The Reporter #3
“You looked composed in the locker room,” he said.
“I was composed.”
“No, you weren’t.”
His hand moved slowly along my thigh.
“You were shaking.”
“I was standing in heels on top of a hockey bag.”
He laughed softly and leaned down to kiss me and slipped my panties down to my ankles.
The first touch made me pull against the tie.
“There,” he murmured against my mouth. “That’s what you were trying not to do downstairs.”
I bit back a sound.
He spread my legs and slowly slipped one, then two fingers back inside of me.
My restraint broke.
His name nearly left my mouth, but I settled for a broken gasp.
He seemed to like that better.
His mouth moved to my neck while his hand continued, no longer teasing but still entirely in control. He read every shift of my hips, every change in my breathing, every involuntary pull against the tie.
Then he reached for the nightstand.
My eyes opened.
He held up the vibrator.
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m embarrassed enough that you saw that.”
“You brought it.”
“I didn’t bring it for you.”
“That hurts.”
“You’ll survive.”
He pressed the button.
The soft buzz filled the room.
My face burned.
His expression turned almost unbearably satisfied.
“Tell me to put it down.”
I looked at it.
Then at him.
“Don’t put it down.”
“Better.”
He spread me apart with his free hand and lowered the vibrator slowly, watching my face the entire time.
The first contact pulled a sharp cry from me.
His forearm settled firmly on my hip, keeping me from twisting away.
“Too much?”
“No.”
He adjusted the pressure.
My eyes closed.
“Look at me.”
I forced them open.
He was kneeling between my legs, still dressed from the waist down, his shirt open at the throat and sleeves pushed to his forearms. The contrast made everything feel more obscene. I was exposed and restrained while he remained composed enough to study my reaction.
“Is this what you were thinking about at the bar?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“In the locker room?”
I hesitated.
His hand stilled.
“Yes.”
“What were you thinking?”
“I’m not answering that.”
The vibration intensified.
My back arched.
He moved the vibrator with infuriating precision.
Pleasure rose rapidly, building too quickly for me to contain. My hands strained against the tie. My breathing turned ragged. He kept his eyes on me, refusing to let me disappear into the sensation without being witnessed.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Stop trying to hold it back.”
I shook my head, though I didn’t know what I was refusing.
His thumb pressed into my hip.
“Let me see.”
The command broke something open.
The climax hit hard enough to steal my voice. My body tightened beneath him, every muscle drawing taut before pleasure rolled through me in waves. He kept the vibrator in place just long enough to draw out every aftershock, then switched it off and set it aside.
For several seconds, the only sound in the room was my breathing.
He leaned over me.
“Still embarrassed?”
“Yes.”
He kissed me, and I felt my own broken laugh against his mouth.
“Untie me.”
“Why?”
“So I can touch you.”
That got his attention.
He released the knot quickly.
My arms dropped around his shoulders. I pulled him down, kissing him while my fingers worked the buttons of his shirt. He let me push it from his shoulders. His belt followed, then the rest, until there was nothing left of the measured, fully dressed man from the bar.
He settled over me, his body heavy and hot against mine. He held up his weight with one hand, and guided himself into me with the other.
There was nothing restrained about him now.
The bed shifted beneath us, the headboard tapping lightly against the wall. His mouth found mine whenever I grew too loud, swallowing each sound while his hands held my hips exactly where he wanted them.
I clung to his shoulders.
Every controlled touch from the locker room seemed to have led here, to the full weight of him over me and the loss of every professional boundary I had spent years maintaining.
He kissed the corner of my mouth.
“You going to quote me on this?”
“I don’t have my recorder.”
“Too bad.”
His pace changed.
My nails dug into his back.
“What would the headline be?” he asked.
“Defenseman fails to finish?”
He stopped.
I stared up at him.
His expression was pure disbelief.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
He caught both my wrists and pinned them above my head.
“You’re going to regret that.”
He drove the point home until coherent thought became impossible.
The second climax built slower, deeper, winding through me with every movement. He felt it coming before I did. His grip tightened. His mouth moved to my ear.
“Come for me like a good girl.”
I did.
He followed moments later, his face pressed into my neck, breath hot against my skin as the tension finally left his body.
For a long time, neither of us moved.
Then he rolled onto his back beside me.
The room had gone quiet again. The vibrator sat abandoned on the floor. His tie remained looped around the headboard.
I stared at the ceiling.
“This can never happen again.”
“Obviously.”
I turned my head.
He was smiling.
“You don’t believe me.”
“Not even a little.”