4. Face-Off
FACE-OFF
brETT
She tenses up as I lower my head.
“No, it’s fine! You don’t have to—oh. Oh, God!”
I look up from between her legs to inspect the result of my handiwork. She fell back against the pillows at the first swipe of my tongue, and I grin. I haven’t even pulled out the advanced moves yet.
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
To prove it, I resume my efforts, teasing her with intimate, open-mouthed kisses until she stops bracing for them, relaxing into the pleasure I’m trying to give her.
As soon as she settles into the rhythm, I lick up the center of her, and the keening sound she makes gets me so damn hard.
“Nobody’s ever... I’ve never…”
Something smug and possessive and pure caveman spreads through my chest at the implication, and I redouble my efforts to blow her mind. She’s incredible—soft and sweet and so goddamn responsive I have to reach down and adjust myself to keep from breaking the zipper of my jeans.
I need this so bad.
To not think about hockey.
To lose myself in the lust until there’s no space in my head for anything but her.
Not my ex, not the press, not the mess I made of my life. Just her beneath me. The softness of her skin. The kind of heat that feels like redemption.
There’s something about this woman that’s... different. I can’t quite figure out why, but it’s like one-night-of-fucking with her doesn’t have the jaded cynicism that one-night-of-fucking usually inspires. And it’s awesome.
I zero in on her clit, focusing my efforts, vindicated when she buries her fingers in my hair, holding me in place.
Hell yeah. I let her soft pants of desire guide me, and I alternate between licking and sucking.
She’s close. The restless rocking of her hips grows more purposeful as I get her all worked up for the finale.
Shifting to the side, I don’t let up with my mouth as I run my knuckles up her inner thigh.
She’s soaking wet for me and I can’t hold back a groan as I slip a finger inside her.
My cock jumps, frantic for the same treatment.
I can't remember the last time I was this desperate to be inside a woman.
Then she moans as I brush her G-spot, and I give up trying.
I withdraw my finger completely, add a second, and increase the pace, even as I slow my tongue. Her fingers flex against my scalp, and then she’s coming, hips jerking with pleasure. It’s so fucking hot.
“Jesus.” I kiss my way slowly up her stomach.
She laughs, a breathless chuckle that makes me feel like a king. “I think that’s my line.”
This woman. Everything about her is everything I need tonight. I lean in to capture her lips, but something silver distracts me, and I stare at her truly spectacular tits, plumped enticingly by the red lace bra that’s been driving me crazy all night.
Noticing my singular focus, she glances down. A condom package is stuck to the curve of her breast.
She blushes as she peels it off her skin and holds it up. “Safety first?”
The woman has no game. And I’ve never been harder for anyone in my whole life.
Scrambling off the bed, my body revs up when her eyes widen as I undo my belt, when her breath hitches as I unbutton my jeans, when she bites her lip as I tug on my zipper. I can’t shove my pants down my thighs fast enough.
I’m so damn hard my cock slaps my abs when it clears the band of my underwear, and I hiss out a breath at the pleasurable sensation. When I’m finally, blessedly, naked, I reach for the condom packet, but she pulls her hand back, just out of reach.
“Can I?” she asks, tucking a lock of brown hair behind her ear with a hint of nerves that’s so goddamn adorable I wish I’d thought to turn on the lights so I could see every nuance of the expression on her gorgeous face.
Can she what? Put her hands all over the nine inches of me that’s so ready to be inside of her I’m wondering if I should let her do exactly that, in case I embarrass myself?
“Oh fuck, yeah.”
I didn’t mean to say it aloud, but there's only one answer to a question like that, and the provocative curve of her lips tells me she doesn’t mind my foul mouth.
She crawls over to the edge of the bed, positioning herself on her knees in front of me, and I’m entranced by the sight of her, wearing only the red lace bra that’s been driving me wild since long before I removed a single piece of her clothing.
She’s opening the condom with such precision and focus, and it’s both cute as hell and so damn hot.
She turns that concentration on me and my dick jumps in anticipation as she lifts her hand.
A thousand swear words run through my head at the first tentative brush of her fingers, or maybe it’s the same curse a thousand times.
Either way, my thighs are shaking as she wraps her hand around me with a tentativeness that makes me crazy.
I groan outright when she drags her fist up, and it takes all the willpower in my arsenal—missing a wide-open net in overtime, taking a puck to the face, the stench of ripe hockey gloves—not to explode when she brushes her thumb through the pre-come glistening on the tip of my cock.
My world narrows to the throbbing between my legs, and I breathe through the exquisite torture as she rolls the condom to the base of my shaft.
My lips are on hers the split-second after she finishes her task, one hand buried in her hair, the other executing a one-handed bra removal that’s so damn smooth, I would have spared a moment to be impressed with myself if my brain could manage a single thought beyond Must. Fuck. Now.
She falls back onto the mattress as I crawl over her. I press into her so I can feel her tits against my chest as I line up our bodies for the kind of face-off that’s going to make us both winners.
I reach between us, positioning myself at her entrance so I can tease her until she begs me to put us both out of such perfect misery.
But when she presses a soft, sweet kiss against the hollow of my throat, my hips jerk, and I’m sinking inside her and powerless to do anything but enjoy the slow, slick ride.
She makes a sound I can only describe as a purr, and I’m lost. Claiming her mouth, I let the spark between us rage into the inferno I crave, rocking my hips and taking everything she's willing to give me. The bite of her nails against my back lets me know she’s right there with me, so I speed up a little.
And when she nips my bottom lip and shifts restlessly under my big body, I hope to hell she’s as close as I am, because I’ve only got six strokes, seven tops, before I’m not going to be able to stave off the fire set to consume me.
It only takes her three, and the sound of her cry, muffled against my mouth, combined with the way her pussy clenches around me, drawing me closer, is more than I can take.
I come so hard, I’m not entirely sure if the waves of sensation radiating through my body are made of pleasure or pain or some intoxicating hybrid.
All I know is she’s holding me close, fingers stroking my sweat-damp hair, and in my entire life, I’ve never felt so sure I was in exactly the right place at exactly the right time.
CHELSEA
I need to get out of here.
Tonight is supposed to be about super hot sex. One night of rebellion. And I tried to make it that.
But despite my experience with Dustin and a litany of stand-up comedians’ warnings about men and cuddling, I found the exception to the rule.
When I'd turned away to give him some space, he’d slung that big, tattooed arm over my hips and tugged me back against his body, his heart beating against my back.
I’d dozed, sated and happy, with his hand cupping my breast, and it had been the most perfect end to the most perfect night.
I didn’t expect a man who could wreck me like that to hold me so gently.
When I’d tried to extricate myself from the spoonage, he’d growled a sleepy protest, rolled me onto my back, and proceeded to kiss me with such slow, deep thoroughness I thought I might spontaneously combust just from having his mouth on mine.
He’d retrieved a condom from his wallet and rocked my entire world in a leisurely bout of lovemaking so completely different from our first round that I’m wondering what the next time might be like.
Would he kiss me that tenderly again? Or would it be harder next time, rougher, even better because we’d both know what we like?
I try to blame the thought on idle curiosity brought on by relaxation and sex hormones, but now another hour has passed, and I’m still here, and I’m starting to realize I’m in all kinds of trouble.
Because now that the orgasms are over, this whole experience is turning into something else. Something sweet. Something that makes me wonder what his name is. Makes me want to tell him mine.
And that’s not part of the plan.
I slide to the edge of the mattress, careful not to disturb him as I get to my feet. The hotel room isn’t pitch black, but it’s too dark for me to discern more than the vague shape of him on the other side of the bed.
It’s probably for the best. I feel around with a bare foot to locate my clothes. The sight of his muscled torso might lure me back for round three, and the more time I spend here, the more chance there is of messing up what has been a perfect night.
Well, an almost perfect night, I concede, tugging my sweater over my head. Getting dressed in the dark is a lot more awkward than I expected and it’s kind of putting a damper on the leave-quickly-and-quietly-to-preserve-a-sexy-air-of-mystery part of my plan.
I’m so nervous about waking him up that I’ve got a pair of jeans to mid-thigh before I realize they’re his. I exchange them for mine, and then, in a fit of romanticism, I tuck the lacy red panties under the pillow.
Like a token of thanks? The lingerie equivalent of writing Chelsea was here?
I don’t know, but I just want him to remember me tomorrow, even for a moment. It feels... important somehow.
I grab my boots and head for the door, but doubt stops me.
I snatch them back and shove my bra underneath the pillow instead.
I’m all the way to the door before I realize that’s even stupider.
Panties are a dirty little love letter.
A bra is… laundry.
He’ll probably think I’m ridiculous
Maybe I shouldn’t leave anything. I could just—
He shifts on the bed, freezing me in place, and I hold my breath as I wait for him to ask me what the hell I’m doing.
The words never come though, and after an excruciatingly long minute and a half ticks by on the digital alarm clock beside the bed, his breathing evens out.
I yank open the door, using the hallway light to locate my purse on the floor, and hurry toward the elevator with my boots clutched to my chest.
When I catch sight of myself in the mirrored confines of the elevator, my sweater’s inside out, my hair’s a mess, and I have whisker burn on my neck.
I grin stupidly at my reflection as I begin the descent to the lobby.
Best. Night. Ever.