18. Weston
The crowd’s energy tonight is electric. I’m skating faster, shooting harder, winning battles along the boards. I’m in the zone and nothing can touch me. I don’t know if it’s having my head straight about Renee or if it’s because I am confident.
I take Denver’s Liam Weaver to the boards and strip the puck, race down the ice, and shoot.
Boom. Goal. Like fucking clockwork.
When I come off the ice after my next shift, Hud clamps his hand around my shoulder and gives a proud shake. I have him to thank for all of this. For literally all of it. Without his pep talk, I wouldn’t be doing more than cooling my heels on the bench. Now, I’m in the game, playing better than I have in recent memory. Hell, even Decker shoots me a thumbs up.
The old Weston might have gloated and basked. But the old Weston was a tool. The new Weston has lost things because of the old Weston. So I’m keeping that fucker locked down.
Tonight, I’m just a guy who wants to do his job as well as he can.
“Good game, Scott.” From behind me, the crowd cheers. When I look back, the seats I sent to Renee, the ones I’ve reserved for every home game since she left, are still empty. They were empty during warm-ups, during the first period and now, the second. When the horn blows for the last intermission, I file out of the bench and back to the locker room.
I lead the charge onto the ice when we go back out to warm up before the final period starts. But this time, when I look at the seats just behind the bench…
She’s there.
She’s a sight in an off-the-shoulder floral dress. I can’t help but imagine running my lips along her skin, from shoulder to earlobe and then down over every inch of skin south of it.
Instead of going out to the ice, I turn to Hud. “She’s here. I gotta go.” I motion with my head to her seats. He follows my gaze and, when he sees her, he nods because this game’s already in the bag and my services are no longer required.
That’s all the permission I need. I run back toward the locker room, shuck my gear, shower like I’m a man possessed, and throw on my clothes in record time.
By the time I get to her seats, though… she’s gone.
Gone.
Fuck.
My stomach turns. I slink back down the tunnel to the player exit. But right at the end of the tunnel, I catch a flash of a familiar head of hair.
“Hey!” I call out. “You going to leave without even saying hello?”
She stops and turns, looks me up and down. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the ice, causing trouble?”
“I can cause plenty of trouble back here.”
I wag a finger at her and wait for her to come back to me. But I don’t have the patience for her to cross the whole distance. We meet in the middle and I pull her down the tunnel to one of the office doors, push it open, and bring her inside with me.
“Why’d you come here?”
Renee shrugs and bites her lip. “You gave me the ticket.”
But she knows damn well that isn’t what I mean. “Why did you come here, Renee?” As I ask, I pull her close, so that there isn’t so much as a breath that would fit between us. Her body is warm and pliable against mine and she tilts her head and fuck me, it’d be so easy to kiss her.
But I make myself wait. It’s not time. Not yet.
“What are we doing, Weston?” Her voice is a whisper. Hoarse and almost broken. “Why’d you send me these tickets? Why’d you drop the charges? Why are you doing all this?”
“I’ve tried being without you, and I’m not good at it. I’m fucking shit at it, actually, and you know me well enough to know that I don’t admit I’m shit at anything. So if I have to send you game tickets every night for the rest of our natural lives, I’ll do it without question. I need you, Renee DuBois. I need you like I need fucking air.”
Then I lower my head and kiss her. As soon as my lips touch hers, it’s like color returning to a world that’s been nothing but grainy black and white. How I’ve managed so far to stay away for as long as I have is beyond me.
I need this.
I need her.
She curls her arms around my neck and kisses me back. Tentatively at first, then more and more until she’s melting in my arms.
“Fuck, Renee,” I breathe when I break away. There’s so much more that I want to say, but the damn words just won’t come. “Fuck” will have to suffice.
“I forgot how incredible you smell.” I can feel the heat of her body under her clothes and the pounding of her heart beneath my hands.
She grins shyly. “Likewise.”
I grin right back and reel her in so I can claim her mouth again. Her tongue duels with mine and that need thrums through me harder still. I need more of her. I need to feel her skin. Need to touch her pussy. Wild horses couldn’t drag me off of her.
That thought sends a shiver through me, straight from my chest to my cock. I couldn”t stop now if I wanted to.
I pull the skirt of her dress up and slide my hand along her bare thigh. There is nothing in the world more exquisite than the feel of her silky, smooth skin, and I caress for a moment before I move my hand to cup her mound. She gasps and the sound is like a shock to my system.
That whimper is all I needed to hear. It’s her saying she doesn’t want to stop and she doesn’t mind that we’re in some office instead of a hotel with a bed, or a penthouse condo with a terrace outside the bedroom.
It’s her saying she wants me as badly as I want her.
It’s empty ice and an open goal and a crowd screaming for me to score.
She buries her nose in my throat and inhales as her mouth clamps down, nibbling her way across. I strip her out of her panties—or to be more precise, I give a sharp tug and they rip off. She yelps then giggles and resumes kissing and sucking as my hand slides up the backside of her thigh to cup her ass for a short second before I wiggle a few fingers forward, teasing her wet pussy.
Oh, fuck.I want to taste her, to inhale and more, to dive inside of her, but I’m fast approaching a point of no return. No way am I going to last if I don’t slow this down.
So I set her on the desk, kiss her long and deep until she’s panting and moaning when I pull away, and then I kneel in front of her so I can worship her the way she deserves.
I toy at her with my tongue, my mouth, my fingers pumping in and out of her pussy while I lick and suck. Her moans get louder and faster. She tightens her legs around my head, holding me as her body coils and finally spins off.
I don’t give her a second to breathe again. As soon as she comes, I’m standing up—her juices still slicking my lips, sweet and delicious—and shoving down my jeans so I can line up and ram myself home.
That gasp. Fuck yes. That’s the one I’ve been missing.
When I thrust inside of her, she sits up and cups my ass with her hands, squeezing until her fingernails dig into my skin.
I stay buried to the hilt for one long second—and then I go to work. I fuck Renee like it’s the first and last time I’ll ever get to do it. I fuck Renee like she’s my woman, my wife, my queen, because even if not all of those things are quite true yet, I’ll walk through hell to bring each and every one of them to life.
It’s beyond incredible. I’m pumping my cock in and out until my balls tighten and my knees go weak. I come with a long, feral grunt. My body trembles and her pussy clenches as she cries out and digs her nails in again.
“I missed you,” I whisper against her hair when I hug her.
She peels back and looks at me with those sexy parted lips, that mussed hair. I’m laughing to myself as I imagine giving her a t-shirt that says, I Just Got Fucked Into Oblivion By Weston Scott And All I Got Was This Stupid Shirt.
She opens her mouth to say something. I’m on the edge of my seat, metaphorically speaking. What’ll it be? I missed you, too or I’ve wanted this so bad or I love you, come back to me?
Any of those would work. All of that would be fine.
Instead, that post-orgasmic bliss curdles as she swallows and says, “This was a mistake.”