Game On (Hometown Players Book 6)

by Victoria Denault

  “I don’t know how to be a boyfriend, Brie.” The look of pure confusion on his face would be comical if we were still talking about dishwashers. But we’re talking about feelings here. “The only thing I’ve ever committed to was hockey and even it tried to reject me. Hell, in a way every time I get traded I feel like it still is. But it’s a thing, not a person, and I can force hockey to stay in my life simply by working harder and finding my niche. Right now I’m a third line center. Then I’ll be a fourth line. Then I’ll find a coaching job somewhere. Hockey is staying in my life whether it likes it or not. It doesn’t have a choice, but you do.”

  I start to walk back into the kitchen as he turns away from me to look out the window. “People who have had the choice to keep me in their lives never have.”

  Thank God he’s turned away because I actually press my palm to my heart at that statement to keep it from cracking. Holy shit. I have no idea how anyone would walk away from him—the man and his big, broken heart—because what I want to do is run to him. “Give me that choice and I’ll change that track record.”

  He grunts at that and turns back to face me. His smile is weary, his eyes filled with disbelief. “You’re this amazing, stubborn, gorgeous woman who wants more than the one thing I know I can give. And as much as I suddenly, for the first time in my life, want to try and give more, I’m also so fucking clueless as to how.”

  I walk right up to him so we’re toe to toe. “You want to know how? You just do it. You let me in. You take the chance, like you do every time you step onto the ice. You don’t know if you’ll win or lose, but you play the game anyway and you take the shots on net even if you don’t know if you’re going to score. So tell me you want this. Take the shot.”

  He nuzzles my hand and but then turns his face and kisses my palm. When he turns back to me he looks so serious it’s startling. “I want this.”

  I feel my smile from my toes to the roots of my hair. “Game on?”

  He smiles back, raw but darkly playful. “Game on.”

  I step into him and up onto my toes and then I use my hand to guide his face down to mine. When our lips connect again it’s as perfect and sensuous as it was last time. Except this time, he has no hesitation. He quickly takes control and uses his lips to open my mouth and slip his tongue inside.

  He holds my head, hands tangling in my hair and pushes me until I’m pressed against the island. All I feel is his hard, warm body pressed into me, the urgent push of his tongue against mine and the gentle but forceful tug of his hands in my hair.

  But I also feel the hesitation start to seep back in. His tongue pulls away, his lips start to leave mine and his fingers start to slip out of my hair. I circle his neck with my arms and hold him in place. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

  “I’m not just going to kiss you.”

  “Good.”

  The next several minutes we’re like horny teenagers in a dark corner of the prom—making out, groping, grinding. He grabs my hips and lifts me like I’m made of paper, dropping my ass on his island. He pushes my knees apart as his perfect and skilled mouth finds its way to my neck. Holy shit, the roughness of his stubble and the softness of his mouth together, at once, are sending direct pulses of pleasure to my clit.

  I tip my head to give him better access. My God, I had no idea someone’s lips on my neck could feel like this. I feel his teeth gently tug my earlobe. I reach for the bottom of his shirt and start undoing the buttons as fast as my fingers can. I’m quaking with anticipation. I want to feel his skin against mine. With every button I undo, I pause and touch the skin exposed. His stomach is warm and hard and my fingertips graze over his treasure trail. It makes him suck harder on the skin just above my collarbone, which then makes me arch my back.

  He moves his hands around my lower back and under the hem of my sweater. I feel his palms splay out across my back, warm and strong. He yanks me closer, to the edge of the counter and I panic he might be pulling me off the counter and to my feet—and be ending this. So I wrap my legs around his waist, keeping both of us in place. I manage to get the last button on his shirt undone and slip my hands inside it, wrapping them around his back

  We’re hugging now—tightly—and it feels overwhelmingly right. I’m flooded with warm contentment, security and affection. But also lust. The feel of his skin, pressed against me, even through my sweater is intoxicating. I need more of it. I pull away only enough to be able to take off my sweater. I drop it to the floor next to the island and cup the back of his head and claim his mouth again.

  His hands slide down my back, stopping to unhook my bra, and then continue lower to cup the top of my ass and hold me on the edge of the counter. His hips shift forward, pressing into me, and I can feel he’s thick and long and so incredibly hard. “You want me.”

  I didn’t mean to say it and I definitely didn’t want it to sound so damn surprised. He pulls back and covers the side of my jaw with his palm and says in more of a growl than a whisper, “I want you.”

  “I want you too.” I move my shoulder, my bra straps slipping down my arms. His gaze slips with them, from my face down to my bare breasts. The weight of his stare makes my skin prickle and my nipples raise. He cups them, running his thumbs over them before he kisses and sucks each. My hands curl in his hair and my head falls back.

  He’s worshipping me, there’s no other word for it, and I get why this man has women swooning. He is pure desire, lust and sex. Everything he does makes me feel sensual and sexy and fills me with hunger.

  I slip my hands over his shoulders, pushing his shirt off him and onto the floor. He lifts his face from my breasts and covers my mouth with his. His hands move to grab my ass and, because my legs are still hooked behind his back, he easily lifts me off the counter and starts walking us back to his bed. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck so our torsos are pressed into each other and I can feel all his delicious skin. I can’t get enough contact. I want to touch him every second, everywhere. So I tell him.

  “I want to touch you too,” he confesses. “Everywhere.”

  The idea of him everywhere…oh God. I swear I’m on the edge of an orgasm just thinking about it. As soon as we enter the bedroom nook, he reaches out with one hand, still holding me up with the other, and hits a panel on the wall. All the lights in the apartment turn off but his nightlights kick in. Between those and the lights twinkling in from the cityscape beyond the curtain less windows it’s still easy to see everything. I’m grateful because I don’t want to miss anything.

  He climbs onto his bed and lays me down in the middle of it. He slowly, forcefully grinds his cock between my legs as he comes down on top of me. It’s powerful and instinctive. I have never felt so visceral about a sexual connection before. I’ve had good sex, loving sex, hot sex, but this…this is a whole new level.

  He’s kissing his way down my body and by the time he reaches my belly button, his fingers have managed to do undo my jeans and are pulling them down—along with my underwear.

  His mouth follows his hands, nipping my hip, kissing the inside of my thigh, the side of my knee. He tugs everything fully off, removes my socks and drops them at the foot of the bed. And then, kneeling between my ankles, he starts to undo his own jeans. He’s not wearing underwear and his cock is on full display before his pants make it halfway down his thighs. It’s long and thick, and suddenly all his swagger is justified. The man is well endowed, to say the least. He stands up at the foot of the bed to kick off his jeans and his left hand wraps around his cock. I’m sure his eyes are roaming my naked body but I don’t look up to find out. I’m glued to the way he grips himself, slowly stroking, almost absently.

  Before he realizes what I’m doing—hell, before I fully comprehend what I’m doing—I’m on my knees in front of him, my hand curled around his and my lips at the tip of his cock. I lick away the droplet of desire there, then slide down his length. I feel his whole body tighten instantly and his legs quake.

  “Brie…baby.
”

  I slip my mouth back and forth a few times, swirling my tongue around him as I go, but that’s all I get—a few quick moments—and then he’s stepping away from me.

  “Was it not…?”

  “It was too good,” he tells me. “I won’t let this end before it begins, ma belle. I can’t.”

  He turns away from me, toward the dresser and that’s when I see the tattoo for the first time. It starts at the base of his spine and climbs all the way up stopping just below his neck. A tree. It’s got gnarled roots, curled, crooked branches and it’s barren—leafless—except for the very tip of the top branch on the left, just over his shoulder blade. There’s one, small leaf dangling off the end of the branch.

  It’s beautiful, in its design and detail but it’s also sad. Haunted. He turns from the dresser leaving the drawer open and holds up the condom, tearing it with his teeth as he walks toward me. And then we’re kneeling, inches from each other, face-to-face on the bed. As he slips his hands between us, he leans forward and kisses me. It’s hard and yet needy. He must have the condom on because now his one hand is on my hip and his other is between my legs. A finger slides slowly across my opening.

  “So warm and soft,” he whispers against my lips. He pushes two fingers inside me curling them toward himself and I instantly gasp. “You’re going to feel incredible.”

  “You already do,” I pant as he pulls his fingers out a little and pushes back in curling them again at the right moment, the right way, so I see stars.

  “Lay back,” he demands pushing into me so gravity helps me obey his command. I’m flat on my back now and he’s still kneeling between my legs, his fingers still working magic. When he pulls them out I whimper. I watch wide eyed as he brings his fingers to his mouth and tastes me. He closes his eyes and makes a sound of pure satisfaction that sends heat crawling up my face. No man has done that with me before and it’s so fucking erotic it makes me hotter.

  He lies on top of me, one hand beside my head the other somewhere lower. Then I feel him slipping over my opening. I open my legs farther and reach up and grip his shoulders.

  He’s inside me in one long slow push. I feel deliciously full, like every nerve ending is suddenly short-circuiting. I twist my hips and arch my back, my hands stretching out above me. He drops his full weight onto me and immediately begins moving his hips. His pace is unexpected—slow, rough and deep. He grabs one of my legs under the knee and pulls it up, twisting his hips a different way and that spot he was hitting with his fingers he’s now hitting with his cock, and I moan out his name.

  He likes that and lets out a growl before he bites my shoulder. Every thrust his cock is creating shoots stars of heat through my entire body and then finally, I’m falling too, just like a star, cascading into orgasmic oblivion. I am not a loud partner. I’ve honestly never let out more than a coo. But tonight—here with this man—I am moaning and panting and begging him for more even though I can no longer feel my body.

  He pulls himself up on his knees, yanking my ass into his lap and holding me still by my hips as he pushes harder, faster, deeper and then a groan rumbles out of him as he comes. His fingers grip my hips so tight I’ll probably have marks, and I like that idea. That his fingers will leave their imprint on my body the way his soul seems to be leaving an imprint on my heart.

  Chapter 17

  Alex

  What the fuck just happened? My head is spinning like I just got off a Tilt-A-Whirl. Is this real life? I’m in a relationship. Me. Someone wants me and I want her and this is happening. My heartbeat hammers and my limbs tingle from my orgasm. Brie looks euphoric and beautiful. I feel like I’m dreaming because this can’t be real.

  This wasn’t my storyline. I’m the guest star in life, not the romantic lead. I’ve never had sex with someone like her—someone who doesn’t put on a show. There were no fake noises or overblown words of encouragement. More than that, I’ve never had sex with someone who knows me like she does. I’ve told her things I’ve told no one. I was real. The sex was real. And it was amazing.

  I reach over and brush back a lock of her long, silky hair. “That was incredible,” she says softly.

  “You’re amazing,” I reply. She gives me the warmest, sweetest smile. I lean over and kiss her, long and deep. And then I sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed and pull off the condom. As I tie it and lean forward to toss in the wastebasket, I feel her fingertips on my back. She’s tracing the lines of my tattoo and I try not to tense. I hate when people touch it.

  “There’re bumps…”

  That’s why I tense. I hate talking about it. So I never do. I lie. I am dreading lying to her so I don’t answer. I just close my eyes and enjoy the feel of her fingers fluttering over my back. I feel her thumb glide over another scar.

  The bed dips behind me and I know she’s moving closer to examine it. I force myself not to sigh. God, I hate this. “Are they scars?”

  “Uh-huh,” I grunt more than speak. “Hockey scars.”

  I lie to her like I lie to everyone. But this time it bothers me. Still I’m overwhelmed with everything that’s already happened tonight. I can’t add this truth to the pile I’ve already unloaded. Even if she thinks she can handle it, I know I can’t.

  “Really?”

  I turn and lie down beside her again. Closing my eyes, I take her hand and run her fingers along my cheek by my eye, where I have an actual hockey scar and down to my chin where I have another one. “I’m full of scars.”

  “Scars are badges of honor,” she says softly. I’ve let go of her hand, her fingertips still drift over my scars, and it’s soothing. “It’s proof something or someone tried to break you and failed.”

  My eyes flutter open and find hers. She’s looking at me with compassion and something else. Something I’m not ready to see. Like I said, I’ve faced too many truths tonight as it is. So I give her one of my best snarky smiles. “Where did you hear that? Fortune cookie or yoga class?”

  She blinks and for second I think she might be offended, but then she grins. “Pinterest.”

  I laugh. She laughs with me, dropping her head onto my chest. This is good—being here with her. It feels right in ways I can’t remember ever feeling with a woman before. But I still can’t let her spend the night. I still don’t want to risk subjecting her to what could happen if I have another nightmare. As our laughter dies, I start to worry about how I can get her to leave without offending her. I really don’t want her to be upset. I don’t want her to think I’m treating her like a booty call because we’ve already promised each other it isn’t.

  Luckily after a few minutes of me running my hands through her long, soft hair and her drawing circles on my chest she lifts her head and looks at the clock beside my bed and her face clouds over a little. “I should get home.”

  “Okay,” I say quietly, trying not to sound relieved.

  Our eyes meet and she looks curious. “You’re used to women running out after you give them incredible orgasms?”

  I grin at the word incredible. “I usually have such a busy schedule that I don’t tend to have sleepovers.”

  “That’s a polite way of saying you kick them to the curb.”

  “You’re not any woman. You’re my girlfriend. I am not going to kick you to the curb.” But please leave because I’m not ready to tell you about the nightmares.

  She smiles so beautifully it makes it hard to breathe. And then she kisses me, making breathing impossible. “I’m your girlfriend,” she repeats and then her expression sobers. “And I have to leave because Len is at my place with Mac, and I promised I wouldn’t be late.”

  “Is it still going well?” I ask.

  “It is except she hates school and she skipped yesterday. She says she started to feel sick on her way there, so she came home. But she didn’t tell me and when the school called, I freaked out thinking she’d run away.” Her brows pinch and she frowns at the memory. “I rushed home and found her eating a bag of chips and
channel surfing and we had a huge fight. She hates school and says she has no friends and she’s too far behind and wants to drop out.”

  “She’s too young to drop out,” I state the obvious. “And the judge isn’t going to let her live at Daphne’s if she’s not in school.”

  “I told her all that, so she agreed to a tutor,” Brie confirms as she gets out of bed and starts to get dressed. I have an overwhelming urge to stop her and pull her back into bed and have sex with her again, but I know I can’t. “A bunch of teachers come to Daphne’s twice a week to do group tutoring sessions. Rose is actually joining this week and so Mackenzie will go to that. Even though she’s already complaining about it.”

  I groan. “She’s her own worst enemy.”

  “We all were at her age. She’s just being a kid.” Brie pulls on the last of her clothing, then smooths her hair.

  “You’re going above and beyond for her.”

  “She’s special to someone who is special to me.”

  Her words make me feel warm and my chest feel tight—in a good way. It’s the most surreal feeling ever.

  “And honestly, she’s a special kid. I really like her. She reminds me of me when I was her age. There are rough edges, sure, but there’s a diamond in there waiting to shine.”

  I want to laugh at that. “Pinterest again?”

  She grins. “Motivational poster at my dentist’s office.”

  I get out of bed and follow her into the main living area. She’s walking a little in front of me, so I put my hands on her waist and nuzzle the side of her neck.

  “I’m sorry I acted like you were a one-percent, puddle-deep rich girl,” I whisper against her skin. “You’re clearly more than that.”

  “I’m a hell of a lot more than that,” she replies. She grabs her purse off the floor where she dropped it and her coat off the back of one of the bar stools and walks slowly to the door. I follow beside her and she glances down. “You know you’re still buck naked in a Manhattan apartment with no curtains. And you’re half hard.”