Chapter 14
fourteen
. . .
Amelia
I’m sending Sinclair on his way when McKittrick approaches the PT bay.
“You okay?” I ask, even though he’s favoring his left leg.
“I could use a look at my knee,” the captain says, nodding at Sinclair. “You have time?”
Oh, good, so he’s not avoiding me outright. I was afraid that would happen.
“I have half an hour until my next session.” Stepping back, I usher him into the small, windowless room I’ve claimed as my own.
Graham is on his lunch break, and Zac is with Derek going over a treatment plan with Trevor, so we have the med suite to ourselves.
McKittrick is wearing athletic shorts and a performance t-shirt with the Grizzlies logo on the chest. His hair is damp, most likely fresh out of the shower, his woodsy scent amplified when he brushes past me to the table.
I do a visual examination first. Everything looks to be in order—no bruising, bleeding, or swelling. Snapping on a fresh pair of gloves, I palpate his knee, watching his face for any indication of pain or tenderness.
“You need to stop.” His voice is hoarse, his entire body a solid line of tension.
“What’s hurting?” Removing my hand from his leg, I take a step back, assessing. I’ve barely touched him. I wasn’t overly aggressive…
He pauses.
“Is it the—”
“I need you to stop,” he says again, more harshly. His breathing is coming faster now, his massive chest rising and falling with each stuttered breath.
“Mc—”
And that’s when I see it. The bulge in his shorts has grown significantly, tenting the stretchy mesh fabric.
Keeping my face neutral, I tell him, “It’s totally natural. You don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s a physical reaction.”
“Stop talking.” His face flames and he scrunches his eyes, like that will make it go away.
“But—”
“Amelia,” he says, his voice rough like sandpaper. Heat coils deep in my belly at the sound, and I clench my thighs together. “I’m ten seconds away from throwing you down on this table, so if you don’t shut the hell up right fucking now—”
“You’ll do what?”
His eyes open, and he turns to look at me, his green eyes nearly eclipsed by his pupils. “We can’t.”
“Why not?” I cross my arms over my chest, hiding the way my nipples have beaded into tight buds.
“It’s inappropriate,” he grunts, scrubbing a hand over his face.
I pull off my gloves, and then set my hand on his thigh again. Higher. My fingertips run along the hem of his shorts, the rasp of his body hair on my skin doing dangerous things to my heart rate.
“Do you know what you’re doing, little girl?” His eyes lock on mine, daring me to go further.
I’ve never backed down from a challenge.
Sliding my hands over his shorts, I tease my way to his hip, tiptoeing my way over the socket. The bulge twitches, and my mouth waters. I wonder what he looks like up close. I want to taste him, to lick him from root to tip. My pussy clenches around emptiness, leaving me wanting.
“Amelia…”
When I cup his erection, it throbs in my grip, his pulse fluttering in his neck. I squeeze gently, the hard, thick length so wonderfully reactive.
He surges upright. Before I can so much as blink, McKittrick’s hand is on my throat, pulling me toward him. His lips descend on mine, licking into my mouth, like he’s as desperate for this as me. With his grip on my throat, he can feel every breath I take, the rapid-fire thundering of my pulse.
His hand lands on my hip, pulling me into the V of his legs, and then slips around to my ass, squeezing the rounded flesh. I set mine on his thighs, pushing them apart, and then slide my hand back to his erection, palming the thick length. He fills my fist so beautifully.
McKittrick groans into the kiss, his tongue stroking mine.
“This is a bad idea,” he breathes.
“So stop,” I counter.
His dark chuckle vibrates against my lips. “Take off your pants.”
Rearing back, I search his eyes. I must have misheard him.
“Take off your fucking pants, Amelia,” he says roughly, his hand resting on the column of my throat.
But he doesn’t exert any pressure.
It’s entirely up to me. I could stop this at any time. But I don’t want to stop it. We’ve been heading for this ever since that very first time. It’s always been inevitable.
And I can’t fucking wait another second.
I take a step back, and he releases me. Heaving in a breath, my fingers fumble with the button on my jeans. His eyes pin me to the spot.
Slowly, I work the denim over my hips. He nods at me, his eyes dark, and I step out of the jeans, dropping them on the counter behind me.
“Panties, too,” he growls.
“Or what?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Little girl…”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not a little girl. I’m a grown ass woman.”
“You’re ten years younger than me.”
“So? If you want to find someone young and na?ve to play with, go ahead. But it won’t be me.”
Quick as lightning, his fingers hook in the front of my panties, pulling the elastic band down to expose the top of my mound. His wrist twists, and then he’s sliding three fingers between my legs, gliding through the wetness there.
“You sure about that?”
I widen my stance to give him more access. “If you want to play, it’ll be with me, not some innocent little virgin who—”
My words cut off when he thrusts two fingers inside me. My walls flutter around the intrusion, so fucking full.
“You’re right,” he growls. “You’re not innocent, not in the slightest. Not with the shows you give me.”
Victorious, I grin. “You like them?”
His fingers withdraw, and then fuck into me a few times, each thrust leaving me wanting more.
“Fucking hate them,” he says, slamming his mouth over mine. His kiss is ruthless, wrenching the breath from my lungs.
He hates them? But he watches every one.
“Hate you being so fucking far away,” he murmurs against my lips. “Hate not touching you, tasting you.” He bites my lip, soothing the sting away with his tongue. “Hate not hearing you. Having you.”
“You have me now.” I gasp as his thumb rubs my clit.
My eyes roll back in my head from the sensory overload. My hand is loosely wrapped around his cock, the fabric in my way. I move to his waistband, but his hand lands on mine, guiding me away.
“Don’t distract me.” It’s not a request, it’s an order, and my cunt throbs around his fingers. I shouldn’t love being bossed around as much as I do.
Hands clenching to his thighs, I can do little more than hold on while he touches me, rough and frantic, like he’s even halfway as worked up as I am. As if he needs this as much as I do.
He knows exactly what to do to drive me crazy and crazier. My skin is tight, like I’m about to burst out of it, and just when I think I can’t take it anymore, I shatter.
I splinter apart, thousands of tiny shards breaking into a million more. The air is punched from my lungs as pleasure overtakes me, my body helpless to the sensations wreaking havoc on my system.
My knees buckle, and I pitch forward, McKittrick’s hand leaving my throat to move to my hip, stabilizing me.
I collapse against him, stealing some of his steadiness.
Slowly, he pulls his fingers out from where they’re buried deep within me, and I watch as he brings them to his mouth, licking them clean.
I whimper. I fucking whimper, like I’m the heroine in a regency romance novel.
The smirk he gives me is so fucking devilish. He knows he’s a fucking rake.
McKittrick is a tightly coiled ball of tension, and even though I came, he hasn’t. I’ve barely even touched him.
Once I’m certain I can stand on my own two feet again, I step away, rummaging through the cabinets behind me. He lets out a soft groan of protest. But I’m not ignoring him.
Coming up with the massage oil, I return to him.
“Take off your pants,” I order. It’s my turn now.
Breathing hard, he slips off the table, the thick length of his erection brushing against my hip. We’re standing toe-to-toe, and although he’s a whole foot taller than me, I don’t feel unsafe. I don’t feel pressured. Deep in my soul, I know he’d never make me do anything I wasn’t comfortable with.
He drops his pants.
My mouth waters as I take him in. Thick and long, with a dark mushroom head, the tip leaking pre-cum. I reach for him, desperate to touch him, when I remember the massage oil in my hand.
Squeezing the oil into my palms, I rub them together to warm it before I wrap my fist around his erection. McKittrick blows out a breath, his eyes locked on where my hand circles around his length. I give him a firm stroke, and then a second. He reaches for me, ducking his head to kiss me again.
His tongue plunges into my mouth, tasting me, devouring me. He bites at my lips and soothes the sting, brutally attentive.
In my hand, his cock is hard as stone, smooth steel encased in velvet. A drop of pre-cum beads at the tip, and I smooth it along his shaft, the stickiness mixing with the oil to ease my strokes.
His hand closes around mine, pulling it away.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, already missing the feel of him as his cock bobs between us.
“Turn around and bend over,” McKittrick says roughly.
Anticipation swirls in my belly. “I don’t have any condoms.”
“We don’t need condoms.”
Alarm bells go off in my brain, and I push on his chest. It’s hard as stone, and he doesn’t move an inch.
“What do you mean? If you’re going to fuck me—”
“I’m not going to fuck you.” A muscle clenches in his jaw. “Turn around and bend over.”
I meet his eyes. It’s true that I’ve enjoyed every moment of this so far. I trust him. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t let him put his hands on me in the first place.
So, I turn around. Bend over.
He clicks the cap of the massage oil, and then I hear the sound of skin-on-skin, and then his body is behind mine. The head of his cock brushes against my ass, and I tense.
But then he shifts, his hand maneuvering against my ass, and he guides his cock between my legs.
I squeeze my thighs together, giving him a tight channel to fuck into. His groan reverberates through him and into me, rattling my bones.
His hands land on my hips, his grip tight, and he blankets my body with his, the heat between us turning the room into an inferno. His mouth lands on my neck, licking and sucking at the skin.
With the remaining air in my lungs, I gasp out, “No marks.”
Scraping his teeth against the tendon in my neck, he growls but backs off. His hips buck against my ass while he fucks my thighs, the thick, sticky length of him so fucking close to my pussy.
But he doesn’t fuck me, doesn’t try to enter me.
His thrusts grow more erratic, his breathing harsh and ragged in my ear. I arch my back, pressing my ass against him, and his entire body tenses as he lets out a long, loud groan.
Between my legs, his cock pulses, his cum landing on my skin and on the exam table. His body shakes behind me, finally going still.
The only sound in the room the ragged breaths sawing out of our lungs. Both of us are struggling to breathe, and I don’t know about him, but my heart races like I just ran a fucking marathon.
Or a marathon fucking.
McKittrick clears his throat, and then steps back. I feel the loss of him immediately, and I’m suddenly hit with the awareness that his cum is between my thighs while I’m at work.
We did this in my office. At work. Where anyone could walk in and see us. Hear us.
Fuck.
He crosses the small room and grabs a few paper towels, wetting them at the sink, and then brings them to me to clean myself up. He does the same, and then pulls his shorts back on and runs his hand through his hair.
“Uh…”
I shake my head. “Just go.”
He clears his throat. “My, uh, knee…”
“Right.” With a sigh, I cross the room to the sink, washing my hands, and then wipe down the table. “Hop back up.”
A pleased smirk on his lips, McKittrick lays himself out on my table, and I focus on the task at hand, testing his mobility and then assigning him specific exercises as homework.
I can’t fool around with the hockey team captain. I can’t fuck around at work. He’s practically untouchable; they’d get rid of me in an instant.
It doesn’t matter that our brief interlude was the highlight of my year. It can’t happen again.