the force of my thrusts. “Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I missed you every fucking day that you weren’t mine to touch, mine to fuck, mine to love.”

  Her hands fall to the bed where she fists the sheets. “Jackson, Jackson I’m going to come.”

  My eyes on her flushed face, I split her legs and press them up toward her chest, until she’s clutching her knees and my finger is circling her clit. Her neck stretches and everything about this moment is messy and raw, but I wouldn’t a change thing.

  Not when she comes, crying out my name as she twines her fingers in the hotel sheets.

  Not when I let out a guttural groan as I empty everything that I am inside her.

  When she smiles up at me, her fingers lazily moving to trace the slope of my broken nose, there’s no denying that it’s also perfect.

  28

  Holly

  It sounds pitiful, but I think I’ve forgotten how to cuddle.

  Is there even going to be any cuddling?

  I hoist myself up in the queen-sized bed and stare at the remnants of our . . . lovemaking? Fuck-fest? Sex session? My eyes slam shut, the rest of the room disappearing behind my lids.

  There should be a handbook for this sort of thing: What to do When Your Ex-husband Makes You Come Three Times 101. Followed up by the highly requested sequel: Sleepover Protocol, The Divorcée Edition.

  Really, Jackson and I are both adults which means that we ought to be able to have this conversation easily.

  Instead, the beats of The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go? ring in my ears, and I experience half a second of panic where I seriously consider stripping off all my clothes, standing outside the bathroom door, and announcing, “Do with me as you will.”

  Except that he sort of did that already, and I have the whisker burns between my thighs to prove it.

  The toilet flushes in the adjoining bathroom and I leap into action. Stuff one lone boob back into her rightful place in my dress, then do the same with the other. Once the girls are back in order, I haul butt out of the bed. My blue dress resettles around my thighs, my bare toes curling against the thin carpet.

  “If you were plannin’ to leave, you should have thought to escape while I was getting rid of the condom.”

  At Jackson’s slow, husky murmur, I glance his way and wish I hadn’t.

  Without the high-energy thrum of lust in my veins, I take a moment to appreciate Jackson’s naked body in a way that I haven’t in so long. His arms are powerful ropes of muscle, big and bulging as opposed to lean and sinuous—he’s a Tom Hardy on the How Muscular Is He? scale, and not a Tom Hiddleston. Though I’d have to be dead to find fault with either. (And I’m definitely not dead.)

  With every breath, his abdominal muscles flex, the obliques tightening and releasing. His thighs . . . I never really thought it was normal to fantasize about a man’s thighs, but Jackson’s thighs are utter perfection.

  Particularly when he’s holding me between them, my back to his hard front.

  After a sharp breath of my own, I smooth my hands over the fabric of my dress. “I wasn’t sure what the code was.”

  His brows furrow together. “Code?”

  “Yeah, you know—” I wave one hand in the air, flicking it between us. “The code. Do I go upstairs to my room? Do I stay down here in yours? I mean, you’d think there’d be some sort of advice on the internet for this sort of thing, but I looked after the last time we were together, and for once the internet has failed me.”

  Jackson doesn’t seem to care that he’s not wearing a single stitch of clothing as he pushes away from the doorframe and ambles toward me, all loose limbs and long strides. “You know what I think?” His tone is sinful, a low rumble. “I think that you should do whatever you want to do, not what society thinks is healthy for you.”

  I laugh awkwardly at that, a ha-ha-ha that sounds stilted to even my own ears. “I think that ship has sailed. The internet has a firm stance on divorced couples hooking up again.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He slips behind me, his big hands going to my shoulders. I moan out loud when his thumbs dig into the tense muscles there, circling and circling and circling over the deep tissue. “What’s the consensus?”

  He asks the question near my ear, and I fight off a shiver. Everything Jackson does is sensual, a fact that he proves by gliding his hands down my spine and taking the zipper of my dress right along with them.

  The dress parts, cool air hitting my skin. It feels heavenly, if heaven came in the form of a six-foot-four hockey player with magical hands and a smooth, honeyed drawl.

  “Holls?”

  “Generally frowned upon,” I manage on a shuddered breath, “a big no-no.”

  “But not illegal?”

  “What?” My brain empties when all that cool air hits my bare backside. “No, not illegal—”

  “For the record, I’d sacrifice myself to a lifetime of bending over for soap if I got a little more time with you.”

  I’m not given any time to process that crazy statement before I’m flying—literally, flying—through the air and landing with a massive bounce on the mattress.

  The coils shriek in protest.

  “Jackson!”

  In that moment, I’m a naked acrobat who should have been fired on my first day on the job.

  My limbs flail this way and that, and really, I should have been less concerned about landing face-first on the floor and more worried about what my hundred-and-ten-pound frame has done to the bed frame.

  On the second bounce, the bed cracks!

  And on the third, it quite literally goes concave with me in the middle of the cavern.

  Butt cheeks burning from the abrupt crash landing, I swing m
y gaze toward Jackson and glare accusingly. “You broke the bed!”

  Only, the damn man is on his knees, hands on the ground, doubled over in laughter at my expense. “I can’t—” His handsome head falls forward, his laughter eating away at any leftover awkwardness infiltrating the room. “Oh, God, Holls. I’m so sorry, but your face when you went down . . .”

  “Jerk.” I huff out a breath, but it lacks any true heat. Already I feel laughter bubbling to the surface. “I can’t believe that just happened.” I flap my arms at my side, tightening my core muscles as the mattress wobbles over the broken slats. So much for beautiful (and sturdy) antique furniture.

  “It’s a conspiracy,” I mutter glumly. “We literally had hardcore sex on this thing and not even a whine! Then you throw me on it and it decides to break? How screwed up is that? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were pranking me.”

  “Not a prank.” He gasps out the words between fits of laugher, still on his hands and knees like he’s praying to the Almighty Shitty Bed for making his night.

  Newsflash, I made his night.

  “Just so you know, you can stop laughing at any time now.”

  His only response is to keel over and laugh some more.

  “Any time now.” I drum my fingers on the mattress, staring at the “reserved” Blades captain losing his mind and all because I broke a bed. Funny, so funny. “Jackson. Really, you can stop.”

  The overhead light illuminates his big grin when he climbs to his feet and comes toward me, arms wide open. “C’mere, sweetheart. Your Knight in Naked Birthday Suit has arrived to save the day.”

  I roll my eyes at the cheesiness factor, but my heart swoons when he pulls me from the rubble—okay, the broken slats and crooked mattress—and hauls me close to his chest. He tucks my head under his chin, but our heights are so opposite that it’s more like he folds his big body far enough over to put me in the desired spot.

  “How’s the butt?” he asks, reaching down to massage one butt cheek and then the other.

  I snort into his hard chest. “Strong enough to crack a slat of wood in half.”