Chapter 8 #2
“What dorms? The hockey ones are currently getting renovated for Scott Hendricks’s son, Scotty. The kid’s joining the team next year, and we can’t have Mr. Reality TV star living in anything less than the perfect dorm.”
Her hands move away from me and she opens her bag, completely unbothered by my little monologue… As per usual. This girl gives no fucks.
“Where does it hurt?”
I point to the inside of my thigh, just above where she’d taped earlier. She presses her thumb into the muscle, testing—
“Fuck—” I flinch so hard my hand shoots out to grip the arm of the couch.
Her expression shifts in surprise.
“Shit, Cross, you weren’t kidding.”
“I never kid about my thighs.”
She doesn’t laugh. She’s too busy working the knot with firm, even pressure, muttering under her breath about men who never listen and hockey players with death wishes.
“Why didn’t you tell Mark it was this bad during your session? You shouldn't have played tonight.”
How did she know I played? Was she watching?
“It was fine until I played into overtime.”
“Played into overtime?” She looks up sharply. “Jay. You shouldn't have been playing at all. Why the hell did you think this was a good idea?”
I don’t answer, because I know she’s right, so I just look away. I shouldn't have done it, but frankly I'm tired of being injured. I just want to get out there and play.
She presses harder into the muscle, and I grunt. “Let me guess. You needed to prove something.”
“I needed to be ready. If I'm injured the contract I signed with the Monterey Leviathans is null and void before I've even had the chance to play.”
“Well, you're pretty much fulfilling that prophecy, you know?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You can’t even walk to your own door.” Her voice is sharp now, frustrated. “You texted me at 11 P.M. because you literally cannot move.”
“Which is why you’re here.” I meet her eyes, and there’s no smirk this time. No charm. “You’re the only one I trust to fix this.”
That stops her, and the fight drains out of her expression, replaced by a soft, pitying smile.
“You’re an idiot,” she mutters, but her hands are gentler now as she works the knot.
“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”
She rolls her eyes, that smile growing even though she's trying to hide it.
She shuffles around on her knees and huffs out an annoyed breath.
“These are the worst conditions to help you. Move over.”
She places her hand on my other thigh and gently pushes my legs apart. Then she does something wholly unexpected. She crawls under my legs and sits in between my thighs with the coffee table in behind her and the couch in front.
I bite my lip, holding back the things I want to say, but having Ally Hart kneeling between my legs, massaging my upper thigh was not on my bingo card this year.
Her fingers work my thigh deeper, traveling up the muscle.
“How does it feel?”
She can’t seriously expect me to answer that without a groan, can she?
It hurts, but feels so fucking good. A little pain. A little pleasure—just the way I like it.
“It’s getting better,” I husk out, adjusting my seating position so she can’t see my semi.
Still, I watch her hands, unable to stop myself because they look so good against my skin. Her nimble fingers move higher...
And higher,
Higher still…
Then…
“Shit,” I mutter, throwing my head back onto the couch. My cock is at full attention now because Ally Hart didn't just brush past it. I swear she took her time and felt it. “I didn’t realize diverting blood flow was part of the treatment course.”
Yeah, it's there, proudly trying to nudge its way to a girl with the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.
“Relax, Cross. It was just an accidental dick brush. Happens all the time. Gotta be professional about it.”
Her fingers keep working and my cock keeps growing.
I don’t even try to hide it now. She's the one who mentioned it. She's the one who acted like it's all part of the process.
She’s also the one who keeps glancing at it.
“What about this?” Her hands rub deeper into my upper thigh. “How does that feel?”
“Yeah. That’s good.”
So fucking good.
Her stroke slows as she takes her time.
“Fuck, Hart. Your hands feel so good.”
She pretends she doesn’t hear me, and keeps working on my thigh, easing the pain. Her fingers drift, and shit. That brush was too deliberate to be an accident this time.
Is she taunting me?
She stills for half a second, like she’s deciding whether to acknowledge that I spoke at all. Then she resumes, firmer now, almost rough—like she’s daring me to complain. Her fingers drag a little too close again, her knuckles brushing where they absolutely shouldn’t.
I hiss when she presses harder into my thigh. “Easy,” I mutter. “You’re supposed to be helping, remember?”
Her mouth tightens. “I am helping.”
“Maybe you could help with the other issue you've created instead,” I mutter, wincing at the pain.
She freezes. Her breath goes shallow, chest rising too fast, and she pulls her hands back before reaching for a towel.
“You know what? I’m done,” she says.
Pain shoots through my leg when she shifts away, but I don’t stop her. I just watch her standing in between my thighs, taking in how her fingers curl into fists at her sides.
“Funny,” I murmur. “Because a second ago, you didn’t seem done.”
Her head snaps up. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask quietly. “Point out the obvious?”
She swallows. I see it. See the war on her face—the discipline, the rules, the part of her that’s furious she let it go this far battling the part that doesn’t want to step back at all.
“You’re hurt,” she says finally, like that settles it. Like it's going to protect her from what's clearly going on between us. “This isn’t—”
She doesn't finish the sentence. She just looks at me. Really looks.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, then my chest, and finally to my black shorts. It lingers there before she meets my eyes again. Her eyes have darkened. Something’s shifted.
“This was a mistake,” she says. Her breath leaves her in a shaky exhale. She doesn’t move away, though.
I don’t either. I can't.
The silence stretches between us. It's thick, electric, and unbearable. My leg throbs. Everything else burns, but it doesn't stop how much I want her.
She lifts a leg over mine, and I feel deflated, knowing she's going to leave me here, unable to chase after her.
That is until her lips are suddenly crashing against mine.
What the fuck is going on?
Her hands cup my cheeks, and she holds me in place as she takes.
Takes… takes… takes…
Her tongue pushes into my mouth, her body pressing into mine as she hovers over me.
“Ally,” I say, hardly able to get it out between kisses.
She’s not gentle or soft. She’s feral and kisses me like she’s furious at herself for wanting this.
It’s almost as though she hates that I have so much power over her.
Newsflash, Doc, you’ve had this power over me since you walked back into my life.
Her fingers rumple my shirt before she sits on my good thigh and pulls me closer.
Fuck, yes.
She's riding my thigh now, giving in to it. This is what I’ve wanted from her but never thought possible. Pure passion. The inability to let whatever's going on between us go.
Her hands snake up through my hair and she bites down on my bottom lip, taking it back with her.
When she finally releases it, I grin. “Fuck, that’s so hot. You're so fucking hot, Hart.”
I slip my hands under her T-shirt, my palms flat against her bare skin, feeling her shiver from the touch. I tug her closer, groaning when she rocks into me, the pressure sending a shock of pain up my leg—but I don’t care. Not when her mouth is on mine and her tongue is down my throat.
I shift under her, my thigh burning, but I don’t stop. How can I when she’s here for the taking?
I push her shirt up until she throws it off, giving me space to kiss the valley between her breasts. She's a fucking magnificent sight to behold.
Cupping her breasts through the fabric of her lacy bra, I let my thumbs brush over the fabric, right where her nipples are.
“Jay—” she wisps out. The best sound in the world.
I roll the fabric down to reveal her perfect, pink nipples. She arches her back, inviting me to suck on them… don’t mind if I do.
The minute my lips meet her skin, she groans as though this is the first time anyone has ever made her feel this good.
“Jay,” she says, but it’s not as contented as before. Now she’s begging for more.
I press my teeth down ever so slightly against her nipple, watching her reaction as I do.
That’s it.
That didn’t just earn me a smile, it earned me the softest little whimper, so I bite down a little harder.
She gasps.
I swirl my tongue around her nipple, taking any of the pain away before biting down again.
“Oh, J-Jay. This feels so—” she trails off, no doubt not letting herself finish off that thought.
As I pop her nipple out of my mouth and move to the other one, her hand falls back and finds my thigh.
“How’s the pain now?” she asks, and I laugh, thinking she can’t be serious. It’s only when she keeps staring at me with her bruised lips from kissing that I realize she’s being serious.
I clear my throat, attempting to sit up a little straighter. “I, uh, kind of forgot about it.”
“Good,” she says with pursed lips. “But this is a terrible position for the injury.”
Her hands grapple at my shoulders, and she pulls me down so I’m lying back on the sofa with her still sitting on top of me. Then, she reaches for one of the sofa cushions and stuffs it under my thigh.
I raise a brow, taking her in.
Ally’s hair is a mess, her nipples are popping out of her bra, but she’s still concerned about me.
“If you want to even have a fighting chance of playing tomorrow, your thigh needs elevation. Make sure you sleep like this tonight, too.”
“Ah, I think I’m going to need some supervision to make sure I’m in the right position, Doc.”