Sin Shot

by Raine Miller

  But there is no way in hell I would be any place other than in the stands tonight, while Georg is making his return to the ice. I send him a text.

  * * *

  Pam: Good luck out there, hot stuff. Make a touchdown or whatever.

  Georg: Ha ha!

  Pam: Seriously, though, sub out if that leg bugs you.

  Georg: Yes, boss.

  Georg: You in the stands tonight?

  Pam: No, I’m naked and touching myself in bed right now.

  Georg: That is not a way to keep me focused on the game, Pamela.

  Pam: Kidding. I’m in the stands. Fully clothed.

  Georg: Thank goodness.

  Georg: If we win, I would like to request nudity later.

  Pam: Deal. Go sink a basket now.

  Georg: I’m rolling my eyes at you right now.

  Pam: You know there’s an eye-roll emoji, right?

  Georg: Did not know that.

  Pam: Have fun out there! XX

  Georg: XXX is more interesting.

  Pam: Focus.

  Georg: On you. XXX baby!

  * * *

  I grin the whole way through the pre-game rituals. They play a video of Georg’s best moments and make a huge deal out of his return to the ice. The crowd goes nuts when he comes out with the team, and I actually become teary at all the fan love for my guy.

  Georg is back on the starting lineup and he looks around the stands as he takes the ice. When he finds me in the stands, he gives a cocky wink before taking his position.

  The game is so much different from the games during his absence. He’s on fire out there, getting the puck to Evan so he can score two times in the first period alone.

  The opposing team comes out swinging in the second period, though, firing shot after shot on goal, so that Viktor, Tyler, and Georg are stuck protecting the goalie. They score only once, despite more than twenty shots on goal.

  A third period check sets Tyler into a rage. He starts a huge fight that results in him in the penalty box and the other team on a power play. They make use of it, scoring quickly, narrowing the gap. Mikhail responds, though, with a goal of his own, and then Georg and Evan pull out a fourth goal in the last minute of the game.

  The crowd is electric in this arena. My ears feel like they might bleed, it’s so loud in here, and Georg and Evan’s faces are prominently displayed on the jumbotron, heroes once again, a dynamic duo that absolutely cannot be replaced.

  There is, as always, a press event after the game. I hang back with Scarlett while the press interview Evan, Georg, and Mikhail.

  Kacey King, the queen of evil, barges up to the front of the press pack. Her black dress is skin-tight and so low-cut I wonder how the heck her bosses let her on television dressed like that. Her long, blonde hair is straight down her back and her eyeliner is crazy heavy. She looks like she’s ready to go out to a club more than to do her job reporting on sports.

  “Georg, Georg,” she says, cutting through the questions from the press corps. “How did it feel on the ice tonight?”

  “It felt great. I was ready to get back out there and I proved it tonight alongside these guys.”

  “Those were serious injuries,” she says. “How were you able to come back so quickly, and looking so strong out there?”

  “I had a lot of special attention from my physical therapist.” He gives the camera one of his signature grins.

  There’s a lot implied in that statement, so much that it makes me blush. Scarlett notices, coughs, and elbows me, hiding her face behind her clipboard while she giggles.

  “Well, he must be a miracle worker,” Kacey comments.

  “She,” Georg corrects.

  “She?” Kacey asks, confused.

  “Yes, Pamela Jenson is my physical therapist. She.”

  “Oh, well,” Kacey attempts to save face by turning away from him and zeroing in on her next target. “That’s wonderful. So, Evan, how has being a father affected your play out there?”

  And with that, Georg has shut down whatever play Kacey was making. He looks over at me and bites the inside of his lip. He’s not smiling, but his eyes are alight with their usual mischief. He’s nearly bursting with energy, his legs bouncing under the table, his fingers drumming on the table again. This is crazy Georg, silly Georg, and naughty Georg. He’s back, and I am incredibly happy for him.

  This is the Georg I love.

  Love.

  Did I just say “love?”

  Yes, I did.

  I’m in love with Georg Kolochev.

  After Fiona shuts down the press event, Georg finds me at the door. He takes my hand and I get a pointed glare from Kacey. I don’t care, though. Georg is here. He’s healthy and strong. There is no way he’s getting traded.

  And now I know that I’m in love with him.

  We walk to the player’s parking area where he opens the door of his BMW for me, planting a kiss on my cheek before I get in. We don’t say a lot as he starts the engine and makes his way out of the stadium and onto the street. We didn’t explicitly make plans, so I’m not sure what to expect. Another night in the casinos? Another dinner with a gorgeous view?

  Georg cranks the stereo as we drive, an eighties station playing on XM. Eurythmics’ Sweet Dreams is the first song that comes on, and Georg sings along with every word. It makes me smile. A lot. We drive for nearly an hour, Georg happily singing, headbanging, and otherwise being his silly and adorable self.

  When we pull into a quaint little ranch, I’m stunned. There are horses munching on grass along both sides of the long, dirt driveway. The house is simple, two stories, with a big front porch complete with a porch swing.

  “What’s this place?” I ask.

  “It’s a horse ranch but also a bed and breakfast. A friend of mine owns it.”

  “I have to say, I was not expecting a dude ranch when we got in the car. Also, I packed nothing.”

  “All part of the conspiracy,” he says, grinning. “If you recall I requested nudity later if we won and you agreed. I have the proof right here on my phone. You said ‘deal,’ and we did win tonight, Pamela, and it is definitely later.” He’s so cute when he’s like this.

  “Well, aren’t you the clever kidnapper? Look at you, Georg Kolochev, plotting out a way to have a night of sin with me.” I’m teasing, but suddenly completely aroused as I squirm in the seat and clench my thighs together. I’ve missed being intimate with him. It’s been a long time coming with his injury and all.

  “Weekend, baby. I need a whole weekend to do all the sinning I want to sin with you.” He gives me a knowing look, his green eyes dark and gleaming from across the seat. I understand completely what will be happening here tonight. And I also understand I’ll no longer be a virgin after this weekend.

  I’m finally going to have all-the-way-sex with Georg.

  Oh.

  We pull up to the house and get out, the door opening immediately. A portly older woman says, “Yes, it is our Georgie.”

  Georg holds out his arms and says, “Miss Louisa, good to see you,” as he pulls her into a hug. They embrace, her silver bun coming loose as he spins her around. She’s smiling broadly as he sets her down and gestures to me. “This is Pamela Jenson. Pamela, this is Louisa Stone. Her husband, Jim, owns an establishment in town as well as this ranch.”

  “That’s a nice way to put it,” Louisa says with a laugh. “My husband likes two things: horses and naked women. So I stay here to help with the horses, and he manages the naked women.”

  I think my eyes might bug out of my head. This makes Louisa laugh. She throws an arm around Georg’s waist and they wander into the house. Georg reaches out his hand to me and tows me along with them.

  Inside, the house is gorgeous, clearly recently renovated to include the shabby chic décor one would expect of a farmhouse with lots of modern furniture, dark wood, and other pretty features. Louisa shows us around the main level, which includes a living room featuring a crackling fireplace, a spaciou
s kitchen with a gorgeous, wood-topped center island surrounded by four stools, a powder room, and an amazing library stocked with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

  Upstairs, there are two main suites. Both begin with a sitting room complete with television, comfy-looking couches, a coffee and wine bar, and a fireplace. Further back, a massive bedroom and en-suite, complete with an oversized soaker tub and huge, walk-in shower.

  “This is so gorgeous,” I say, in awe. “I want to live here all the time.”

  “So glad you love it,” Louisa says with a wide smile. “I spent a lot of time thinking about design when we decided to renovate and make this into a B&B. Jim couldn’t understand why the living room first, but I figured it gave an extra buffer of privacy in each suite.”

  “Great idea,” I agree. “But it’s also just really comfortable and warm. Really gorgeous.”

  “Well, there are no other visitors tonight, so you have the place to yourselves. I’ll finish up the food downstairs and then head home. Be back in the morning to make breakfast.”

  “You don’t live here?” I ask.

  “Oh, no. Jim and I have a house about a half mile back on the property, closer to the horse barn. So you’ve got the place all to yourselves. All night long.” She gives us a knowing wink. “There are robes, fresh linens, and a few clothing items in the closet, so help yourself to anything you need.”

  As Louisa leaves the suite, I stare at Georg, dumbfounded. “You had all this planned out?”

  “Of course,” he answers. “I had a lot of time to think while I was recovering. I wanted to get out of the city, have some time to ourselves. Celebrate.”

  “What if the team had lost tonight?”

  “But this is not a celebration of the team, Pamela.” He steps close…closer…until our bodies are nearly aligned and his hand is on my cheek. He leans in, his lips brushing mine so softly. “This is about us. About you and me.”

  “Us?” I almost forget to breathe and feel a little weak in the knees as I stare into his eyes.

  “You must know I’m in love with you, Pamela. I love you.”

  “But I—I didn’t know you felt that way about me.”

  “How could you not? You don’t feel it in every smile I give you? In the way I look at you? You can’t feel it in the way I touch you?”

  “I—I was blinded I guess…by my own feelings…”

  I can hardly talk, and feel incredibly overheated all of a sudden.

  He kisses me again, slow and deep, and then pulls back, still holding my face in his hands. “I am not a great man, not nearly good enough for you. But I poured every ounce of my love into each stroke of your clit, each pulse of my tongue against your sweet, sweet pussy. Did you feel it, Pamela? Can you feel it right now?”

  If it were possible for me to melt into a puddle of mush, it would be happening right this instant. Right now, when my breasts are heavy and aching, my stomach filled with butterflies from wanting him so badly. It would happen now, when I can think of nothing else but the way his long hair falls lazily into his eyes, the way his mouth curves like a bow, the way his breath feels on my skin, the way he just told me he loves me.

  “Yes,” I breathe. The arousal I feel is almost painful. I want him. All of him. Inside me. “Yes, I feel it, Georg, I feel you.”

  And I love you, too.

  His lips find mine again, his hand inching its way down my lower back to my backside. He cups my ass cheek and pulls me to him roughly, the hardness of him evident through his jeans. His tongue begs for entry and I open to him, sighing against his mouth.

  When he pulls away, I’m positively electric with want. Georg, however, seems intent on prolonging my misery. “Come on, krasota,” he says softly and then leads me out of the suite, down the stairs to the kitchen, where a beautiful tray of food awaits.

  We each find a stool and pull up to the island, sampling the array of cheese, meat, and fruit.

  “So, Pamela,” he says as he pops a grape into his mouth, “before we do anything more tonight, I need to know how is it that someone as beautiful and amazing as you are still a virgin.”

  I feel my heart sink a little at the question. In all these months, he’s never asked and I haven’t wanted to tell him. I still don’t, not when everything feels so good and perfect. But this is part of who I am, and if we are to move forward and have a real relationship, then I do need to share this dark part of my past with him.

  “Well, I was…” I start but I can’t quite figure out how to give voice to my past. I feel the tension on my face. I know it’s there, because Georg’s playful expression turns more to concern.

  “You can tell me, baby. I want to know all of you. Everything…the good and even the bad.”

  I swallow back the lump that forms in my throat and take a deep, centering breath. “My mother has had a lot of husbands. I think I told you that, right?”

  He nods.

  “Well, one of them…when I was a teenager…he—“

  “Raped you?” Georg’s voice cracks.

  “No, no.” I shake my head. “He touched me, though. Did other things. Gross things. And I’m okay now. I’ve been through therapy and whatnot. But I think it…I think it made me feel like damaged goods. And it made it hard for me to trust men. So, I always only allowed things to go so far before I ended them. I’ve never had a real relationship. Nobody had ever given me an orgasm before you came along, Georg.”

  I feel my cheeks turn to flame as I look away, ashamed to verbalize my past like this. I won’t cry, though. I decided a long time ago that I wouldn’t shed one more tear over that piece of garbage. I’m a victim, sure, but I refuse to live my life as if I’ve been victimized.

  When I feel Georg’s hand on my shoulder, I look back and he pulls me into a fierce hug.

  “You are not damaged,” he says against my hair. “You are perfect to me. And fuck that zasranec. I’ll kill him someday for hurting you.”

  “Believe me, I’ve thought about it myself,” I say, pulling back to look at him. “But he’s not worth a second of my time, or yours.”

  Georg’s expression is soft, emotive. “You are one of the strongest women I have ever met. The way you are so independent and take care of yourself. How you stand up for yourself. You are so perfect to me, Pamela.”

  “I so love the way you call me Pamela, but I’m not perfect. Not by a long shot.”

  “No one is,” he says softly while covering my hand with his. “I am not, either. But for me, you are. I am svoloch’ for not saying it sooner.”

  “Any sooner might have been too soon,” I answer. “I am very good at pushing people away. It’s good that things were…looser…for a while. More casual.”

  “I tried not to want you,” he says. “But the heart can be stubborn.”

  “I tried not to want you, too, but it didn’t work at all.”

  And here come the tears. Not for my past, but for the present. Happy tears, I suppose. Georg uses his thumb to wipe them away as they fall, his face soft, supportive. Loving. I bite my lip and try to give him a reassuring smile.

  “We don’t need to focus on sad things,” I say. “You’re right; we’re here to celebrate.”

  “What are you celebrating, Pamela? I told you what I’m celebrating.”

  He meets my gaze, his expression hopeful. I suck in my bottom lip, fighting the fear I feel in admitting this feeling. But right now, I’m still reeling from the fact that I told Georg about him. And when I did, he held me…fiercely. No one has ever stood up for me—supported me wholly—like that. That hug communicated love more than words ever could, and now I see hope and love in his eyes rather than disappointment and disgust. Love. That’s what I’m celebrating.

  “I’m celebrating you, Georg Kolochev. Us together, because I love you too. I don’t know how you managed to be the one to steal my heart but you did.”

  His face splits into a wide, glorious smile and he pulls me to him again, his lips in my hair as he showers me with kisses.
The kisses move to my forehead, my cheeks. My ears, my neck. Finally, he lingers at my lips, softly kissing me, his hands on my face. It feels so right, so good.

  “I want you, Georg, tonight…all of you. I am ready to be wholly yours,” I whisper against his ear. This time, the implication is so much more. My body is heavy with it, aching. All I can envision is the two of us in the act, him buried deep inside me, fucking me into oblivion. God, I want to experience that with him.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” he answers, standing and moving the tray of food farther down the counter.

  He lifts me up so I’m sitting on the wooden counter. We kiss again, urgently. Our teeth click together. I bite his bottom lip. I’m still in my Crush T-shirt and he kisses the logo before pulling it over my head, exposing my simple, white lace bra.

  “I’d have picked sexier underwear if I’d known about this plan.”

  “No matter, baby. It will be on the floor before you know it.”

  And he’s not joking. He reaches around, unsnaps my bra, and tosses it. The air in the house is comfortable, but there might as well be freezing cold air on my skin, the way my nipples pucker, standing at attention, jutting shamelessly.

  “These fucking gorgeous tits want my attention,” he says, tracing his fingertips over the pebbled nubs. I arch my back, sighing with pleasure at this small act.

  He leans in and kisses each nipple, first lightly, then returning, his tongue making lazy circles, tasting me, his hands fondling. I could come, I think, just from this.

  “Do you want me to touch you, Pamela? Will you be wet if I do?”

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  “Yes, what?” he asks, pushing my breasts together, his breath hot on my skin.

  “Yes, please. Please touch me.”

  He puts a hand between my legs, up my skirt, his fingertips grazing my very wet panties. The amount of wetness makes him chuckle. He pushes the fabric to the side and dips his middle finger right inside me. My hips buck instantly and I nearly fall back onto the countertop.