Chapter 30
thirty
. . .
Nick
She stares at me, her ice cream long forgotten.
“Seriously?” The incredulity in her voice raises the volume several decibels. “You’re going to sit there and tell me that, what, you’ve been pining for me for the last three and a half years, and I’ve just been—”
“I wasn’t pining,” I stress. “Regretted what happened. Couldn’t get it out of my head. Trust me, I tried. And then I saw you again, and I fucked up, and I know now why babe triggers you so much, but I never wanted you to hate me. Never wanted what happened between us to affect you so much.”
“So all this time…”
“The last year and a half, I thought you were dating Henry. I wasn’t going to pursue someone in a happy, committed relationship.”
“We never dated,” she repeats, and hearing it again soothes some of those frazzled nerves that have been eating at me for so long. “Nothing ever happened between us.”
“I know. I trust you. Just like you’ll trust that nothing ever happened with me and Elsy.”
“I’d hope not,” she snaps. “She’s married to my brother.”
I wince. “What’s the over/under on him breaking my face?”
She giggles, the sound warming the frozen stone that is my heart. “I’m not taking that bet.”
“He doesn’t have to worry. You don’t have to worry. Not about me.” I squeeze her index finger again. “I’m fucking crazy about you, Bex Marie.”
“That’s not my name.” She rolls her eyes with a fond smile. Until it slips off her face, and she stares down at her half-eaten ice cream, her eyes sad. “It’s Rebecca Lynn. But the only one who calls me that is my mother, and, well…”
“Got it. Bex Marie,” I tease.
Our eyes meet, and something heavy pulses between us, like the moment right before a storm breaks.
The weight of everything we’ve said, and everything we’re finally brave enough to feel, presses down on my chest until breathing feels optional.
The air thickens, charged with want and truth and the fragile hope that this—us—is real.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts back to my eyes, and in that quiet beat I feel it: the shift from holding back to letting go, from almost to finally.
“Hey, Nick?” she whispers.
“Yeah?” I whisper back.
“Take me home.”
Lightning crackles in my veins, sending electric shocks to my heart.
I clear my throat. “To be clear, do you want me to take you to your place? Or mine?”
“I don’t care where we go, so long as we’re alone in a bed.”
Shoving a too-big spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, I enjoy my last bite before I stand and toss the paper cup into the trash can.
She hands me her bowl, and I dispose of that, too, while she pulls out her hand sanitizer and applies it liberally to her hands. The scent of orange blossoms perfumes the air, settling the adrenaline coursing through me.
I offer my hand, and she squeezes the alcohol onto my palm. I rub my hands together, then bring them to my nose, inhaling deeply.
“It won’t get you high,” she chides with a smile, as she slips into her coat. I help settle the wool around her shoulders, straightening the upturned collar.
“Don’t need anything to get me high when I’ve got you. Just being around you makes me feel floaty.”
Her hand lands on my arm, concern pinching her beautiful face. “Floaty? Do I need to evaluate you again?”
Ducking down, I kiss her temple. “I’m in complete control of my faculties. I’m sober. And I know exactly what you do to me.”
This late at night, there’s no traffic on the road as I drive us to my place in the Financial District.
I’m in the same luxury building as a few other players and staff; McKittrick and Amelia, Henry and Audrey, Logan and Hailey, MacGregor, Sinclair, Jenkins…
It keeps me young, hanging with teammates a decade or more younger than me.
I put down roots in New Orleans, but I won’t make that mistake again. Not this close to the end of my career. I don’t want to be a journeyman, constantly being shuttled between teams; I want to be settled. And that’s not really an option for me at this stage of the game.
The end of my career looms over me like an anvil about to drop. One wrong hit could be all it takes. That’s all it takes for anyone.
But at this point, I don’t know that I’ll have the strength left to claw my way back. The strength to keep performing at this elite level, again and again and again. I’m past my prime; that much is for certain. It’s a slippery slide downhill from here.
I can’t live in fear. I don’t know when it’ll happen. If it will happen that way. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to go out on my own terms. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to make that choice, rather than having the choice made for me.
All I can do is focus on the here and now: on the beautiful woman beside me, the one who’s finally said yes. The one who’s turned my world topsy-turvy.
I park in the garage, then open the door for Bex and lead her through the building’s concrete underbelly. The elevator whisks us away to the twelfth floor, her hand in mine the whole time. A swipe of the fob lets us into the apartment, and then I hold my breath.
I try to see my place through her eyes. It’s decorated simply, in cool blues and grays.
A leather sofa that’s seen better days, but is comfortable as fuck; a flat-screen TV with a gaming console.
Abstract artwork on the walls, picked by the decorator.
If I had it my way, I’d live with plain white walls, nothing on them.
But apparently that’s juvenile and depressing, according to Elsy.
Bex makes a noise of approval as she thumbs through the books on my shelf. “Nice variety,” she pronounces.
“Henry’s roped me into his book club.”
“Seb’s good at that. He’s a good guy.”
I hum in acknowledgment. “Still don’t like his brother.”
“Is that why you keep fighting Luke? Because you thought there was something between us?”
Why is it so difficult to admit that to her face?
“I know I had no claim over you. We weren’t anything. But I hated that he had you. Or I thought he had you. I hated coming second to that douchebag.”
She opens her mouth, probably to argue.
“But I know he’s your friend, so I’m going to do my best to put it behind us. To get to know him as himself, and not what I thought he was.”
“Thank you,” she says, thawing somewhat. “He’s not that bad, I promise.”
“I believe you.” Pulling her into my arms, I ease her coat off her shoulders, then hang it on the hook beside the door. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore, though.”
“No? What do you want to talk about?” She winds her arms around my neck, hand curling to cup my nape. Her touch feels like a possession. A claiming. Like there’s no doubt now that I’m hers, and she’s mine, and we belong together.
“How about we don’t talk at all?”
Walking backward through my apartment, I lead her to my bedroom. She kicks off her heels, lowering her three inches to the ground. The sight of her bare feet, bright red toes digging into the plush carpet, hits me square in the chest.
“Strip.” My voice is hoarse, the syllable a command.
And she’s eager to obey. Bex’s eyes lock on mine, daring me, challenging me, as she unbuttons her blouse, each one slipping free to reveal more of her tantalizing flesh.
A flush spreads over her pale skin, peachy beneath the freckles dotting her chest. My breathing grows ragged as I stare, transfixed, at every inch bared to me, the sound echoing in the quiet stillness of my bedroom.
The shiny, dark blue fabric slips from her shoulders in a whisper of silk. Her bra is a midnight blue to match, her breasts encased in the lacy material. My hand raises, wanting to touch her, to bring her closer, but I stop myself just in time.
She goes for her skirt next, slipping it off her full hips and baring her belly. There’s a red line all the way across her stomach, a swollen welt where the waistband must have dug into her flesh.
Only her panties left, a scrap of black silk. She shoves the elastic off her hips and down her legs, kicking them to the side. Stark naked, she crosses her arms over her breasts, glaring at me.
“Happy now?”
“Happy doesn’t begin to cover it.” Pulling at the knot of my tie, I greedily drink her in, every curve, every roll, every freckle. I tug it free, then work at my shirt, until I can finally shrug out of it.
I know what my body looks like. I’ve worked hard to be in peak athletic condition. But the hunger in her gaze as she watches me, the anticipation on her face, makes all those hours sweating in the gym worth it.
“You said you weren’t into femdom.” Fuck, just hearing those words on her lips made me pant for her. “That still the case?”
Slowly, she nods. “I don’t want to be in charge. For once, I need to give up control. I—I can do that with you.”
“You can. And you will.”
I don’t need to be the one calling the shots, but if that’s what she needs, I’m happy to fulfill that role for her. To give her what she craves, whether she knows it or not.
I unfasten my belt, the ting of the buckle sending a zip down my spine. The whistle of the leather whipping through the loops makes my blood sing. I coil the strap around my fist, then set it aside on the dresser.
“Take me out, Bex.”
She lets her arms fall, baring her nude body to me. “And then?” Her hands fall to my waist, the back of her knuckles brushing my abs making my knees tremble.
“And then suck me like the good girl you are.”
Falling to her knees, she does as I demand. She draws me from my briefs, her small hand around my cock heaven after so many years of only my touch. After stroking over my length once, twice, she leans forward and licks the tip of my cock, her tongue dragging through the slit.
Oh, fuck.
Her crimson-painted lips part as she draws me into her mouth. I thread my hands through her hair, gathering it away from her face. The silky-smooth strands flow over my fingers, so soft, so delicate.
With her hand stroking my shaft and her wicked tongue teasing the head of my cock, I’m way too close, way too soon. Bex bobs her head, sucking on the upstroke, and—nope. Not happening. Not this way.
I tug her off my dick. “Enough.”
She rocks back onto her heels, her hand ringing the base of my cock. “Did I do something wrong?”
“You did everything right.” I release a shallow breath. “But I don’t want to end things this way.”
A satisfied smirk crosses her face before she blanks it away.
I reach for her, tugging her upright by her upper arms. She lets me maneuver her like a rag doll, so willing to abide by my instructions.
If she wants to let go, I’ll be there to catch her.
Lifting her into my arms, I toss her onto the bed, then crawl onto the mattress beside her. I stretch out in the center on my back, then tug her to straddle me.
“Sit on my face.”
She flinches. “But I’m—”
“I swear to fuck, if you say one negative word about yourself, I will make you regret it.”
Her swallow is loud. “But—”
“Bex Marie.” I purposefully use my nickname for her. We may be skirting the lines of what she’ll allow, but I never want her to doubt my feelings are genuine. That this is still us, regardless of how we’re playing. “Sit on my face.”
“I don’t want to smother you.”
“If I die, I die.” With my hands on her hips, I guide her up. “Take your throne, Queen.”