31. Violet
Chapter 31
Violet
“ S o, you think it’s important for women to wear cages on their face masks but support it’s an individual choice for the men?” I ask Meghan next to me.
“I think it ultimately comes down to two things: control and product.” She shakes back the blonde hair that curls just past her shoulders before she leans her elbows on the table. “Because fewer women play the sport or have had fewer opportunities to build their skills, as a whole, the league has a lot less control in handling the puck. It goes rogue more often than anyone wants to admit, and that’s how you get your teeth knocked out.”
I think of Gus and his gaped smile. I’m as used to seeing him with his implant retainer in place as I am without it, but I’ve never asked how he lost his tooth.
“And the product?” I prompt her. A thin smile presses her full lips together before she shrugs.
“You’re looking at it. For better or worse, the popularity of women’s sports is still tied up with the societal image of what a woman should physically be. How she looks plays a big part in that. Sure, there are a lot of women in sports who are unapologetically themselves, and they challenge that concept with an ease I’m still learning to grasp. But it doesn't mean they’re ignorant of how their teammates and contemporaries across other disciplines are treated when they present themselves in full glam outside of a game.”
“That’s absolute shit,” I say, shaking my head.
“It’s the truth,” Meghan replies, reaching for the flute that holds her champagne. “It’s going to be a long time before there’s going to be the type of fairness we want to see. But compared to twenty years ago, there’s already been change, and it gives me hope we might accomplish what we want before I have to hang up my skates.”
“You’re amazing,” I tell her, sipping from my water glass, eyes scanning the room. It hasn’t been long since Crosby left with the ESPN assistant, but keeping engaged in conversation has helped ease some of my anxiety. Now, with the natural lull, I find myself searching for him, unease tickling up my spine.
“Violet, how do you like working in The Midnight offices?” Ben Lawson asks from across the table. He’s a veteran in the league, a defenseman with a solid record and looks that have had fans torn for years in online forums. His unruly blonde hair and dark green eyes contrast with his pockmarked and slightly ruddy complexion. But his megawatt smile seems to put everyone at ease, which tips most fans into the swoon-worthy side of the argument. He’s been around long enough I remember watching tape with Dad in high school when Ben first joined Detroit out of college.
“It’s an interesting job. I like being able to interact with so many different elements of management and still be close to the game.” I twist once more in my chair, hoping to see curly dark hair and two-toned eyes making their way back to me. But I can’t.
“Is that how you met Crosby?” Meghan asks, curiosity in her voice.
“Kind of?” I take a breath and try to focus on being present at the table. “My best friend plays on the team, and I met everyone through him. Then, we were assigned to work together on some content, and well, he just never really went away.” The laugh I give sounds a little hollow.
“He’s had an impressive season. It’s good to see him on the first line,” Ben says. “I’ve only had a few opportunities to play against him until this year, but he’s got a killer trick shot.”
“I was happy to see him get moved up the lines as well.” I can’t help but smile. “He’s definitely earned it.”
“I bet he has.”
I freeze. I could recognize that voice anywhere, and right now, it’s coming from right next to me. There’s sarcasm dripping from Olivier’s words, but I know if I turned to look at him, he would be offering up a dazzling smile to cover it.
I don’t look.
“I’m sure it’s difficult for you to recognize achievements made through merit alone.” I angle my lifted chin just enough for my words to carry in his direction while staying focused on the ugly black and white centerpiece before me. I don’t want to make a scene, but I desperately wish I could leave.
Where I used to think if I was around Olivier again it would cause me nothing but heartache and sadness, now fury flares through me. I see so clearly how he used me, manipulated me, and had help doing it. Even if there are moments I chastise myself for allowing it to happen, I feel greater amounts of betrayal and anger.
There’s breath against my neck, hot and scented with the sharpness of alcohol, before he whispers his venomous words in my ear. The tiniest thread of fear weaves through my veins at his proximity.
“Does your boy know how you spread your legs for me? How devoted you were to me? That you would have gotten me his spot if I had just asked?”
I rear back in disgust when he growls angrily, turning in my chair and all sense of propriety flying out the window. The breath I suck in after the shock is painful in my lungs, as though I’ve inhaled this man’s vile and evil essence. Before I can reply, Olivier’s hand curls aggressively around my arm, fingers tight and pinching, a swift jerk lifting me painfully from my chair.
“Take your fucking hand off her.”
Crosby’s voice is dark. A dangerous threat issued from behind me. I’m immediately relieved with him near, even as my arm stings under Olivier’s grip.
Slowly, deliberately, Olivier removes his hand one finger at a time. He takes a step back as Crosby wraps an arm around my shoulders, guiding me to stand against him. I go all too willingly, even as I watch Olivier square up against him.
The other members of our table are watching raptly at the silent, but intentional, exchange. Crosby’s body is strung tight like a bow, the tension practically vibrating off him, as I wrap an arm around him, wishing I could wrap all of myself instead. The adrenaline and anger are starting to fade even as the fear lingers bitterly. Common sense returns as the standoff between the two men continues, and more faces turn to where the energy in the room is decidedly more murdery.
“Wells, maybe you should take your girl out of here for a minute,” Ben suggests. I catch Anders stepping up behind Olivier, a hand coming over his shoulder. “And I think this guy’s business is done for the night, right, bud?” His eyes flick to Olivier as he stands up from the table himself.
“I was just on my way to find him. Olivier’s drinks were made a little too strong tonight,” Anders offers as a small crowd has formed. “I already lodged a complaint, but everyone please look out for yourselves tonight,” he placates the bystanders who have only arrived to hear the well-practiced agent smooth over the situation. “Come on, Olivier, there’s still a tournament to play tomorrow.”
Crosby turns me from the table at the same time Anders begins to direct Olivier in the opposite direction.
With nearly surgical swiftness, Crosby steers us out of the ballroom and back up the elevators to our room. My mind has been swirling from the first step, a mix of emotions until there’s the distinctive click of the hotel door, and I’m surrounded completely by Crosby. His breathing is audible, his scent lingers around me, and his touch refocuses my vision and thoughts.
Crosby guides me with gentleness toward the bed, helping me sink backward to sit on it, crouching before me.
“Did he hurt you?” Crosby’s voice is strained, his hands hovering next to me, wanting to touch but never reaching. His eyes coast up and down my exposed flesh, homing in on the upper part of my arm. I lift the opposite hand to indicate it. “May I?”
The request is immediately softer than his first question, and at my nod, he tenderly lifts and cradles my arm between his hands. He frowns as he examines the area that is still red and slightly raised with irritation.
“It’s going to leave a bruise,” I tell him. His frown deepens, matching my own displeasure at the idea of a mark of Olivier’s handprint imprinting on my skin.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He drops his hands, his head following in shame. I lift his chin to look at me. His brows are pinched together in the middle. He’s trying to keep his anger in check, trying to remain calm for me. I run my fingers along his jaw until I cradle his cheeks between them. “I was almost there, but Anders stopped me. I don’t know why, but it felt intentional. It makes me feel like I let him hurt you.”
“No, you didn’t.” I lean Crosby’s forehead against mine. “Olivier hurt me. More times than tonight—although never like this—and despite what I believed until I left London, it was only ever his fault.”
I kiss him sweetly, softly coaxing him from the emotional upheaval of the last hour, willing him to return to me. Slowly, his lips become pliant and hungry under mine. I encourage him with small nips at his bottom lip and opening to stroke my tongue against his, fighting a smile when I finally draw a groan from him. It’s a deep, reverberating noise, the dark tone full of longing instead of anger. The sound banishes the rest of the fear from my system.
Crosby breaks from me, our heavy breaths mixing between us. His hands lift to my hair, gently searching for the pins I used to keep it up. Methodically, he pulls each one, setting them on the side table before diving his fingertips back into the waves, massaging at my scalp. I lean into every touch, closing my eyes and letting the tension leach from my body.
“I don’t like that he touched you.”
There’s a pained edge to his words. I open my eyes to look at the seriousness in his face. It’s mixed with the love he has, but there’s more. Fear. Crosby was afraid, and my heart swells.
“Then do something about it,” I tell him, slipping my hands under his suit jacket, pushing it from his shoulders. “Erase it. Touch me where he can’t.”
The jacket hits the carpet as my words sink in. Crosby’s eyes flare with heat, the hazel turning a liquid amber and the green deepening just before his pupils begin to widen.
Piece by piece, our clothing falls to the floor or is thrown haphazardly on the nearby chair until I sit in only my thong before him. While still on his knees before me, I feel like an altar he is praying to, every touch a deeper devotion. I’ve never been worshipped before, but as Crosby kisses his way up my inner thigh, I think I might be open to the idea.
I sink my fingers into his thick hair, contentedly settling back onto the plush mattress. It doesn’t last when he traces a path over my hips to hook into the elastic and lace, sucking a kiss so hard into my skin just above his fingers, I arch at the intensity.
“Violet, I want to take these off.” Crosby sounds uncertain. I look down at him as he toys with the waistband. He’s deep in thought, not looking back at me.
“Okay.”
“I want to switch places and have you ride me.”
I nod along eagerly with his plan, too easily forgetting he can’t see my agreement as he focuses on his task, fingers trailing teasing paths up and down the curves of my hips and back to the apex of my thighs.
“Yes,” I offer instead, head still bobbing up and down.
A frustrated groan bleeds into my skin when he leans forward to press a kiss to my sensitive clit through the thin material.
“I want you so bad, I don’t want to get a condom from the bathroom.” His finger follows the intricate lace to the gusset, damp with my arousal. He slides it up and down, close to where I want him, stopped by the only barrier we have. I consider how much of an interruption it would be for him to get the protection. I begin rocking my hips against the motion. The friction of the lace and the pressure of Crosby’s finger feel delicious, but I need more, and I know I don’t want to wait.
“Do you have any reason why we would need one?” I ask hesitantly. Crosby immediately stops, both hands reaching to grip my hips, eyes lifting to mine.
“Are you saying you want me to go bare?”
“I’m saying I was tested before I started seeing you, and all my results were negative. I have never missed my pill.” I link my fingers with his against my hips. “I’m okay with this.”
He presses a lingering kiss to the inside of my knee, resting there for a moment.
“I was tested at the beginning of the season for my physical. All of my results were negative, as well, and there hasn’t been anyone but you since.” His hands squeeze mine once before he curls them back around the fabric, sliding my panties down my legs with agonizing slowness.
I don’t need time to process what we’ve agreed to. Just because I’ve never gone without a condom doesn’t mean I don’t understand what’s going to happen. Sex like this is going to change everything. And as I drop my hips back down to the bed, I know I’ve never wanted to do this before because I was waiting for Crosby.
“You’re so wet, baby.” His voice drops as the fabric hits the floor, and his hands reach back up to widen my knees before creeping up to tease at the folds of my pussy. I should feel exposed with the way he’s putting me on display, but instead, I arch my back and cup my breasts, enjoying the attention. “Is this all for me? You going to let me put my cock in here? Fucking fill you up?”
“Yes.”
A gentle tap on my leg pulls me from where I’m plucking my hardened nipples, imagining the feeling of his hard cock touching me in ways no one else ever has before. Crosby is standing, his cock jutting out in front of him and a bead of pre-cum on the tip catching the light.
“Up for me. I want to watch you take every inch of this.” He squeezes his cock, pumping deliberately, swiping the tip with his thumb. He offers it to me. “Want a taste?”
I don’t hesitate before wrapping my lips around his offering, swirling my tongue to ensure I have every bit of the salty essence. Then, I stand, switching places with him, growing hungrier for him when he moves back against the headboard. He spreads his legs, relaxed and beautifully large, a man of hard lines and flexed muscles. But it’s the restrained look of need on his face that has me straddling him and pressing a kiss to his lips.
“We’re not done until you’re dripping with me,” Crosby growls against my mouth, helping me lift with one hand, using the other to grip the base of his cock, lining himself up at my entrance.