Virgin Territory

by Lia Riley

  She reached out, flipping open his belt buckle with expert skill. “I do, but you have a choice. I’m on birth control and had a clear STD screening after my last partner. So I defer to you. Your choice.”

  She popped his button and ground down the zipper. His cock threatened to explode from his black boxers.

  He reached out and stroked the side of one of her breasts. The velvet-soft skin riveted him. He wanted to bend down and suck the tip of her nipple into his mouth, lick her until she bucked into his mouth, but he couldn’t move. If he budged so much as an inch, he would shatter. The pressure of the cotton on his shaft was too much. The idea of the hot, slick tunnel he’d once licked—

  He swallowed, sucking a breath, fighting for focus, for self-control.

  This might be quick, but so help him, it wasn’t going to be that quick.

  She arched like a kitten, sinking her claws into his V-line of muscle, grazing his skin with such soft, but precise, pressure that he clenched his ass, fighting to hang on.

  He focused his gaze on her shoulders. If presented with a stack of Bibles, he’d swear up and down that he’d never seen anything as beautiful and delicate as the slope of her shoulders rising up to her neck.

  “Are you sorry,” she whispered, “that this isn’t my first time too?”

  “But it is,” he rasped. “Your first time with me.”

  He bent, tangling his fingers in her long hair, memorizing the delicate texture between his fingertips, tugging it ever so slightly so that her head dipped back. She let him slide his tongue over hers, tasting her sweetness, coaxing her to deepen, not to hold back. He’d never kissed a woman before Margot, never experienced this raw essence, taking the opportunity to taste her until she trembled in his arms. He wanted to consume and be consumed in turn.

  It went quickly after that. Relentless. He’d covered his mouth on hers and moved his body down. She was tall, lank and lean, but he was bigger. Broader. Her hair spread around her face like an open fan and her eyes were hazy, but she wasn’t far away. When their gazes locked, he knew she was close, as close as it was possible to get.

  Except that was a lie. Incredibly, soon, they were going to be even closer.

  “Hey.” She smiled.

  “Hi.”

  She reached out and held the Saint Anthony medal dangling from his chest between her thumb and forefinger.

  “Patron saint of lost things, huh? Well, I’ve found you. You’re not lost anymore.”

  “Margot,” was all he could manage to reply. It was impossible to say more. His emotions were running too high. There was a low hum emanating through his skull. It was as if he’d turned into pure electricity.

  “You still have your boxers on.”

  “Not for long.” He started to tug down the sides, but she got there first. And then he was freed, long, thick and bared, and she was right there.

  The edge of him brushed up against the edge of her, and in that place, that space where they pressed, came a rising, of thick pleasure, concentrated and extraordinary. Every muscle was taut. He was so hard. So hard and she was all lush softness. And he fell. Sliding. Slipping into the heat.

  A gasp.

  His or hers. Both. He didn’t know. The world was reduced to these sweet inches, the tumble into absolute pleasure. She locked her legs around him, driving him in farther until he was at the hilt, his sac nestled against her ass.

  “This is it,” she gasped, her features seemingly torn between pleasure and pain. And he understood, because he was gripped by the same sensation. The goodness of this feeling and the sense that it was almost unbearably too much.

  “This is what all the fuss is about,” she finished.

  “I’m falling in love with you.” He hadn’t planned to say it. But as the words left his mouth he realized he meant them.

  “That’s just the sex talking,” she said, putting a hand on his cheek.

  “Don’t humor me.” He hiked a hand under one of her thighs, spreading her a little wider; holding himself with one hand he began to move, a slow grinding rock.

  “I fucking love fucking you. But I’m also falling in love with you. They’re two separate things, but better when they’re together.”

  She arched up at his words, the small of her back leaving the mattress, getting just that little bit closer.

  He glanced down and saw a hint of her clit, pink and pretty in the slit. He remembered what she’d done the last time he’d been there. His mouth there, feasting, exploring, demanding. God, it had been glorious.

  Now he wanted to see what would happen with his finger.

  He circled once, twice and she called out his name and clenched down. When those hot wet muscles bore down on his shaft he didn’t have a chance. Not a prayer. His orgasm arrived like a force of nature; to resist would be like standing on a porch in Florida and trying to blow away a hurricane.

  Pure sensation tore through him and he was lost. This time for good.

  And when the quiet returned it was as if he was looking at the world made new.

  “How did you know to do all that,” she whispered.

  “I just move how it felt like I should.”

  “You’re a natural.”

  “Did you . . . come too?”

  “No, but I was close.” She giggled to herself. “Crazy close.”

  “Shit.”

  “Stop! Are you kidding me? I’ve never been that close so fast ever. Never ever.”

  “That was fast?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “It was fast.”

  “So you’re saying it’s going to get longer.”

  “With your skills? Uh yeah. It’s going to get longer. Better. Everythinger.”

  He pulled out with a sharp stab of regret. Not ready to have lost what he’d so recently gained.

  “Let me just go clean up. I’ll be right back.”

  He realized as she got up what that meant. He’d marked her. Claimed her. And there was something so primally right about that fact that it made it hard to breathe.

  She appeared a minute later, pausing in the door, backlit by the room behind. Her body was curvier than the Himalayas and he wanted to spend the rest of his life discovering its hidden secrets.

  “I meant what I said. I’m falling in love with you.” The more he said it, the better it sounded.

  She drew closer and he took her hand, pulling her down on him. “And right now, since my dick’s not inside you, maybe you’ll hear me. I’m telling you plain. I know what I know. And what I got in my heart for you is the best of me. And I’m going to give it a name, and call it love, and I’m going to give it to you, because you are the best person I’ve ever known. I was lost and you found me.”

  “And I was lost and you found me.” Her lips trembled. “But this is fast.”

  “So? Do you care?”

  She laughed, breath catching. “Not as much as I should.”

  “When it’s right, who cares . . . it’s allowed to be right. It’s okay to find each other. I don’t want to be lost anymore.”

  “Me neither.” She bent to kiss him, her hair following around him this time, no longer a fan but a curtain, blocking out the world, until only two people existed.

  Him. Her. Him. Her. Two beats of a heart. Two bodies made one.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Patch was beneath her, six feet and who knew how many inches of big hard man. He claimed that he was falling in love with her. Had a man ever told her that? Yes, a few times. But she’d never felt the truth like she did tonight, a truth that resonated all the way down to her soul.

  He stirred against her, hardening again.

  Oh yeah. She grinned. She hadn’t been doling out false flattery when she said he was a natural.

  “Ready to go again?”

  His eyes drifted closed. “I don’t know how I’m ever supposed to stop.”

  She raised her hips and took him inch by slow inch, savoring the slide, sinking to the hilt. Her pussy was already primed from their
first attempt, her delicate folds slick, flushed with expectation.

  “You feel so good,” she murmured, smoothing back her hair from her face, riding him in a lazy rhythm.

  His hands found their way to her ass and he squeezed, kneading her muscle, deepening their rhythm.

  Her breath went weird, all hitchy and raspy. Need coiled deep within her, clenching every tender secret place.

  “I love doing this.” He sat up and her breasts pressed into the hard muscle of his chest, her nipples hard against his sweaty skin.

  She bit the damp, corded column of his thick neck and he let out a roar.

  Her arms and legs encircled him, holding on tight as he took over, hearing him growl how good she felt, how wet, how tight.

  She’d imagined she’d be the one setting the rhythm, acting as the teacher, but he was making all new rules and all she could do was hold on and let it happen. Her hands slid down his ribs, bracing either side of his chiseled obliques. Her back hit the headboard, her spine pressing into the wood, not enough to hurt but pinning her in place so that all she could do was go mindless, and give herself over to his relentless grind and her own driving need. Her sex was swollen, aching. He moved in ways she’d never known. Had never thought of. What they were building here was bigger. Bigger than anything.

  “I love doing this,” he growled, staring down at her with heavy-lidded eyes.

  “What a coincidence, because I love you.” There it was. And strangely enough, admitting the truth was the easiest thing in the world.

  Her words put him into high gear, dropped his guard. Nothing about what he did was restrained or gentle. She couldn’t begin to describe the feeling.

  “Thought we didn’t know each other well enough,” he snarled, rolling his hips, going deeper. It was impossible how deep he went. And still, there he was.

  “I know enough.” She bucked as he angled the length of his shaft over her clit. “Oh. God. I know.”

  His expression heated to the point she thought she could come from that alone.

  “Margot.”

  She’d never get tired of the way he said her name.

  He dropped his forehead to hers, his thrusts faster. Harder. An inexorable erotic pressure took her almost to breaking, and there it was, her orgasm right there, ripe for the taking, and for the first time in her life she didn’t rush to meet it head-on. Take it and run. She wanted to wait. To savor.

  “Come,” he growled as if reading her thoughts. “I got to give that to you.”

  “Not. Alone,” she managed to gasp.

  He pumped and rutted, until her clit pulsed. Until she could hear her own wetness, the syrup-like damp coating her inner thighs.

  “I told you to come,” he ordered.

  “With you.” She dug her fingers into his hair and pulled.

  There was a smack, a bite of flesh.

  She yelped. “You’re an ass-slapper, now?”

  “Give it to me,” he ordered, and the bossy man had her number.

  She gave in and gave up, biting down on his shoulder, tasting the salt, the sharp sweet tang of desire as pure sensation washed over her. And as it kept going she felt him unravel. His movements jerkier.

  Once, last year in Mexico, she’d been caught in a riptide and dragged out, the shore retreating. She knew not to fight, that to fight the current was to drown. So she let the rip carry her farther and farther and that’s how it was now. Except she never wanted it to run out, the feeling to ebb; she wanted him to keep taking her on this wave until they found a new shore, a place that was them and no one else.

  “Margot.” Her name was a prayer.

  And he reached down, pulled her closer, pulled her mouth to his.

  “I’ve waited my whole life for you.” He squeezed her fingers gently.

  “Tor is going to shit a brick when he finds out what we’ve done. And I’m not sure my friends are going to understand.”

  “It doesn’t matter what Coach thinks. Or anyone. If you are for me, who can be against me?”

  “That sounds almost religious.”

  “Romans. 8:31. With a few key modifications.”

  “Patrick.” She wiggled in closer. “You can’t quote the Bible while you’re still inside me.”

  “Don’t be a hypocrite, babe.” He tweaked her nipple, soothing the slight sting with a long, slow suck. “’Cause you were screaming for God the whole time.”

  “Jesus take the wheel!” She buried her face in his chest. “What will the neighbors think?”

  “Anybody asks, say ‘Prayer circle’ while looking ’em dead in the eye.”

  She dissolved into giggles, glad when he anchored his arms around her because it felt as if she could just float away. “You’re terrible.”

  He shifted against her, still inside, the hardest part of him in her softest place. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  She glanced up. His eyes were closed. The individual hairs of his beard were a fascinating mix. Honey. Tawny gold. Cinnamon. Amber.

  “Then don’t.”

  She let her own eyes drift closed, and as sleep tugged her down, she could swear that she spied a glimpse of that far-fabled shore.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Patch pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  “Mmmmm.” She burrowed into the pillows with a disoriented smile. “You smell like coffee.”

  “The best coffee.” He set a cup on her nightstand. “I made a Dunkin’ Donuts run.”

  “You’re kidding.” Her eyes flew open as she sprang to sit, glancing around in confusion. “When?”

  “While you were sleeping.” He smoothed back her hair. It did little to settle down the wild waves. She looked freshly fucked and he loved that he gave her that particular style.

  “How long have I been sleeping?” She yawned. “It’s like I’ve been in a time warp.”

  “You were out a solid couple hours. Snoring and everything.”

  “You’re joking.”

  He wasn’t. “It was cute.”

  Her brows smashed together. “Snoring is never cute.”

  He shrugged. “Is when you do it.”

  “I’m going to need a gallon of this stuff.” She turned and resolutely grabbed the paper cup, taking a long sip. “Yum. Cream and sugar.”

  “And a couple of maple cream donuts.” He set down the Dunkin’ box on the bed, opened the lid and peered inside. “Plus crumb cakes. Two Boston Crèmes, because of course. And the double-chocolate. My personal favorite.”

  She leaned down, staring at the glut with amazement. “You can’t think we’ll eat all that.”

  He scoffed. “What’s this about we? That’s my order.”

  This time it looked like her brows might just lift straight off her face.

  He burst out laughing. “Kidding, babe. Obviously you can have one.”

  “A regular comedian,” she muttered, reaching for a Boston Crème.

  They cuddled beneath the covers, feeding each other sweet dough. In the end, they indeed cleaned the box, famished from their exertions.

  “See this grin?” he said, glancing over. “I can’t kick it. ’Cause as good as it was to fuck you . . . this is even better, me, you, just hanging out—demolishing a dozen donuts in bed.”

  “I’d offer to let you eat a donut while riding you,” she joked. “But on second thought, that might be a fetish that’s too weird, even for me.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He took his time licking the frosting off her fingers. And it didn’t take long until he was licking her other places.

  Everywhere.

  The next week passed in a blur of hockey and Margot. Patch played a game at the home rink against Vegas. Luck ran out for Sin City’s season-long winning streak as the High Rollers were forced to give up three power play goals. Petrov scored two, one a chip shot from the side of the crease and another from the point. The defense worked together but Patch made the saves when they mattered, comfortable and well p
repared.

  As a team, they gelled again. The Hellions played clean, worked hard and smart, a lethal combo. But the real test was going to be the next game on Saturday night, when they went up against their biggest rivals, the San Francisco Renegades, a team who took no prisoners. The fans expected fights, and rarely went home disappointed.

  Tomorrow Patch had negotiations with Guy Footscray, who wasn’t going to just be contented with money. He wanted to turn the tables, blame Patch for what he had done.

  But for tonight, this moment, Patch wasn’t going to let that fucker bring him down. He’d done good. And had a hunch why.

  “Hey. Coach Can I talk to you?” he said as they were going to the locker room. “In your office. After I’m cleaned up.”

  “Sure, kid. See you there.”

  Thirty minutes later, he knocked on the door to Tor Gunnar’s office. Coach was his height, but not as broad. Still, something about Coach’s stony stare could put even the baddest badass down for the count. He called Patch kid, but wasn’t that old. Maybe forty.

  But for once, no frustrated frowns came at him from Coach’s direction. In fact, he reached out and clapped Patch on the back in greeting.

  “You’re making progress faster than I could have hoped.”

  Patch cleared his throat. “Thanks to Margot Kowalski.”

  “How’s that working? From where I’m standing it seems as if she might be your secret weapon.”

  Patch studied the photograph of Neve on Coach’s desk. “I’m in love with her.”

  A hush fell over the office. “What?”

  “I’m in love with Margot Kowalski. The yoga teacher.”

  “Shit. Thought that’s what you said. You’ve only known each other for what—not long enough.”

  “Really, Tor?” Neve Angel pushed through the door that had been opened a crack. She clicked her heeled boots briskly across the floor. “I hope you’re not mansplaining how long it takes for people to fall in love? Because I have it on good account that there was once a couple who fell in love over the course of a single weekend.”

  She braced her hands on the back of his big leather chair, and bent over to give him an affectionate kiss on the top of the head.