by Meader, Kate
“I don’t get how this affected her career.”
“I don’t know that it did except … she reported him. I told her to do it, not to let him get away with it, but the school didn’t take her side. They said she should have known better—”
He growled.
“Down there, big fella. I know she wasn’t at fault but that’s how the school looked at it. She made a mistake, sent the pics, and he said it was an accident that they got out. But we all knew it wasn’t. No guy does that by accident. She hasn’t said it, but it threw her. She lost her way after college. She barely talks to me, to anyone from those days, anymore.” She grasped his arm. “Don’t tell Mia I told you.”
“Don’t tell Mia what?”
Cal looked up into Mia’s clear blue eyes and watched as they changed to summer lightning storms.
With one last dagger of a glare at Cassie, she left the bar.
* * *
There were any number of ways Mia could kill a person with the tools she had to hand: bludgeon with a hockey stick, larynx crush with a puck, jugular slash with a skate blade. Mia wasn’t sure which one of them she should murder first. Probably Cal because she knew he’d sweet-talked some information out of Cassie.
The door opened behind her. She felt his presence, that solid charge of energy that thrilled though her body whenever he was around.
“So how much did she tell you?”
“Enough.”
She pivoted. “I don’t need your pity.”
“I’m all out. You have my fists instead.”
Her heart stuttered. What a thing to say. What a dumb, stupid, Foreman thing to say.
“It’s in the past, a stupid mistake. I let it get to me, let it throw me off course. But not anymore.”
“Tell me what happened.” His eyes blazed into her, searing the walls, tearing it all down. She struggled to find a brick here or there, anything to shore up her defenses.
“I’m over it. Mostly. Sure, I hate hockey players. Mostly.” And my career’s in the toilet. Mostly. “I’m fixing it.”
“Mostly.”
He opened his arms and she fell into them. Her cheek landed against his chest and rested there, the best place in the whole wide world. Cal Foreman’s pectoral muscles were stupendously generous.
His big hand rubbed in tight, sensual circles against her back, each pass assuring her she was safe. Appreciated. Loved.
“You can tell me anything, Mia. I’m your friend.”
Her chest warmed at the thought that she and Foreman were becoming friends. Someone she could share her problems with—that was nice. Really nice.
She took a breath, thinking about how to strip it to its barest details and still retain her dignity.
“I was about to give my virginity to my hockey player boyfriend when I found out he’d shared nude pics of me with his friends and they’d been grading me and their girlfriends in some sick contest.” Dignity be damned.
Cal froze. “What?”
“You think I’d make that up?”
“No. But shit, Mia, that’s fucked up.” He stared at her, his jaw muscles bunching with emotion. “Who is he?”
“No one. Not anymore.” He didn’t need to know the details or the rest. Drew Fabien had no place inside her head right now, not when she was offering it rent-free to Cal Foreman.
Friends. That’s what you are. Just friends.
Cal had come to her tryout when he should be prepping for his own game in Boston. Only a good, decent person would do that. A friend.
Here in his arms, she felt safe, secure, but most dangerous of all, desired. Friends or not, being held by Cal was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to her. Obviously she needed to get laid, but not …
Why not? She had little to no experience, and Cal had already been so generous with his time and tips (and pectoral muscles!). She was attracted to him, possibly more than she had ever been attracted to any man. Which in itself was shocking because … any man? She hadn’t let her guard down since college and even then, the pool was filled with thoughtless, immature boys, nothing like the man before her. She couldn’t recall this level of feeling, a fizz in her veins, a thrum in her chest, a throb everywhere it counted. As if every cell in her being was screaming with want and telling her to go for it.
Reader, I lusted for him.
But what about Tommy? a small voice chirped back. Thinking back to that conversation she’d overheard between him and Vadim, she knew he wasn’t interested in virginal ingénues. A night with Cal would only help. The theory was in the bag, now it was time for the practical.
Would Cal risk his friendship with Vadim? Would he even be interested in her if she made a move? She looked up into velvety brown eyes that seemed to darken as he returned her gaze, willing him to read her mind.
“I should get going,” he said.
“To Boston?”
He nodded and released her, placing distance between them.
Disappointment chilled her gut and she tried to analyze her feelings here. A little kindness and you’re ready to drop your panties? Have some self-control!
“You want to go back in there?” He nodded at the bar.
“No, I’ll get an early night.” She had planned to drive up to Boston tomorrow for the Rebels game but she didn’t want him to know that. It would look like she was trying to muscle in on his ride. “I’m staying at the hotel a couple of blocks that way.”
They walked back together, an odd stiffness and formality between them. She expected him to leave her at the front entrance, but he followed her in. Past the desk. Into the elevator. Right to her door.
They didn’t say a word. Something was building inside her, something base. Needy.
She turned to him. “Would you like to come in?”
Color flagged his cheeks, his pupils dilated, his nostrils flared. He looked like he was fighting very hard not to touch her.
She wanted to make it easy. She wanted him to crumble.
“Cal.” She rubbed her hand over his chest, through the wool, shaping the muscles there, loving how her skin tingled with the flex under her fingertips.
His lips parted and a rusty sound emerged. “Christ, Mia.”
“Touch me. Please.”
He pushed her back against the hotel door and for a moment, she thought he was about to scold her for crossing the line. For ruining this good thing, the friendship that was budding—no, in full bloom—between them.
His hand splayed on her shoulder, holding her at arm’s length. Away from him to keep her out of his orbit or to … get a better look?
Please let it be the latter.
Over the years she had done many brave things. Fought cancer and won. Sent intimate photos to a boy she liked. Reported that same boy so he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.
Her next move would be the boldest move she had ever made.
She unzipped her hoodie.
Underneath, she wore only a bra. Not even a nice bra, just a sports bra because she’d recently finished trying out for the fucking Olympics.
Yet he looked at her like he’d won the Stanley Cup.
“Cal, please,” she whispered. Not above begging, apparently. If he rejected her, she would probably die on the spot.
His hand moved, like the hand of a clock but this was Cal. His big, rough, working man’s hand, traveling a path from her shoulder, fingertips lightly then not so lightly trailing her collarbone. He turned over the hand, and coasted his knuckles lower over the crest of her breasts.
She moaned. So much sensation and he had barely touched her. That’s how sexy this was.
“Inside, Mia. Now.” The words were guttural, an order from deep where lust lived.
She fumbled with the key card, aware of him looming behind her, his body the shelter and the storm. The door clicked and she fell against it, only to have him snake an arm around her waist and keep her balanced. Barely.
He closed the door behind them, took a step in and then he was right on t
op of her, right there, with both hands on the straps of her bra, pulling them over her shoulders until inch by glorious inch, her breasts escaped the elastic confines. Red marks lay across them—she assumed, she didn’t dare look—and all she could think was she needed his tongue to soothe those welts left by the edges of her bra.
He hadn’t kissed her yet. Should she beg again—
No need. He dipped his head while at the same time cupping one heavy breast and raising it to his mouth. Tongue glanced over nipple, then lips surrounded and the suck went straight to her sex. She released a moan that shiver-shocked to her core. And then he applied the most lascivious suction imaginable, feasting on her while her body wracked with sensation. Waves of goodness barreled through, all focused on that aching spot between her legs.
She needed to touch herself with a desperate urgency she’d never felt before. But surely she couldn’t do that—not with Cal here because wasn’t that his job?
You can do that job just as well as he can, girl.
Hadn’t she built her life around that mantra?
Determined to no longer second-guess these moments, she shoved her hand inside her sweats and applied a tentative stroke to ease the need.
It only made it worse.
She rubbed more. That was better, unraveling more pleasure, and with Cal’s mouth on her breast, the pressure building between her thighs coiled tighter and tighter.
He stopped. Looked down. Looked up.
Fell to his knees.
“Mia,” he whispered. “Let me.”
He peered up at her, waiting for permission, and after everything that had happened two years ago, after having her agency ripped from her, this was what she needed. Only this.
“Please. Yes.” All of it.
He pulled her sweat pants down, groaning at the sight of her hand inside her panties—nothing sexy there, either, but she was working with what she had. Her underwear went the same direction as the sweats and then he curled his palm around hers.
And licked her fingers.
She shuddered. He parted her thighs with his hands and stroked a thumb through her folds. “Greedy little Mia, keeping this all to yourself.”
She couldn’t speak, her thoughts mangled and confused, words unable to form.
But her body knew the score. Her body needed what she suspected only Cal could give.
The throb in her pussy told her story, one of begging and wanting and delicious desire. Her thighs wrote a note, parting in invitation, telling this man that he could do whatever he wanted.
Which was whatever she wanted.
The power in this moment. His. Hers. Theirs.
It was in his tongue, licking long and hard through her.
It was in his hands, grasping her ass and holding her in place for his sensual assault.
It was in his moans, harsh and needy.
Her legs crumpled but he held her strong, and all she could do was suffer the joy his tongue lashed through her. Gone in seconds, her cry was loud, his name on her lips. And still he kissed—softly now, tinged with adoration—bringing her back to earth where the tremors still whispered through her sensitive flesh.
She rubbed a hand through his hair. It was softer than she’d imagined, and in that moment, she realized how much she had imagined. Cal showing her the ropes. Cal demonstrating all those skills she’d heard about. Just …
“Cal.”
He looked up, his eyes stoked with lust. And then he smiled, like this was the most natural thing in the world instead of awkward.
“Hi,” he whispered, and at her laugh, he stood and cupped her face. “You okay?”
She nodded, too tired to speak. Her lids felt heavy, her limbs even more so. She found a smidge of strength, enough to coast a hand down his chest—that chest!—and trail it over his belt buckle.
She needed to reciprocate. She wanted to, even though she was half-terrified, half-dying with need.
“Hold on, gorgeous girl.” On his knees again, he pulled off her running shoes, her sweats, her unsexy panties, and then he scooped her up, cupping her ass so she had no choice but to lace her legs around his hips. Exhausted by the last few days and the wonderful release, she rested her forehead in the crook of his neck.
It was the last thing she remembered before sleep overtook her.
16
Someone was stroking his dick.
Someone with soft, supple, but surprisingly strong hands. In his dream it was Mia. Lately it was always Mia. She had tasted like heaven, and he could dream about what came next. About her hands cupping his heavy balls. About her mouth on his cock, taking him in inch by hot inch.
His eyes cracked open and pleasure followed him from his dream state to a reality he must have wished into existence. Mia was in his bed—well, her hotel bed—and she was doing the dream part in real life. Stroking, rubbing, caressing over his boxer briefs.
“Mia,” he whispered. Moaned.
“About time.” She burrowed her face below his ear and inhaled. “God, you smell good. You feel good.”
He moved a hand over hers. Not away, but stopping her so he could think for a second.
“Cal, I need you. Please.”
How was a man supposed to resist that? He was only fucking human, and at this point, not even that. He was a beast, desperate and hungry.
Summoning a will he didn’t know he had in him, he pushed her back and lay over her. “You’re playing a dangerous game, gorgeous girl.”
“Do you have condoms?”
“Yes, but hold up. We need to talk first.”
She giggled, soft and seductive. All those tips she’d picked up and she thought he’d fall for that? “You didn’t want to talk much before.”
“Mia.”
“Mia,” she mimicked, deep and growly. She looked up at him with those kill-him-now baby blues and he was lost.
“I’m supposed to be in Boston. I should have left hours ago but—”
“But what? You stayed to watch me fall asleep after you gave me an amazing orgasm. I’ve never done that before, by the way.”
“Had an orgasm?”
“From a tongue. I’ve never—well, you know.”
That’s what had niggled at him, beyond all the other signals telling him this was wrong. I was about to give my virginity to my hockey player boyfriend …
“Mia, are you a virgin?”
She swallowed visibly. “I know it’s ridiculous at my age but I was kind of spooked by what happened in college. And I don’t meet a lot of nice guys who aren’t intimidated by me or my brother or my money.”
Yet she wanted him to be the first? That couldn’t be right. Jesus, it was bad enough he was messing with Vadim’s sister, but taking her virginity?
“No, I can’t be the one. It should be special, not the by-product of a bad evening recalling some shitty thing that happened to you.”
“It’s not.” The hurt in her voice rang clear. “I wasn’t having a bad evening. You came to see my scrimmage. You came to see me.”
True. This whole day had been special, every stinking minute of it.
“I don’t want you to feel you owe me for an orgasm. That you have to put out like—what happened before.” He cupped her face. “You don’t owe any guy your body, Mia. It’s strong and beautiful and yours.”
Her breath caught and the world hovered on its axis, then tottered and crashed as she threw her arms around him. Her lips stamped his, and all he could do was accept his fate. Falling, falling, no getting up.
“I want you, Cal,” she whispered. “I want it to be you.”
He was not the man for her, yet he’d rented a car and hopped on the I-95 because he wanted to have her back. He wanted to be her support and he wanted her to know that.
It was seduction of a kind. He could pretend he hadn’t been making a sneaky play for her, but it would be a bare-faced lie. And while there was another guy, some shadowy, unfocused figure that Mia wanted, that asshole wasn’t here. That asshole didn’t eve
n know the treasure that was waiting for him as soon as he claimed it. Cal was the man on the spot, the one who had heaven within his grasp and apparently he wanted to play the fool and question that.
Who was he to deny her? That would be like denying sunshine the right to stream or air the right to enter his lungs. Tonight, he was her choice, hers to use as she pleased. Tonight, she owned him.
Realizing this brought him a strange sort of peace.
“You’re sure, Mia?”
“Absolutely.” And then she grinned like this was the best possible outcome to the night, and you know something? She was right. It truly was.
He was the luckiest sonofabitch on the planet.
“We’ll take it slow,” he said, as much to himself as to her. He moved his lips over hers, enjoying the sweetness, and then the little nip she made. “You’re not gonna rush me.”
“Whatever you say, Foreman.”
At her cheeky grin, he shook his head, knowing he was being played but long past caring. “You trust me to make this good for you?”
She nodded. “I trust you to make this good for us.”
His heart hitched at the generosity in that statement. He didn’t get that a lot with the women he dated—sure they made him feel good but it usually seemed like an afterthought. With Mia, he felt like they were a team, the goal earth-shattering mutual orgasms.
He grabbed a condom from his wallet, one he’d put there before Levi Hunt’s wedding, intended for another woman but now waiting for this night. This woman. He placed it on the nightstand and lay out beside her.
Moving his knuckles over her breast, he watched as one pretty nipple puckered. “How’s that gonna taste, I wonder?”
“Don’t wonder,” she whispered. “Just do it.”
“Bossy girl.” Leaning over her, he brushed his lips in a tease over that sweet candy, then coasted a hand down her side over the flare of her hip to the round of her ass, which he cupped and pulled close. His stiffer-by-the-second cock brushed against her thigh, and she gasped.
“Too fast?”
“No.” She ran a hand over his chest, down his abs and past the border of his briefs. “Can I?”
