by Mia Downing
“What about your back?” She raked her nails up his spine, digging into his shoulders.
“God, yes.” It was just the right amount of pain to drive him close to the brink. He kissed her again, then slid his mouth to her neck to nuzzle there, his breathing ragged. From the tightening in his balls, he knew he wouldn’t last long at this pace, and judging from the quivering spasms of her tight pussy around his cock, she was very, very close as well.
“Harder,” she whispered.
He obliged. Her pussy was like silken heat around his shaft. Within seconds, she stiffened, her pussy clenching around his cock, her thighs clamped on his hips. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to come, sinking deeper into her depths, her inner muscles milking his length. He stilled to enjoy the moment—her salty sweat on his tongue, her heavy breathing in his ear, the way she molded into his arms, against his body. This was the beginning of something special—he could feel it. But did she feel it, too? He didn’t dare ask.
He put a hand on the table to push himself onto one hip to spare her from his weight. He grinned down at her. “Well?”
She smiled back softly, her face glowing from the pleasure he’d given her. “I think you could use a little more practice. I had to urge you along at the end.”
“Only if you practice with me,” he whispered. He dropped a kiss to her nose, then each closed eyelid. He groaned and slid from her, standing, then extending a hand to help her up as well. “Where’s your bathroom?” When she opened her mouth, he shook his head. “Your bathroom.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to freshen up, and you need a bath.”
She gave him a mulish look, one that hid something else. “I’m not a kid. I can draw my own bath.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me filling the tub for you before I leave. You’re new to all of this. Trust me—a bath is just what you need.”
“If you say so,” she said on an exasperated sigh.
But as he left the kitchen, following the direction she pointed, he realized he had stumbled upon the path of seduction he needed to take to win her heart. She needed to be lured, but made to think it was her idea, that he was exactly what she wanted. He wasn’t used to a woman who needed to be in control—he usually did the controlling. But if it meant he’d win her in the end, he’d do whatever it would take.
****
Megan leaned back into the tub, hating to admit this soak was exactly what she needed. Damn the man for being right. After the glow of her orgasm passed, her muscles had begun to tense up in places she never realized she’d used to seduce him.
Adam. Even now, after two orgasms, thinking his name made her belly flutter with lust. She had expected to use him and be done. Maybe they’d tangle again, but he was a player—didn’t they move on fairly quickly? But he talked of sex, outside, in the spring, like he had no intention of picking up camp and moving on to a new conquest. She couldn’t see him wanting to settle with her. She wasn’t his type. But could she be wrong?
She ran the washcloth up her leg, remembering the path his tongue had taken, following that sinful spear of pineapple. God, had she really let him do that to her? She swallowed a lump of embarrassment coated with lust and tossed the cloth aside. She’d talked of such naughty, wicked things, told him more than she’d ever told anyone in her life. Part of her feared he’d return to do them to her. Part of her feared he wouldn’t return at all, to finish what she had started. Which would be harder to live with?
“Oh, Megan,” she whispered, her voice echoing on the damp walls. He had gone home after he’d filled the bath and dropped a quick kiss to her lips. He claimed his dog waited for him. Did players own dogs just to have a reason to go? That wasn’t fair. There was no way she would have allowed him to stay, anyway. She was nothing more than a petty bitch, wanting something unobtainable. Yet it bothered her, damn it.
You can’t have it both ways. The voice inside her head was a little too truthful for her tastes. He promised you tomorrow. Maybe you’ll be brave enough then.
She frowned. Maybe. But he had to call first. She wasn’t going to chase him any further—she had gotten what she wanted.
Or had she?
Chapter Four
Adam didn’t exactly call Megan the next morning—he texted. Be ready before lunch. Dress warm.
“Really? You can’t call? Really?” Megan rankled at her cell phone, yet a part of her dared to feel giddy at the prospect. If he had called, would she have found a way to beg off, just to take the easy way out? Either he knew this or he was an ass, so sure she’d jump to see him again, that he didn’t feel the need to inquire about her day’s schedule.
Oh, shut up, the giddy part of her said. It was ten, and he’d be here any time. It was before lunch in some country, right?
“Dress warm,” she muttered, going through her drawers for long underwear and a turtleneck. That meant they were leaving. Where? It was January in Connecticut. Besides, no commitment meant they didn’t leave, didn’t go places. Didn’t it? What part of “no commitment” didn’t the man whore get? But that giddy part of her gave a squee of joy at the prospect of being in public with him, on his arm.
She closed her eyes to center herself, to bring back the serenity. “He needs to read the manual. Seriously.”
Then he knocked at the door and shattered any peace she’d gained in her moment of centering. Immediately, her senses went on full arousal, her skin tingling, need plucking that string that connected her nipples to her pussy. She drew in a breath and strode to the door—not too quickly, one didn’t want to seem eager. The door opened on a breath of frozen January air and a chilly Adam.
“You ready?” he asked, rubbing his gloved hands together as he slid into her foyer. He looked very fine in a pair of jeans, a charcoal gray sweater and a blue, striped scarf that matched his eyes. He must have left his coat in the car.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe.”
He crooked a brow.
“Depends on where you are taking me.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Skating.”
“Skating?”
“Yes, boots with blades, frozen water that looks like glass. That sort of thing. If you’re well-behaved, I’ll buy you a hot dog after. You game?”
Oh, the man didn’t play fair. She hadn’t skated in years. “Yes, I’ll go.”
“Can you skate?”
“I can.” She hid a grin. She had taken lessons, had competed in middle school and her freshman/sophomore years in high school. She hadn’t been good enough to go on to the Olympics, but she was good, and the thought of hitting the ice again gave her a quiver of longing and joy. “Can you?”
“I played hockey in high school. Go Spartans.” He raised his index finger in a weak cheer.
That surprised her. He didn’t look the type. But then, nothing he did or said seemed to be on track with what she thought. She gestured toward her bedroom. “I have my own skates. Can I get them?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you in the car.”
Several minutes later, they were speeding out into the country, away from the hustle and bustle of New Haven. “Where are we going?” She didn’t know where all the rinks were located, but none she remembered were in this area.
“It’s a surprise.” He grinned over at her. “One I think you’ll like.”
They talked about the music on the radio, filling the time, and a bit later, they pulled down a long driveway to a white farmhouse. A dog barked from inside, and he parked the car in front of an old barn. He got out of the car, and she followed him to the side door of the house, unsure. “Where are we,” she asked.
“My family’s farm. Don’t worry, no one is here. Just me.” He smiled at her. “And now you.” He opened the door to the house, and a light yellow blur flashed out. “And Sadie.”
“Hi, Sadie,” she crooned to the wiggling, yellow Labrador. The dog licked her face and then trotted off, so she stood, wiping her hands on her thighs. “So how are we skating here?”
“You’ll see.” He took her hand and led her to a path that started at the side of the barn. Sadie led the way, her tail wagging, nose to the snow-covered trail that had been shoveled recently. A moment later, on the other side of an old split rail fence, she saw the surprise.
A small, cleared pond was nestled between banks of neatly piled snow. A hockey net waited at one end, with two hockey sticks planted in the snow near it. He’d even taken the time to pull a bench to the bank so they could sit and put on their skates.
“You did this? For me?”
“Well, no. I did this for me, but it’s no fun to skate alone.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the look on his face pricelessly boyish. “Do you like it?”
“I think it’s…” Wonderful. She looked away from his gaze so he couldn’t see the bittersweet emotions she knew her expression would show. She could almost taste the ice, she wanted it so badly. At this moment, she wanted it more than she had ever wanted him. But she couldn’t seem too eager. Guys didn’t like that. “It’s very nice.”
He laughed. “Oh, woman, what will it take to get something more enthusiastic from you?”
“Score a hat trick on me, and perhaps you’ll get more.”
“You can skate.” He grinned.
“Maybe a little.” She shrugged and sat on the bench, working at the laces of her skates, her fingers fumbling with knots that should have been easy for her. Her feet found heaven in the soles of her skate boot, and she almost sobbed with joy. Why had she given up skating? So stupid to walk away then, but she’d been so young, and Mark…
Megan closed her eyes on the pain, the shame he’d made her feel, robbing her of the thing she loved most at that time. But she hadn’t felt comfortable after he ruined her, knowing men were looking at her in those skimpy skating outfits. They might have been thinking of her in the same way.
She slid on the second boot and laced it up—not too tight. Anger bubbled up as she tied the ends in a double knot and tucked them just so. That bastard had devastated her in more ways than just sexually. She never realized the power he’d had over her, still had, until now. She glanced at Adam, who was lacing his own black hockey skates, his face ruggedly beautiful in the sunlight. She had given up a lot, hadn’t she? It was time to take back another area of her life.
She stood, slapped Adam on the arm, and cocked her head toward the ice. “You’re on, hockey boy. Let’s see what you can do.”
****
Megan’s double jump on the ice—his ice—was almost as sweet as that first orgasm he’d given her. Adam grinned as she flowed across the pond, breathlessly beautiful, seamless in her movements even though he sensed it had been years since she’d skated. She stopped and spun, one of those dizzying feats that would leave a normal person barfing rink-side. But not Megan—she spun one way, then the other, her arms twisting sinuously over her head.
After he had filled her bath and tucked her into it, he’d taken a moment to snoop around her apartment. He had scanned the photos and found one in her bedroom of her as a teen in a red skater’s outfit, a gold medal draped over one corner. And had known immediately what he could do to win her over.
What he hadn’t realized was what skating had meant to her, not until he saw the look on her face when he invited her to skate with him. It was akin to the look she had given him when he had pulled her toward him at the kitchen table—disbelief mixed with hope, wonder mixed with distrust.
And after a few moments of watching her on the ice, it didn’t take much to make the leap into thinking she’d given up skating after that bastard raped her. He was humbled to give her such a special gift, especially after seeing the glow of joy on her face as she zoomed toward the hockey net.
Then she was in front of him, both sticks in hand, sliding into a hockey stop, spraying ice up his leg. “What are you waiting for, hockey boy? Afraid I’ll kick your ass?”
She tossed a stick to him and he caught it. The mischief in her eyes made him laugh as he brushed the snow from his jeans. “You may be the ice princess, but I was starting center. I can take you.”
She flashed him a sassy grin. “Winner gets to call the shots in bed,” she called over her shoulder, power skating down rink.
Adam pushed off onto the ice, his eyes drinking in her shapely ass. He was as competitive as the next man, but there was no way he was winning this one. Not today. Tomorrow, there would be a rematch. But today, he was going to lose very graciously.
****
Later, Megan laughed at his joke as he handed her a cup of hot chocolate, warming her chilled hands with the mug. They had had so much fun skating. He really was good, for a hockey boy.
But she didn’t feel as triumphant as she should over her win. She was still suspicious of the groan and following limp of pain that had overcome him, allowing her to score one up. Especially since he now had no problem climbing over the dog to sit next to her on the couch. Trick knee, my ass.
“Having fun?” he asked over his mug, his thigh brushing hers.
“It’d be better if you had mini marshmallows,” she said with mock distain.
He laughed. “Not the cocoa. The skating.”
The skating had been divine. Like him. But she couldn’t tell him that, so she sipped her cocoa and pursed her lips at him, thinking. “I’m saddened.”
His look turned serious. “Why so?”
“I won’t get my prize.” At his curious look, she explained, “Winner gets to call the shots. I won, but you have a bad knee. I can’t see torturing you on behalf of my pleasure.”
His eyes darkened with lust. “God, woman, torture me, please.”
She set down her mug and curled her legs around underneath her, pushing her closer to him. “You sure? I wouldn’t want you to sue me. I hear you know a really good lawyer. He’s a shark in court.”
“There isn’t a judge in the world that would side with me if I sued you for this.” He put his cup on the coffee table and sat back, waiting. “Bring on the torture.”
She touched his cheek then ran her fingers the length of his jaw, enjoying the smoother feel of his shaved face. The feelings were still too new, her bravado too weak to sustain her for very long. “I get to call the shots, but I don’t know where to begin.”
“Kissing is always nice,” he offered.
She leaned in and let her lips brush his, her eyes fluttering closed. He tasted of cocoa and cream, smelled of his musky cologne. She touched her tongue to his mouth, willing him to open to her and he complied, but he didn’t take control like she thought he would. She broke the kiss and sat back on her heels, puzzled. “You’re not putting much effort into this.”
His brows flew up. “I didn’t think I was allowed to.”
“Getting to call the shots doesn’t mean I do all the work.” Really. Take a man whore from his element and he turned pathetically lazy. She tapped his lips with her finger. “I’m going to kiss you again, and this time, you need to participate.”
She lowered her mouth to his, and he stopped her with a raised finger. “Can I offer a suggestion?”
“If you must.”
“It’s hard to kiss you at that angle. Maybe you could sit on my lap.” He patted his thighs.
Her gaze darted from his lap to his face and back to the bulge in his jeans. Her breath quickened as she imagined herself naked on his lap, straddling that delicious ridge, directing how he’d thrust into her. Yes, she’d like that. She flung a leg over his thighs and seated herself directly on his crotch, wiggling at the heat she felt through the denim.
“If you want me to last, you have to sit still,” he whispered.
The idea that he’d come in his jeans because she wiggled made her want to squirm more, so she did. She bent her head to his, cupping his face, kissing him with more emotion than she intended, her mouth hot, needy.
He sucked in a breath and slid his hands to her ass, pulling her harder against his erection. The ridge of his cock bumped her clit though her
jeans and her pussy ached, wanting to be filled. Her tongue danced with his, demanding that he follow as she ran her hands over his chest. Skin. She needed to feel his skin under her palms, his chest against hers. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it from his pants, breaking her kiss long enough to get it over his head.
Ah, much better. Her hands ran over his chest, spreading her fingers over the bulk of his pecs, kneading the flesh. She bent and ran her tongue along his collar bone, swirling it in the base of his throat, then over to his right nipple. She took it in her teeth, loving how hard and firm it was in her mouth. He sucked in his breath again and held her hips quiet over his crotch, demanding her to be still with insistent fingers.
She released his nipple and breathed in his ear, “What’s wrong, hockey boy? Game ending early?”
“The crowd is a bit excited. But the game is far from over.” He pulled her shirt up and she lifted her arms to help him get it off. He spied her pink bra and asked, “What, no red lingerie?”
“I have to have some surprises.” She unhooked her bra and tossed it to the chair, her nipples puckering in the slight chill of the room. He ran his hands up her ribs, but rested them right below the swell of her breast. There was nothing more she wanted than to feel his hands caress her flesh, flick at her nipples. “Keep going,” she urged.
She ground her crotch against his, riding the length of his erection as he palmed both breasts. Both thumbs passed over her nipples and the zing of pleasure went straight to her pussy, as if directly connected. She moaned and leaned into his hands, pleased with how her clit was stimulated at that angle as he thrust upward. Yes, she was more than ready to shuck her jeans and ride him—no oral coaxing needed today. She ran her hands down his chest, across his firm, gently rippled stomach, and popped the button on his jeans.
“I want you, now,” she whispered. She slid off his lap and unbuttoned her jeans, watching as he slid his own over his hips and around his ankles. His cock bobbed free, springing to life, beckoning to her. She slid her pants down, taking her panties at the same time, kicking first one foot, then the other free.
