Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1)

by Samantha Wayland

  Above the litany of muffled sounds from Savannah was the hard slap of bodies, the rasping of panting breaths. Garrick’s heart raced. His balls drew up tight and hard to his body. He was close. Too close.

  He pinched her clit between his fingers and plucked it hard. Again and again. He fought to keep up with the twitch of her hips, rocking together in a rhythm designed to blow off the top of his head.

  But not without her.

  Her eyes fluttered and when they opened, they were no longer looking at him, but lower. He followed her gaze to his hand dipped between her spread legs, the hint of movement behind.

  Holding her against his chest, he stood straighter. Not enough to unbalance them but enough so that when he lifted his hand away from her clit, they could both see his cock driving in and out of her pussy.

  “Oh my god,” Savannah gasped. Her hips jerked, once, twice, then all those glorious muscles clamped down on his cock like she wanted to pull him up into her tight wet heat and keep him there forever.

  It was right where he wanted to be.

  With Savannah’s moan ringing in his ears, he slammed himself as deep as he could go and let the fire brewing in his balls consume him. His climax roared over his body, arching his spine, and tore a strangled howl from his lungs. His hips pumped uncontrollably against Savannah’s firm ass, bumping in tight circles until every ounce of his release had been yanked out of his body by hers.

  Chapter Eleven

  Savannah stared at the complete stranger in the mirror.

  Not Garrick. Indeed, he was becoming all too familiar a face in her life. But the woman with wild hair, glassy eyes, flushed face, and the strangest little smile on her face. Savannah had never seen her before.

  She tore her gaze away from the confusing sight when Garrick gently eased out of her body. She couldn’t contain the whimper of loss. God, how she loved the ache of really good sex. Mind-blowing sex. His lips twitched as he stumbled back, his legs as weak as hers, apparently. Another moan escaped as she slid her leg off the dresser.

  Not that it would be something she could indulge in again, but tonight had been…she was having a hard time coming up with anything other than amazing. She was also having a hard time reconciling the ache in her chest at the thought of him leaving.

  She shouldn’t ever do anything this stupid again. But since she’d done it, she couldn’t treat it like some fuck-and-go one night stand.

  When he returned from cleaning up in the bathroom, stark naked and a damn vision to behold, she took a long look.

  Six and a half feet of hard muscle, thick cock, curly brown hair going in every direction on his head, eyes that had turned from amber to chocolate in the mirror.

  He stopped and smiled. She laughed.

  He can be smug. He’s got a right. And I’m still looking.

  If he was the least bit disconcerted by her inspection, it didn’t show. He did, though, shift his weight to the left. His tell.

  “How’s your hip?”

  He scowled. “Fine.”

  She stared at it with narrowed eyes before studying his face. “Oh, yeah?”

  He sighed. “No, it’s sore. And not from sex. I will never be too old and broken for sex, goddamn it.”

  She chuckled and held out her hand. “Of course you won’t. I’m assuming it’s from your practice and conditioning today. No hot tub. Not enough ice?”

  He laced their fingers together and shrugged. “Probably.”

  “Definitely,” she said, towing him over to the bed. “Lie face down.”

  He looked at her for a moment before complying. She could imagine his thought process departing from argue with the meddlesome trainer and arriving at mostly naked woman asking me to her bed, say yes!

  While he folded down the sheets and got comfortable, she got completely naked. It wasn’t like the proverbial cat—or was that pussy?—wasn’t out of the bag.

  She grabbed lotion from her kit and climbed onto the bed and right over Garrick. He lay still, his cheek on his folded arms, and watched her over his shoulder. He didn’t ask what she was going to do, just let her perch naked on his gorgeous bare ass. She warmed some lotion in her palm then began working it into his back.

  By the time she got through his back, glutes, and thighs, he had his eyes screwed shut. The work on his hip had likely hurt, a lot, but he’d kept quiet after promising her he’d tell her if she hurt him “too much”. In hockey, that generally meant dismemberment and nothing less, so she wasn’t surprised he’d remained silent.

  She returned to his upper back and shoulders and methodically worked the lotion into his firm skin, soothing her palms over the broad expanse of his warm muscles. The smooth motions quieted her own jangled nerves and, for a time, she didn’t worry about what she’d done that night.

  Garrick clearly wasn’t worried about it either. His slow, deep breathing was the first hint, but it wasn’t until he made a soft snoring sound that she was certain he’d fallen fast asleep.

  She sat there, her naked ass once more perched on his, and stared at his handsome profile.

  It had been a mistake, but she didn’t regret it. She couldn’t repeat it, but she could live with it.

  She only hoped he could live with going back to being her friend. Just her friend.

  Though even she had to admit it was a singularly unsatisfying thought.

  Savannah woke to a pitch dark room and couldn’t remember where she was.

  Cape Breton Island. Sydney Harbor.

  Garrick.

  He was curled around her back, his face buried against her neck, his arm under her head put to use as her pillow. His other arm curled around her ribs, his big hand splayed across her belly. He was warm. Close. She had the insane urge to cuddle deeper under the covers and purr.

  She should have tossed him out of her room hours ago. Hell, she shouldn’t have let him in to begin with. Crawling into bed and pulling the covers over them had only been one more questionable decision in an evening loaded with them, and she didn’t give a shit. She was enjoying it for the approximately six hours it was going to last.

  She snuggled into the wall of heat at her back and settled her ass more firmly in the cup of Garrick’s lap. His soft cock brushed her butt cheek, and his coarse leg hair tickled the backs of her thighs.

  Six whole hours to feel like a normal woman, with a remarkably normal man, sharing a bed.

  The only question was, why were they wasting their six hours sleeping?

  Easing away from Garrick, she lifted her head off his arm and carefully rolled over. He reached for her, tried to hold on, but she urged his arm back to his side.

  His breaths were steady as she slid under the covers and ran her hand along his ribs, his hip, gently nudging him to roll over. He was less than halfway there when she reached her goal. Without further ado, she sucked his limp cock into her mouth.

  His breathing definitely changed then.

  “Oh my god, Savannah.”

  She smiled when he flopped onto his back. She worked her mouth over his cock, running her tongue over and under, around and around as it grew.

  She nuzzled the soft skin, pulled it with her lips, and let the edge of her teeth gently tug up under the crown. She loved giving head like this. From scratch, as she liked to think of it. To feel every physical manifestation of a man’s desire against her sensitive tongue and lips. To witness his control slip and eventually leave him all together. It was powerful. She wanted to give Garrick this gift, even as she took her own pleasure from it.

  Clearly, he was appreciating her gift quite a bit. His erection pressed against the roof of her mouth. At six foot five inches and two hundred and twenty pounds without an ounce of fat on him, proportional was a very happy thing. Her jaw would ache tomorrow and she looked forward to it.

  She planted her hands on his thighs to still his thrashing legs. His hips twitched, practically vibrating in her hold. She didn’t stop her careful ministrations when he tossed the covers off her and over
the end of the bed.

  She looked up at him, his thick shaft stretching her lips.

  His stare in return was satisfyingly wild-eyed.

  “I had to look. To see…” His words drifted off.

  She sucked harder and bobbed her head in a steady rhythm. Blood surged into his shaft, widening her jaw, straining her lips, and she hummed around him.

  “Fuck!” He threw his head back onto the pillow, his hands fisting in the sheet.

  She drew off him and smiled as she licked her way down his shaft and carefully massaged his sac with her tongue. She kept it gentle, waiting to see his reaction.

  He drew up one leg to give her better access.

  She accepted the gift of his trust and coaxed his entire ball sac into her mouth. Her lips gently tugged and her tongue rolled his testicles against the roof of her mouth.

  Garrick lifted his other leg and spread himself wide.

  Unfettered access. What more could a girl want?

  Releasing his balls, she returned to the base of his cock and worked her way up until she could tease the divot under the head with the tip of her tongue. He’d lasted longer than most men would without forcing her to wrap a hand around him to guide him as she wished, but now his hips bucked without control and she curled her fingers around his thick shaft.

  God, it had felt good as he’d slowly worked his way into her body. He was big enough, and she’d been celibate long enough, that he’d had to fight for every inch. The stretch had been amazing. But not as incredible as when he’d fucked her properly, how they’d crashed into one another, his hot voice in her ear telling her she was beautiful.

  And she’d felt beautiful. Like she could have done anything—screamed, yelled, beat her fist against the wall—and he would have been delighted with it.

  Rick, her boss, his coach, and the man just one thin hotel wall away, might not have been as happy. So they’d kept the noise as contained as they could manage, but the rest had been no holds barred.

  She’d done it wholeheartedly, she thought as she swirled her tongue around the head of his penis, enjoying his mumbled praise.

  Grace would be so proud. Too bad she was never going to tell her friend a damn thing about it. There would be no end to the haranguing about being with Garrick more than once.

  Not possible.

  She closed her eyes against a wish she wasn’t going to bother making and plunged down on Garrick, taking as much of him as she could into her mouth before retreating with a tremendous upward suck.

  He roared his approval so she did it again and again, stopping on the retreat to tease the flange, or tickle the tip of her tongue into the little hole. He definitely preferred when she focused on the divot, but she kept trading them off.

  She wanted this to last. She wanted him to stagger out of her room on weak knees and with his eyes still mostly rolled back in his head. She couldn’t offer him anything more than this one night but, goddamn, she wanted it to be memorable.

  Her hand followed her lips up and down his shaft, twisting and untwisting. His knuckles were white where they gripped the sheet. His breath rasped in and out of his lungs in gusts. She stroked the fingers of her free hand over his sac, finding it high and tight. When the cadence of his moan, the tenor of his voice when he said her name again was just a little higher, she gave his balls a firm tug.

  His moan was choked off and his eyes snapped open.

  “I’m not done with you yet,” she said, surprised by the husky timbre of her voice. She’d always thought vixens had to practice to achieve that. Turned out, it was all about the motivation.

  His eyes drooped, heavy as he stared at her face hovering above his glistening cock. A bead of pre-come pearled on the tip as her hand continued its relentless rhythm.

  She leaned in and licked the little drop away. His narrow stare, the parted lips were all as she had expected. The quirked lip on one side, the tiny smile, was pure Garrick.

  Another pearl of pre-come appeared immediately.

  Her tongue darted out for that one too.

  Her hand pumped steadily while she licked spots here and there around it. The divot got another tickle. She traced a vein from root to crown with the tip of her tongue, then danced the broad flat around the soft velvety head. The tang of his pre-come grew stronger, more frequent, as it continued to leak.

  He showed admirable restraint. The quiver in his thighs was the only betrayal of the amount of control he was exerting over his body.

  Which didn’t seem right at all.

  She took him fast and held him deep, using her hand to cover the rest. She wished she could take him deeper, deep throat him, but her gag reflex would never let her even close.

  She decided to try something different.

  Setting up a steady rhythm of plunge and retreat, lick and suck, she started him on the climb to his release. She didn’t have long, she could tell. She slipped one finger into her mouth alongside his cock for one round trip, then ran her fingers over his sac again. She didn’t tease, tug, or even test their weight—though it was tempting—but kept going, dropping her hand lower to press her wet finger against the seam beneath.

  “Yes. Savannah, yes!”

  He didn’t have to ask twice. She rubbed the tight skin of his perineum, massaging gently.

  His arms flew over his head to clutch the headboard as he writhed against her finger and thrust up into her hand and mouth.

  One, two, three frantic jerks and he hit the peak, his body shaking with the force of his climax. His cock pulsed long jets of come into her waiting mouth. She took it all as he quaked beneath her, his face smashed to his arm, his mouth open, gasping for air between long moans.

  She rejoiced in every long, drawn-out stroke until he collapsed back against the bed, then she sat and watched him try to pull his shit back together. She glanced over at the clock.

  4:25 AM.

  Still time for a little more sleep. Would it be totally shameless if she asked him to spoon himself around her again?

  She smiled as she dragged the bedding up off the floor and over them, nudging his shoulder until he scooted back down in the bed where he belonged. With a sigh, she wriggled backwards until her ass was planted in his lap, and then wrapped his arms around her.

  Who cares about shameless?

  Garrick preferred her that way, anyhow.

  Chapter Twelve

  The first hints of light peeked around the edges of Savannah’s hotel room curtains and Garrick’s arms tightened around her even while he accepted the truth. It was time for him to go.

  Not that he had any desire to leave. He’d have gladly stayed right where he was until they had to run to catch the bus to the arena.

  But he wasn’t foolish enough to ask for that. He wasn’t even hopeful enough to try to make love to her again this morning. The sun was coming over the horizon and their team mates, and Rick right next door, would soon stir.

  He looked down at Savannah and smiled. Her face was pressed to his chest, her hand curling over his right pectoral muscle like she was feeling him up. His chuckle shook her, but she remained asleep. Giving a man a mind-altering blow job in the middle of the night was no doubt exhausting work.

  He’d never stop thinking about—dreaming about—last night. Nor would he stop feeling guilty for allowing her to tuck them both back under the covers and promptly falling back to sleep.

  He could have spent the rest of the night giving her a taste of her own wicked medicine. He should have spent the rest of the night memorizing everything he could about her.

  Her eyes eased open. Her sleepy smile made heat curl low in his belly. Then she glanced at her bedside clock.

  “Shit!” She bolted upright.

  He rose more slowly, sliding from the bed as he did. She put out a hand to stop him.

  “You have to go.”

  “I know.” Even though it sucked.

  It wouldn’t be easy to convince Savannah to let this happen again—no way was he going to giv
e her any fodder for her arguments against it. It was critically important he get the hell out of this room and back to his without being seen by anyone on the team.

  He got up and tugged on his clothes, trying to pull himself together and not look like he was doing the walk of shame.

  Grey flannel slacks and a sports coat at 6:15 AM. Yeah, who am I kidding?

  He turned back to Savannah sitting in the middle of the bed, the covers pooled on her lap, her hair in wild disarray around her face. Leaving just might kill him. He congratulated himself on his supreme control as he backed away from the bed.

  “I’ll see you later? On the bus or at the arena?”

  Her brows knitted. “Yes. Come early, so I can stretch your hip and groin, okay?”

  He thought about arguing, but he wanted to see her and his hip was sore. Though probably not as much as it would have hurt if she hadn’t given him that massage. And maybe the blow job. Everything in the world hurt less after that.

  “Okay, I’ll see you there.” There was so much more he wanted to say.

  The sound of a slamming door down the hall was like a gun shot in the room.

  Without another word he turned and left, checking the hallway before speed walking to the nearest exit and running up the two flights of stairs. He checked his hallway, too, before sprinting the length of the corridor, not releasing his breath until he shut his door behind him and locked himself into his virtually untouched hotel room. He’d changed in here last night without so much as sitting on the bed.

  He should probably get more sleep, but was too twitchy to go to bed. Instead he changed into his most comfortable workout clothes and set up his laptop at the small desk in the corner.

  He had a brilliant plan. He would see Savannah at the arena later today and act as though absolutely nothing had happened.

  It was the only way to prove it was possible to have earth-shattering sex with him and not have a single person treat her one iota differently. No one had to know except the two of them. And if it worked once, maybe he could convince her it was safe to do it again.