Daring the Defender (Wittmore U Hockey #3)

Chapter 11

11

S helby

“I was going to go back upstairs but…” Reid’s words trail off but it takes me a moment to notice. My brain has been misfiring since he showed up in the kitchen bare chested and in those low slung, black sweatpants.

Is it normal for men to have this many muscles?

Is it normal for my mouth to water looking at them?

I blink, trying to catch up and it clicks. Upstairs is his bedroom. Across the hall from where my brother is hopefully deep asleep. “Yeah that’s probably not a great idea. What about here?” I gesture to the couch in the living room. His eyes dart to the stairs and I know he’s also thinking about my brother casually walking downstairs and catching us together. “Or how about on the porch?”

There’s nothing sexy about the devil couch or the newly spun spider web in the corner.

“Sounds good.”

With the space heater Reese gave me whirring on the floor, the room is pretty comfortable. I hear the porch door click shut behind me and I grab the blanket off the couch and sit, keeping the ice pack in place, while pretending like all of this is normal. Completely. Totally. Normal. Like, I’m not closed off in a room alone with my brother’s friend and his oversized, very shirtless body.

Apparently Reid is impervious to the unsexiness of the porch.

Clueless, he sits and opens the laptop, propping it on his knees. With a lifted eyebrow, he says, “You’re going to need to get a little closer than that.”

Shifting, the old cushions sink underneath me, and I slide closer than I planned. Our legs crash together, mine bare, his covered in soft cotton that does nothing to stop the body heat from emitting through the fabric. Whatever I’m feeling is definitely one-sided, because he’s focused on queuing up the show and not the whirl of emotions running through me. I mean, Reid probably hangs out with girls all the time. Sometimes shirtless. Often alone.

I’m the one out of my element here. I’ve only seen David shirtless at a church sponsored pool party, surrounded by other people. I’ve never been alone with a man, shirtless or not, like this.

“What’s this show about?” I ask, trying not to completely spiral.

His expression lights up. “Twenty-six years ago a ten-year-old boy, Andrew, and his brother, Ashton, went to bed on a Sunday night, like normal. The next morning when their mother came to wake them up, Ashton wasn’t in his bed. The family immediately searched for him in the house, around the house, in the neighborhood. No one could find him, but later police heard from several eyewitnesses that saw him in the middle of the night, miles away from home on a stretch of deserted road. Although they did find a few signs that Ashton had been in the area, he was never seen again.”

“Wow, that sounds really strange.”

“Yeah, back then cell phones and having internet in the home wasn’t as common. No one has any clue why he left and where he was going, but last week police in the area did a search of a property that’s owned by a prominent family.” He gestures to the screen. “This is an update of that.”

I do my best to create a little space between us once he starts the video, but physics and the breakdown of the foam in the couch cushions work against me. Like in the truck, I’m overwhelmed by being so close to him. His scent. His warmth. The trail of soft-looking hair that travels between his belly button and the waistband of his pants.

So it’s no surprise when I have to say, “Wait. Stop the video.” He presses pause. “So no one saw him again after the trucker watched him run off the road in the dark, but they found candy wrappers near an old shed, and then a year later found his backpack and a Bulls basketball jersey twenty miles away in a ditch?”

“Wrapped in a garbage bag, yeah,” he says, with enthusiasm. “His mother claims the jersey wasn’t his, but the backpack is. So the big question for decades has been, who does the jersey belong to?”

“Do you know?” I ask, already invested.

“That’s the big news. The police just announced that they found DNA on the shorts that match someone that lives on the property they’re searching.”

“Wow.” I nod slowly, taking it all in. “This is a crazy story.”

“Right?”

“And you do this a lot? Follow old cases like this?”

“There are a few in particular I’m interested in. Usually ones with a strange mystery like this that is seemingly unsolvable.” He leans against the arm of the couch, assessing me. “Do you think it’s weird, because Twyler loves true crime too, although she’s way more into the cult stuff. Reese definitely thinks we’re weird.”

“No, but what is weird is that I’m starting to realize how all of you have so many interests and I’m just kind of floating around, waiting for someone else to tell me who I am and what I like.”

“Well,” he says slowly, “how do you feel about watching this show with me?”

I consider it. “The show is interesting. It’s like a whole other world, with people going through things I never even considered. Not from inside my well-crafted bubble where no one goes missing and if bad things happen we just pray over it and bake a casserole and go about our business.”

The ice pack slides off my shoulder. He snags it before it falls and puts it back in place. His hand is heavy, solid, and he doesn’t move it right away. “How’s the neck?”

“Sore,” I admit. “I’m sure it’ll be better in the morning.”

“Is it here?” he asks, pressing down his thumb. I feel a sharp twinge and grimace. “Yeah, I can feel the knot.”

“That’s it.” I roll my neck. “I’m sure it’ll be fine in the morning.”

His eyes linger around my collarbone, before returning to the laptop. He starts the show again, but doesn’t move his hand. I feel the firm press of his thumb into my neck, although softer this time. He hits the tender spot and my shoulders rise.

“Too hard?” he asks quietly.

The amount of pressure isn’t a problem. I try to form coherent words, “No, it’s just sensitive.”

“Here, take this,” he holds out the laptop. “And shift this way a little so I can see if I can work this out.”

The video continues to play, with the hosts detailing the events of the house search, but I can’t focus on anything other than the way Reid’s hands feel as he pushes my hair to the side. My skin is cold from the ice pack, making his fingers blaze a trail of heat. He works against the muscles, and I feel the effect not just in the places he’s touching but every other inch of my body.

“Is that good?” he asks, voice gruff in my ear.

I nod, and he pulls me back just an inch, making me sink back into his hard chest.

His hands rub over the caps of my shoulders, and down to my arms, turning my muscles into jelly. My T-shirt is thin and I’m aware of how every pass he makes tightens my nipples. I want to cover myself, but I don’t want to draw attention. Maybe he won’t notice, or maybe my body feels so relaxed, so good that I’m willing to pretend.

Then, like a string pulling against my spine, I chase his touch and arch my back.

Reid’s hands still, and behind me I hear a deep inhale and then a strained, “Fuck, Shelby.”

No one has ever whispered my name like that, but there’s no doubt of the intention. His knuckles lightly brush over the side of my boob and I feel a zing of heat travel straight between my legs.

“Has a man ever touched you like this before?” he asks, continuing to trail his knuckles gently in the same spot.

“No,” I admit, too turned on to be embarrassed at my inexperience.

“Not David?” His fingers are clenched around my biceps.

“Definitely not.” I exhale. “He would never .”

The video comes to an end, but rolls into the next one, some kind of hockey highlight show. I’d stopped paying attention long ago, and even though I can’t see Reid’s face, I can tell he’s singularly focused on me.

“He’s either a masochist, a saint, or gay,” he remarks, “because I’m not that strong.” The pain in my neck has vanished and I only feel the heat of his breath on my ear. “Tell me to leave, Shelby.”

I should. I shouldn’t have ever invited him in here in the first place. But I did. I wanted to.

I also don’t want him to stop.

“Stay,” I say in a voice I don’t recognize.

His fingers find my chin and he turns my face to his, until our eyes meet. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I wait for him to give me some relief, to touch the parts of me that are craving more, but he goes back to what he was doing before, massaging my arms with firm strokes. “Relax,” he says quietly, nudging me to lie against his chest. “Good girl.”

His fingers drape over my shoulders, making tiny circles, dipping lower and lower with each pass. Desperately, I arch my back, and his hands meet my body, cupping my breasts.

“Still okay?” he asks, thumbs dangerously close to my nipples.

“Mmhmm.”

“Tell me what you want, Shelby.”

I fight the urge to squirm as heat builds in my lower belly. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

He’s right, but it goes against everything in my nature to verbalize it. When I don’t speak he asks, “Here?” and circles the hard peaks, while still not touching them.

My body tenses, as if I ease up, I may completely lose control. “You’re teasing me.”

“It’s called consent, Shelby.” His chin, prickly and unshaved, brushes against a bare spot on my shoulder. “And I’m sure as fuck going to get it from you. Not just because it’s the right thing to do, but because you need to learn how to speak up for the things you want.” His fingers continue to make those lazy circles. “So tell me, do you want me to touch, suck, or fuck your tits?”

That one sentence is enough to tip my world on its axis. I know he’s being dirty on purpose, trying to shock me into a reaction, but all it does is embolden me. I know I’m not ready for the second two, but I’m confident enough to say, “I want your hands on my tits.”

There’s no more messing around and Reid finally gives me what I’ve been craving. His hands are firm as they knead my breasts and squeeze them together. I watch him skim his thumbs over the cotton covered nipples, drawing them into tighter peaks. My belly flip flops, churning with an explosion of butterflies, but most of all, I notice how each touch sends a rush of warmth between my legs. This time I can’t hide the squirm, and clamp my knees together.

“It’s making you wet,” he says, describing what I feel. “Every time I touch you here,” he gently tweaks a nipple, “you feel it in your pussy, don’t you?”

A shudder wracks through me and I try to curl into him, but he holds me in place.

His hand is big enough that he holds both of my tits in one, while skimming his palm over my belly. “I bet you can come like this, can’t you?”

I have no idea, because I’ve lost all sense of where my muscles end and my bones begin. All sense of decency. My breath comes in short pants as he runs his hand up my shirt. The first touch of his finger tips, skin to skin, against my breast ignites something in me. Something hot and feral. Wild and desperate.

My hips buck and I grab his hand, thrusting it between my legs. The lightest touch of friction is all I need to trigger a shockwave, the first one releasing a deep moan. My tether to my body is disconnected, and I float high on the aftershocks, basking in the heady glow.

Until I fall back into place.

Back to reality.

To what I’ve done.

To the feel of Reid’s very hard erection pressing against my backside. I bolt upright, yanking my shirt down, and look at him, catching the way his tongue darts out and swipes over his bottom lip.

“Fuck, Shel,” he says, “I didn’t–”

“It’s fine,” I say quickly, unsure if the heat on my cheeks is from embarrassment for what he just witnessed or the result of my body going crazy. “That was… we shouldn’t have.”

“I know. Fuck, fuck, fuck. ” He runs his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean to go that far.”

“Of course not.” A laugh slips out, sounding more hysterical than I mean for it to. “I’m Axel’s little sister. The good, innocent, and scared girl that showed up at your house one night and humiliated, well, who continues to humiliate herself.”

I start to leverage myself out of the sink hole between the cushions, but his hand wraps around my wrist, holding me in place.

“Don’t. Nothing you’re doing is embarrassing.” His eyes skim over my face. “Not the night you arrived or tonight.”

“Thank you for saying that, but you’re just being nice.”

He laughs.

“What?” I ask.

“Everyone thinks I’m a nice guy, but that’s giving me too much credit. Would a nice guy be down here in the middle of the night, secretly with his friend’s little sister after being explicitly told to stay away? Would a nice guy figure out how to get his hands on you even though you’re inexperienced and naive?” He leans forward, face inches from mine, and brushes his thumb over my lips. I swallow, enthralled and terrified of what he’ll say next. “Would a nice guy wake up every morning, with my hand on my cock, thinking about what your lips would look like wrapped around me?”

I shake my head, taken aback and flushed with a million feelings. “You’re trying to scare me.”

He drops his hand down to my neck. “I’m trying to make it very clear who I really am, GG.”

Good girl.

That’s who he thinks I am, just a good girl who can’t handle what he’s saying–or maybe more likely, who he really is.

“As I just revealed, I’m not some good guy like your boy, David.” His thumb swipes over the sensitive skin on my throat. “I’m red blooded. Hot blooded. And being this close to you is a problem for me. I knew it before I walked up to you in the coffee shop, and I definitely knew it before I came in here with you tonight.” His eyebrow lifts. “But that’s the problem. I did it anyway, consequences be damned.”

He rises off the couch, leans over and grabs the laptop, giving me a bold view of the hard bulge underneath his sweats.

I avert my eyes and ask, “Where are you going?”

“I’m doing what I should have done the minute you walked in the front door,” he tucks the laptop against his side and peers out the curtain into the living room, “leaving you alone.”