Chapter 19 #2
“Could we keep doing this?” She glided over me, her slick underwear providing a flimsy barrier. “I’m not ovulating, but I understand if you aren’t comfortable with the risk.”
I wasn’t an idiot. Even with my lust-addled brain, I knew there was still a chance that she could get pregnant. Which was why I’d given her the option of doing something else.
I gripped her ass, pulling her over me again. “Angel, we can do whatever you want.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, hands on my shoulders. “Because I want to make you feel good.”
“Trust me,” I chuckled. “I do feel good, and I’m not worried about coming.” If anything, I worried about coming too soon.
I grabbed a clean beach towel from nearby, so I wouldn’t make a mess when that inevitably happened. We were supposed to return to the wedding after all. “Now, ride me.”
She grinned, leaning forward to cover my lips with hers. As our tongues tangled, she slid against me, using my cock and the friction from her underwear to drive her to the brink.
“Take what you need,” I said, palming her breast, one then the other. I sucked her nipple into my mouth, teasing and tasting, coaxing out her pleasure. Using every means available to make her feel good, while trying to hold on for as long as possible.
I was reciting stats in my head, toying with her breasts, praying that she would come soon before I embarrassed myself. I gripped the towel, hoping my reflexes would be as fast as they were on the ice. Because as soon as she came, I was going to fucking explode.
Bryn’s speed increased, our kisses growing sloppier and more desperate. When she started to moan my name, I covered her mouth with my hand.
“I’m beginning to think you want to get caught.”
And then she was shuddering on top of me, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Mouth open to form a silent “O.” She was glorious—wild and untethered.
I held off for as long as I could, letting her ride out her pleasure. But I was losing control, unraveling. Bryn moved to my side, crouching down to take me in her mouth.
Whatever I said, it wasn’t intelligible. I placed my hand on the back of her head, gently holding her hair to the side.
“Fuck, angel.” I watched her, wishing I could make it last longer. “You look so pretty sucking my cock.”
She used her hand to pump me, lavishing the tip with attention. And I was done for. I gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, a warning. But she didn’t stop, didn’t back off, and I finally let go. Pleasure surged through my veins, a rush of satisfaction washing over me.
And she swallowed it all down then licked me clean. When she sat back up, she wiped at the corner of her mouth. She grinned, and I chuckled, so damn in love with her.
“Come here,” I said, pulling her to me for a kiss. A quick cuddle.
She let out a happy sigh and laid her head on my chest. It felt better than any shutout game, any play-off win, even winning the Frozen Four. Because Bryn was finally in my arms—exactly where she was meant to be.
I forced myself to stand, knowing we needed to get back to the reception. I tucked myself back into my pants. And then I offered Bryn my hand, gently pulling her to a standing position before helping her fix her dress.
“Thank you.” I kissed her temple. “That was exactly what I needed.”
“Me too.” She smiled. “Though I’m pretty sure it will be obvious what we were doing.”
“Maybe. But you look even more beautiful.” I kissed her nose.
“What does that mean?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Exactly what it sounded like,” I said.
“No.” She pointed at her nose. “That kiss. What are you trying to communicate?”
Ah. So she remembered what I’d said last night about kisses. I didn’t know why I was surprised.
I leaned in so my lips hovered beside her ear. I love you. I’m obsessed with you. You make everything better. “You’re cute.”
“Mm.” I could hear the smile in her voice. She liked my comment, but she didn’t love it. No woman wanted to be referred to as “cute” after sex. They wanted to be pretty, sexy, desirable. And she was all of those and more.
I kissed the spot just below her ear, inhaling her warm, rich amber scent. “Remember what that means?”
She sucked in a jagged breath. “Yes.”
I want you.
Because I did—want her. Today. Tomorrow. Always.
“Expecting company?” I teased, surveying the feast as Frasier rolled a room service cart outside to the table overlooking the ocean.
It was the morning after my sister’s wedding, and Frasier and I had stayed up late into the night dancing. Everyone had. It had been a magical evening, one of those perfect nights when people truly connected and had fun.
Even after we’d come back to the bungalow, Frasier and I hadn’t gone straight to sleep. We’d undressed each other slowly, making love beneath the stars.
This morning, we’d opted to sleep in, wanting to enjoy our last full day in paradise. We were supposed to fly home tomorrow, and if I weren’t so eager to see Biscuit and Bacon, I would’ve begged Frasier to stay longer. That said, we both had to get back to work. Back to real life.
The muscles of his back rippled as he steered the cart, and I couldn’t resist watching the way he moved, his body a study in contradictions. He was powerful, especially his quads and ass. But he was also graceful. His large size could be intimidating, and yet he’d only ever made me feel safe.
He lifted a shoulder. “I ordered for both of us.”
I barked out a laugh. “Just how much do you think I can eat?”
“Trust me, you’re going to thank me when you try the French toast.” He lifted the silver dome to reveal one of the plates. My stomach rumbled in appreciation.
He smirked as if to say, “See. I was right.” I stuck out my tongue at him.
He guided me to a chair, pulling it out and waiting for me to be seated. I resisted the urge to pull my legs into my lap and wrap his T-shirt around them. To bury my nose in the neckline and inhale.
He pressed his lips to my neck, giving my shoulder a squeeze before moving to the chair beside mine. We were both facing the ocean, and his hand was already resting on my thigh. I loved his constant need to be touching me.
Frasier placed the French toast in front of me. Always taking care of me. Focusing on my needs before his own—both at breakfast and in the bedroom.
I placed my hand on his arm, pulling him closer so I could kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
He turned, giving me a kiss on the lips. “You’re welcome.”
I sliced into the thick bread and dipped it in some syrup. When I took a bite, the flavors and textures exploded on my tongue. Crunchy. Packed with cinnamon and vanilla. Soft. Sweet.
“Wow. That is good.”
He leaned in, eyes alight with pleasure. “Want to know the secret?”
“Um. Yes. Are you kidding?” I dug into another bite, relishing the taste of it. Everything about it was unexpected and delicious.
“They use Portuguese sweet bread soaked in an egg mixture. And then they dip the thick crust in crushed cornflakes.”
I shook my head, marveling at the man before me. “How do you know all that?”
“Boone.”
“Boone?” I asked, referring to one of the defensemen for the Hawks. I hadn’t realized he was such a foodie.
Frasier lifted a shoulder. “He dated a line cook at the Huxley Grand LA for a while.”
“Boone.” I stared at him. “Boone Parks dated someone?” He was one of the biggest players on the team, and I wasn’t referring to his role on the ice.
Frasier chuckled, his entire face lighting up. I hadn’t seen him this relaxed since…well, it had been years, really. “Shocking, I know.”
I shook my head, still in disbelief. I couldn’t picture it. “Boone,” I mouthed.
“Mm.” Frasier licked his lips. He held up a croissant. “You’ve gotta try this pain au chocolat.”
I leaned forward, taking a bite. My eyes closed as the flaky, buttery shell fell apart in my mouth, oozing with rich, creamy chocolate. “Oh my god,” I said, covering my still-full mouth. I laughed then dabbed my lips with the corner of my napkin. “That is so good.”
“More?” he asked, his eyes homed in on mine.
It felt as if he were asking about more than just the food, and I nodded. Because I wanted more of this. More lazy mornings spent feeding each other. More late nights spent in each other’s arms. More dancing. More laughter. More fun. More everything with Frasier.
He held the croissant to my lips, our eyes locked. I took another bite. When some chocolate filling escaped, he used his finger to wipe it up. He held it to my mouth, and I parted my lips. But then he turned his finger to his mouth and sucked it between his lips, cleaning it.
“Hey! That was mine.” But I couldn’t be too outraged. I was honestly too distracted and more than a little turned on, despite how many times we’d had sex in the past forty-eight hours.
I narrowed my eyes at him then lunged for the pain au chocolat. He was faster than me—no surprise there. The man’s reflexes both on and off the ice were unreal.
He caged me to him with one arm, while taking the most obnoxious bite. Moaning around it loudly. I narrowed my eyes at him.
“You’re a tease,” I said, though my tone lacked bite.
“Getting me addicted, only to take it away. Is that the kind of thing I can expect when we get back to LA? You got me addicted to sex, and then you’re going to cut me off?
” I was joking, sort of. But I wished I could take back those words.
Because while I’d meant to broach the topic of our relationship with Frasier, I’d hoped to use a little more finesse.
And now I was kicking myself for taking a sledgehammer to our last morning in paradise together.
“I, um—” I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, trying to backpedal. “Sorry. I don’t…” I sighed, and he gave my thigh a reassuring squeeze. “That came out all wrong.”
“I’m glad you brought it up,” he said, and I couldn’t get a read on him. Probably because I was trying not to completely freak the fuck out. “Because we both know that things will be…different when we get back to LA. With the preseason ramping up, and…”
“Frasier.” I glanced up at him. “I get it. Trust me. You don’t have to explain. I know how busy you’re going to be. I have no expectations about what this is.” I gestured between us, my skin heating and my heart sinking.
This conversation wasn’t going at all how I’d hoped or planned. I was bumbling through, saying the opposite of what I actually meant.
“Bryn.” His voice was a command, compelling me to look at him. “I don’t do casual,” he rasped, and his confession sent a flutter through my belly. Or maybe it was the intense way he was looking at me. Studying me.
“And I know this started as a fake-dating situation, but I meant what I said the other day,” Frasier continued. “If it were up to me, we’d wake up together every day and start our mornings talking, touching, tangled up in each other.”
“I want that too,” I admitted.
“So we’re agreed?” he asked. “No more pretend relationship?”
I nodded. “No more pretending.”
He pulled me into his lap, brushing my hair away from my face. His blue eyes swirled with affection, sucking me into their depths. I cupped his cheek, and when he kissed me, it was with both tenderness and passion.
I was elated. I was scared. I was a bundle of emotions.
But Frasier made me feel safe, loved, cherished.
And I clung to that feeling, growing light-headed as he slid one hand down to my neck, moving the other to my nape.
And even though it wasn’t our first kiss, it felt like a new beginning. A promise.
When we reluctantly pulled apart, we were still touching. My heart was racing, but my mind was quiet. And my heart felt whole.