From Fling to Ring: A Hockey Romance (The San Francisco Aftershocks)

Chapter 18

LUCY

As we’re pullingout of the hospital parking garage, Tyler passes me his credit card to pay. I don’t take it, though. I may not make much money, but I can swing ten dollars.

Other than his directing me to his place, there’s not much conversation in the car. He’s probably embarrassed I saw him so full of emotion earlier, and I’m embarrassed that he’s embarrassed.

So, basically, we’re both totally fucked up. And it doesn’t help that at each traffic light, I steal glances at him, and he keeps catching me.

I pull into the drive in front of his building, but leave the car idling. I’m not sure what else to do.

Turns out I don’t need to worry about it, because Tyler takes off his seatbelt and turns to me. “Hey, I’m sorry about that back there. My dad is prone to overreaction, and it’s a sore spot between us.”

I nod understandingly. “Sure. I get it. Must be a lot of stress having a daughter with health issues.”

Tyler nods. “It is stressful for him, and I think it takes him right back to how he felt when he lost Mom, and how devastated he was. He couldn’t survive losing anyone else. He just couldn’t.”

Like father, like son? Maybe?

Tyler’s voice catches and he looks out the window, away from me.

Here we go again. Fuckboys aren’t supposed to have emotion. They’re cold and self-centered and don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves.

Right?

Jesus, how am I going to write this book?

“I’m just glad Ruby’s going to be okay. I don’t know much about diabetes but I know it’s serious stuff.”

He reaches for my hand, taking it in both of his. “It is. Scary stuff. But, thank you for coming. It was a really nice thing to do.”

“Oh, it was nothing. You know, Petal called me, all worked up and stuff, and I guess I flew into panic mode, kind of like you did, and the only thing I could think to do was to head over?—”

He cuts off my babbling with a kiss, a kiss full of appreciation where nothing more needs to be said. But it’s when he weaves his fingers into my hair and with a grip on it, pulls me closer into a deeper kiss, that it becomes hard and unapologetic.

And I swear, all my circulating blood rushes straight to my crotch, where a throbbing starts to build, and I know I’m either going inside with him or hurrying home to my vibrator.

I know which I’d prefer. I press the button to switch off the car engine while we’re still kissing and manage to release my seatbelt. When I do, Tyler pulls away, still holding my head, and the look he gives me is hungry.

Damn right.

Without a word, we exit the car and head for the door. He catches my hand as he presses a keycard to get inside, and we say nothing other than a small hello to the front desk guy.

He’s still holding my hand in the elevator when he uses his keycard again and presses the top floor button.

“Holy cow. You have the penthouse. Fancy-pants, aren’t you?” I chirp, relieved to be getting my snark back on.

“Yup. That’s me. All fancy-pants and shit.”

“How many people live in the penthouse?” I ask. “Like, are there several apartments up there?”

My ears pop as we get higher.

He gives me a funny look. “Just one. Me.”

I snap my head back on my neck and raise my eyebrows. “Well, look at you.”

He releases my hand and grabs me by the waist, turning me away so I’m facing the mirrored wall of the elevator, and he’s standing behind me.

It’s the first time I’ve really seen the two of us together, and I’m amazed at how much bigger he is than me. Of course, I know he’s a bit athlete and all that, but I’d never seen myself right next to him.

I like it.

I watch in the mirror as he runs his hands to my shoulders, and then puts one on either side of my face.

“Look at yourself,” he demands. “No, not at me. Look at yourself.”

Like every self-respecting woman, I look in the mirror every day on an as-needed basis—getting ready in the morning, checking my hair when visiting the ladies’ room at work, washing my face before bed—that sort of thing. But I never stare at myself for too long because that’s when the flaws come out, and who wants to focus on those?

I look back at Tyler, behind me, and he busts me. “Come on. Don’t look at me,” he says, pressing against my behind.

With a nice-sized erection, I might add.

“Okay. Fine. I’m looking. It might surprise you to hear this Tyler, but I’ve had this face a long time. I really don’t need to look into the mirror?—”

“Yes, you do, Lucy,” he says, cutting me off. “I want you to see how fucking beautiful you are.”

The elevator reaches the penthouse with a little jolt, which startles me along with Tyler’s words.

What do you say to something like that?

Argue?

Agree?

Or just say thank you?

Look, I know I’m not bad-looking, and on a good hair day and when my skin is clear, I might even be slightly on the pretty side. Sometimes. Certainly not always.

But hey, if Tyler wants to think I’m beautiful, he’s damn well welcome to.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

By now, the elevator doors have opened behind us and I can see in the mirror that we can walk directly into Tyler’s apartment. But he still doesn’t let me go.

“Hey, don’t we need to get off this thing? You know, before the doors close on us and take us back downstairs?”

“They won’t. Not until I swipe my card.”

That’s some deluxe shit.

He finally releases me and takes my hand. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

I’m relieved to look away from my reflection and follow him into his apartment. My jaw drops at the floor-to-ceiling windows and view of the Golden Gate bridge and the hills behind it.

“Oh. My. God.”

“You like it?” he asks.

“Like it? I may never leave. Especially since it doesn’t smell like dirty jock socks.”

Of course it doesn’t. A playboy, hotshot has to have a nice home. Girls won’t stick around for a pigsty. Every guy knows this, at least anyone who wants to get laid. My friend Gilly once went home with a guy whose place turned out to be so bad she made up an excuse to leave and never saw him again.

Tyler chuckles. “Yup. Just got rid of the dirty sock smell yesterday.”

I peer up at him. “That was decent of you. Have you been happy here?”

I mean, how could he not be?

“Are you kidding? I love it. I didn’t even need to look at anything else when I saw this. I signed on the dotted line as fast as I could and made this baby mine. Like I’m about to make you mine.”

He sweeps me into his arms where I’m standing, marveling at the view, and buries his lips in the crook of my neck. I gasp as an unexpected shiver jolts me.

What is it about this guy?

Other than he’s a big swinging dick who women need to be wary of?

Do as I say, not as I do.

He leads me to the sofa, where he shimmies my jeans down my hips and flings off my panties. He releases a barely-audible groan when I part my legs for him, and immediately runs a finger through my pussy, spreading the moisture that started collecting the moment he first kissed me in the car.

Sliding one finger inside me, he makes a ‘come here’ motion, tickling a spot that, until this moment, I doubted actually existed.

This is what players do, right? They get lots of practice and know exactly what women like.

God, I’ve got to stop with this obsession.

I squirm under him, grinding my hips into his hand, and he slides another finger inside me. The sensation grows exponentially more intense.

“Oh God, Tyler. Yes, just like that,” I mumble, my breath hard and rasping.

He breaks into a crooked little smile, one hundred percent focused on fucking me with his fingers. When I begin to tremble, he speeds up, and an orgasm hits me, hard.

“Look at baby coming. So fucking hot,” he growls.

Seriously.

Moments later, I open my eyes to watch him strip off his sweats. His hard cock pops into view, unrestricted by underwear.

“Look at you, going commando.”

“What can I say?” he asks, positioning himself between my legs. “I left the house in a hurry.”

He strokes himself a couple times and notices me watching. “You like what you see?” he asks, his eyes heavy-lidded.

I nod coyly. “Maybe.”

He smirks. “Okay. If it’s no big deal, I’ll just go to my room, turn on some porn, and jerk myself ‘til I come.” Without removing his hand from his cock, he gets to his feet.

“No!” I cry. “Get back here.”

“Then tell me what you want.”

I roll my eyes. “I want you to fuck me, silly.”

He nods and gets back into position between my legs. “Ask nicely.”

I roll my eyes. I should just get up and leave. Of course I won’t. I might be a smart ass but I’m not cheating myself out of what could be another great orgasm with this gorgeous man.

“Okay, Tyler. Please, please, please fuck me.”

He closes in on me. “Oh yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.”

I try not to focus on the fact that I should not be doing anything with this guy, much less fucking him. So much for objective journalism.

But I’d die before sending him away right now.

Gripping his cock with one hand and supporting himself with the other, he glides inside me and by God, it’s the most heavenly thing I’ve ever felt. Ripples of pleasure wash through me, cutting off all my senses except those connected to my sex. My pussy is greedy for Tyler, and I reach for his ass to pull him deeper inside. He slams into me over and over, a feral expression on his face, and I float away from conscious thought into a crazy orgasmic bliss.

My insides convulse as a new, even stronger orgasm pummels me. Tyler rams me one last time and holds himself there, shaking and groaning at a decibel level that leaves me grateful he has an entire floor of the building.

We come together, our bliss continuing to surge even when he pulls out and rolls me on my side. He scoots behind me on the sofa and wraps me in a warm, strong embrace.

“Incredible,” he breathes in my ear, and I have to agree.

I snuggle back against him and he wraps his arms around me tighter while stroking me softly with a couple fingers.

This man is everything a playboy is not supposed to be, but I try not to think about that right now. Instead, I commit to enjoying the euphoria of having my brains fucked out by the likes of a man I thought a couple weeks ago was out looking for a prettier girl.