“I’ve been waiting all night for you to kiss me,” she confessed softly, in direct contrast to how hard her words were making him.
Jesus. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her.
He ran his hands up under her shirt, revealing the soft, smooth skin of her back inch by inch, and she shuddered against him. He’d been right about the no bra thing. She leaned back so he could tug her shirt all the way off.
“God, I want you,” he growled, abs tight with need as he leaned forward to press a kiss between her gorgeous breasts.
She made a move to get off his lap, to lie back on the couch, but he shook his head as he grabbed her hips, anchoring her right where she was, grinding against her a little. It felt so good it fucking hurt, and he wasn’t even inside her yet.
“I want you on top of me so I can watch your face while you come.”
He shifted so that he was the one lying on the couch, and he pulled her with him.
Everything was perfect—the gentle sway of her breasts as she settled her knees on either side of his hips, the pressure of her palms as she braced them against his chest, her hair falling around her face as her body exerted the most mind-blowing pressure against his cock.
His lungs burned with the effort of holding back, but before he could slip inside her, she spoke.
“You have a beautiful body.”
The words stilled him.
“I could kind of tell in the bar, but then, when I finally got your clothes off… You were just so perfect. Your arms, your chest, your abs. Your thighs.” She scraped her nails over each part of his body as she named it.
The topic of conversation, though flattering, was so beyond his comprehension that he forgot about his raging erection for a moment.
“I’ve never been with anyone so physical before. It’s really sexy.”
“What are you doing?”
“Sorry, should I not have said that?” She looked down at him, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I just…wanted to tell you that I think you’re gorgeous. That your body turns me on.”
Brett ran a hand down his face, unable to supress his embarrassed chuckle, hoping to God he wasn’t blushing. “You know I’m a sure thing, right? You don’t have to say nice stuff to get in my pants when my pants are already on the floor.”
“You don’t like when women give you compliments?”
Truth was, women never did. Not the women he usually hung out with, anyway. Aside from the bullshit sex stuff—“That’s right, baby, you’re so big and hard, you fill me up so good”—but Brett never deluded himself into believing that was anything but porn talk, the kind of shit people said when they were fucking a stranger.
“You make me feel sexy. It wasn’t like this with…before.”
Like she wasn’t already blowing his mind, she reached between them to position their bodies. And if he’d thought the grip of her hand was good, it was eclipsed by the tight, wet heat of her as she sank down the length of his cock. It was the kind of flawless friction that had him cursing the condom and fighting for control. There was a seriousness to the moment he’d never experienced before, as she stared into his eyes.
“I wanted you in that alcove. Part of me didn’t even care if we got caught. And that’s not like me. I do the right thing. The thing that’s expected of me. But you make me want to take risks.”
They weren’t the sex words he was used to, but they had him hard as steel because they were words she’d chosen special for him, not words that she said to anyone.
Then she started to move, working her hips in a sensual rhythm that had him on the edge in seconds. It felt so good, he just wanted to explode inside her, but his pride wouldn’t let him go over without her. Not after everything she’d just… No one had ever said anything like that to him before. Made him feel like he mattered.
He reached forward, pressed his thumb against her clit while she rode him, vindicated by the stutter of her hips, the way his touch had messed up her rhythm, overbalanced her so she fell forward and had to brace her hands against his chest.
“Let me give you this.” He didn’t know why he said it. Or why his voice sounded…weird. Kind of like he was begging? Definitely like there was something in his throat.
He moved his thumb again, and her gasp was about the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
It was stupid, but it was the only way he could think of to thank her. For tonight. The movie. The popcorn. The sex. The stuff she’d said. All of it.
She left her hands on him when she started to rock, her fingers curling against his pecs as she found a gear she liked. Her eyelids fluttered shut as he set the movement of his thumb to complement her pace.
He couldn’t look away. The cascade of brown hair flirting with her bare shoulders, the sway of her breasts, the way she bit her lip as her hips grew restless—everything about her made him ache.
“Brett.”
He swallowed at the sheer perfection of hearing her say his name while he was buried deep inside her. Their first time had been hot as fuck, but this time, this time she was with him.
He lifted his pelvis, pushing deeper inside her and taking over the rhythm. He couldn’t help it—this need to be closer to her, deeper inside her—and she didn’t seem to mind too much as he increased the pressure of his hand to match their new rhythm and her breath came in short, panting gasps.
She came apart with a cry, her head thrown back, fingernails scraping his skin, as she melted all over him like sugar in the rain. He was powerless to hold out a second longer. His hips bucked as he came so hard, he wasn’t completely sure he hadn’t blacked out somewhere in the middle of his orgasm.
He was breathing like he’d just finished an end-to-end rush, and when he finally managed to open his eyes, she was panting just as hard, her eyes still closed, almost like she was savoring the moment. He was, too, trying to hold on to how good it all was, but there was one thing missing.
He curled his hands around her thighs. “Hey, Chels?”
Her eyes popped open, the smile curving her lips warm like sunshine, as though she liked it when he said her name. “Yeah?”
Maybe, just maybe, feelings weren’t so bad. “Kiss me.”
He was still inside her when she leaned forward to oblige him, and he ran his hands up her back, pressing her body against his and holding her close as her tongue darted into his mouth, and their legs tangled together.
And just like that, he was right back to nice and happy to be there.
Chapter Twelve
Chelsea overcompensated when she was nervous.
It was the reason she over-studied for tests. It was why she over-planned for…everything.
Judging by the spread taking shape in front of her—pancakes, bacon, eggs, hash browns, fruit—she was really nervous. And that didn’t include the white chocolate raspberry scones in the oven.
Crap. Way too much breakfast for two people. Even if one of those people was a ripped pro-hockey player.
She’d woken up on her couch, sprawled across his body, and she’d panicked a little. Her plan had been for one night. And then she’d texted Brett anyway. Practically begged him to have sex with her before he left.
The first time they’d gotten naked and horizontal, she’d had the luxury of sneaking out and not having to deal with the etiquette of the morning after. As a result, she had no idea how the morning after was supposed to go. And sadly, she couldn’t sneak out of her own house. Though she’d considered it briefly. Right before she’d started measuring flour for the scones.
Chelsea knew the second he appeared in the doorway. It raised the hair on the back of her neck, made her blood sizzle in her veins like the bacon in the frying pan.
“Something smells good.”
She’d intended to throw him a distracted smile over her shoulder and then check on her omelette, but the sight of him turned her glance into a full-fledged ogling.
He was a god among kitchen appliances, framed by her stainless-stee
l fridge and dishwasher, clad in white boxer-briefs and nothing else. He ran a hand through his sleep-tousled curls, and Chelsea almost dropped her spatula.
“I made breakfast.” So. Much. Breakfast.
“Yeah, I noticed.” He glanced around, eyebrows inching up as he took in the extent of the spread. “You didn’t need to make all this for me.”
Oh, great. She’d probably freaked him out. Did he think she was playing house? He’d come over for a post-win orgasm and now he was undoubtedly looking to make a quick exit, and she’d trapped him in a four-course brunch.
“Did you need help?” he asked, stealing a strawberry from the plate of fruit she’d cut earlier. “I’m not great in the kitchen, but I’ve scrambled an egg or two in my day.” He popped the plump berry in his mouth, and she was transfixed by the flex of his jaw beneath his morning scruff. All her sexy places clenched, and not for the first time she wished he wasn’t quite so damn…potent.
She turned back to her omelette, so he wouldn’t notice the tight peaks of her nipples against her T-shirt, shaking her head a little too vehemently for the nonchalance she was trying so desperately to project. “It’s under control. Everything will be ready in…” She glanced at the oven timer she’d set for the scones. “Ten minutes.”
She wasn’t surprised when his chest pressed against her back, and his hand came up to ride her hip. She’d heard him approaching, after all. Felt the current in the air. But advanced warning didn’t stop the slight shock of heat that jolted through her as he pressed his mouth to her neck.
With a sigh, she let her head fall to the side so he could continue his lazy exploration, and the dichotomy of soft lips and prickly stubble had her feeling deliciously melty.
“If you keep distracting me like this, breakfast will be burned to a crisp,” she warned.
“Yeah, but it’d be worth it,” he countered, nuzzling her ear with his nose.
Despite his words, he stepped away, but Chelsea reminded herself that she was definitely not disappointed.
“Okay. No more distractions. Do you mind if I grab a quick shower?”
Great. Now she was thinking about him naked again. “Go for it. There are towels in the cabinet in the bathroom.”
Brett dropped a quick kiss on her bare shoulder before he disappeared, and the simple touch sent an aftershock through her body that had Chelsea bracing a hand on the counter so her knees could re-solidify…and consider whether she was brave enough to follow him. The ease with which he made her want him was a little disconcerting. It had never been like this before.
Sure, she’d wanted sex with Dustin, but it had been a more cerebral, “healthy sex lives are important” kind of want. Not this all out, “can’t get enough, please touch me or I’ll die of longing” thing she was experiencing whenever he was near.
The sound of the shower flipping on made her body tingle.
Or not so near.
The knock on the back door startled her out of her lusty thoughts.
She flipped the omelette before she went to answer it.
“Shanna!”
“Chelsea,” she said back, her tone and expression making it clear that nonchalance had definitely not been achieved. “Can I come in or what? The wind is biting.” Shanna pushed past her, bracing a hand against the wall as she toed off her boots.
“What are you doing here?”
Shanna was already headed for the kitchen as she held up the binder in her hand. “Don’t play stupid with me, Ms. We-Should-Probably-Review-The-Wolfpack-Charity-Foundation’s-Strategic-Plan-For-Next-Season. Because I’m the one who thinks this meeting is overkill. If you were presenting to the board, sure, but we’re just running it by your dad for input.”
Oh damn. She’d completely forgotten. Shanna had rearranged her schedule and everything. How the hell was she going to get rid of her?
“Holy crap. I forgive you! You didn’t need to make all this for me.” She snatched a piece of bacon from the serving dish. “I’m totally going to eat it, though.”
Shanna took a bite as she set the binder on the kitchen table, then started to unzip her coat.
“Listen, things are a little crazy here right now, and I totally should have called you to reschedule. This morning might not work. I’m kind of—”
The oven timer beeped. “Hold on one sex, one sec,” Chelsea corrected, flinching at her blunder. She dumped the omelette onto a nearby plate so it didn’t burn, put the pan in the sink, and donned her oven mitts so she could pull the scones out of the oven.
“What, are you trying to get rid of me?” Shanna joked. “Because you know that I love your white chocolate and raspberry scones more than almost anything. I’m not leaving without a fight.”
Okay. Don’t panic, Chelsea told herself. Just tell her she needs to go and that—
“Do you hear that?”
“Hear what? I don’t hear anything.”
Shanna frowned at her. “It sounds like water. Did you leave the shower running in your bathroom or something? Let me go check.”
“Nope. No. That’s fine. It’s fine.”
Shanna’s left eyebrow lifted as she looked around the kitchen as if she was seeing it for the first time. The look of dawning understanding in her eyes sent a tremor of fear down Chelsea’s spine. “What’s going on?”
Chelsea shook her head, transferring the scones from the baking sheet to a wire cooling rack. “Nothing. I just need to reschedule our meeting.”
“Then what are you making breakfast for?”
Chelsea turned to face her, hoping she could blame her flushed cheeks on the heat of the oven.
Shanna crossed her arms. “Or should I say, who are you making breakfast for?”
Chelsea set the baking sheet in the sink and turned the heat down on the hash browns. “I think technically it’s ‘For whom are you making breakfast?’”
“Oh, are we being technical now? Then for whom are you wearing that Wolfpack T-shirt?”
Busted. “Shan…”
“Are you insane? I thought you said it was a one-night thing!”
Chelsea shrugged with a casualness she didn’t feel. “Now it’s a two-night thing.”
“And what happens when he breaks your heart? I’m supposed to pick up the pieces when he lets you down?”
“This has nothing to do with my heart,” Chelsea protested, but for some reason, the words sounded a little bit hollow.
“Exactly! That’s exactly the problem. The Chelsea I know puts her heart into everything. Even tabloid-scandal-ridden hockey players who are not her type.”
It was the second time Shanna had dropped the not-her-type thing, and it lent a little heat to Chelsea’s rebuttal. “Oh? And what exactly is my type?”
“You know, more like Dustin.”
More like Dustin? She wanted to gape. Dustin, who had treated her like a freak for wanting sex and then dumped her for his barely legal, tight-bodied teaching assistant because she “understood his physical needs”? That Dustin? And okay, maybe Shanna’s dogged defense of Dustin had kept Chelsea from sharing all the mortifying details with her, but the fact that her best friend was operating on the idea that she wanted a relationship that even remotely resembled what she’d had with Dustin was way off-base.
“Look, I get it. Brett’s good looking. Exciting. And I’m sure he knows what he’s doing in the bedroom. But that’s because he’s practiced.” Shanna gave her a hard look. “A lot. He’s not a forever kind of guy. Just ask his ex-wife.”
Chelsea shook her head. “You’re making way too much of this.”
“I’m the one making too much of this?” Shanna gestured around the kitchen. “Check out exhibit A. Restaurants don’t have this much selection.”
“Jesus, Shan. Stop trying to shove us on a horse and send us riding off into the sunset. Maybe I want to…practice. Maybe it’s the best practice I’ve ever had.”
“One night to rebel. That’s what this was supposed to be. That was your plan.”
&n
bsp; “I already told you. I’m tired of plans and checklists. I’m tired of doing the responsible thing. Maybe it’s finally my turn to make some bad decisions.”
So far, doing the opposite of what she’d usually do had treated her just fine, and there was a super hot man in her shower to prove it.
“You’re not this person, Chelsea.”
She tried to decipher what Shanna meant by that. Not fun? Not spontaneous? Not lust-drunk on some of the best orgasms she’d ever had? Why couldn’t she be herself and all those things? She liked Brett. She liked what he made her feel.
“Your dad is going to flip out. You heard him at the silent auction.”
The fact that Shanna would mention her father right now, would try to cheapen this incredible, confusing, heart-pounding thing she’d found with Brett like it was nothing more than delayed teenage rebellion made Chelsea want to scream. God! So she’d made some breakfast for a man. Why was Shanna blowing it out of proportion?
“Stop acting like this means anything. We’re not getting married. It’s just sex!”
Shanna went eerily still at the outburst. Chelsea enjoyed a split-second of vindication at her friend’s widened eyes…until her gaze shifted a little to the left, just over Chelsea’s right shoulder.
Awareness prickled up the back of her neck. No. Please no.
“Hey, Brett,” her friend said softly.
“Shanna.”
Chelsea flinched at the sound of his deep voice. It scraped over her nerves like sandpaper, as her brain rewound her conversation with Shanna. How long had he been there? It took everything she had to turn and face him.
He looked incredible, his dark curls damp from his shower, barefoot in his dress pants as his big hands worked their way deftly up the buttons on his shirt. “I should get going. Thanks for letting me use your shower.”
All the sweetness from last night had been replaced by a stoic formalness that made her heart wrench. Because in their entire acquaintance, the one thing Brett had never done was look through her.
“Brett, I—”
Taking a Shot Page 10
