Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
BETTING ON OUR FUTURE
“Zach!” I shriek when his mouth latches onto my nipple and he sucks, hard, before biting.
Hips bucking in response, I sob as he jackhammers me into the front door.
My hands scrape over his scalp, brushing through the silky locks even as my nails burrow into the tender flesh, but I’m mindless to the discomfort I might be causing him.
“You feel like heaven,” he rumbles, pumping his cock into me.
I could be embarrassed about how much my tits jiggle, but he burrows his face between them and snarls with need.
Tipping my head back against the door, I let him have at me.
He’s angry—I get it. Tonight’s loss was a damn waste, and seeing as we’re heading into Thanksgiving, this was the last game before the holiday and the stands were busy.
A lot of people watched the Dukes suck tonight.
I’m used to comforting him after a loss, but this is the first time my body’s doing the job.
“This is so much better than beer.” I moan.
Unfortunately for me, he stills at my statement. Those jackhammer thrusts are no more.
Blinking at him, I keen, “Whyyy?”
“Beer?”
“Huh?”
“You said this is better than beer.”
I wriggle against him and dip my hand between us so I can strum my clit. He doesn’t stop me, just leans back as far as he’s able to watch gravity impale me on his cock while I flick my bean.
“Explain or I won’t start up again.”
Immediately, I clench around him. Only stopping when he hisses. “I have ways of making you move.”
“Yeah, no. What are you talking about beer for?”
“Normally, we get drunk when you lose. Tonight, we’re—”
“Getting drunk on orgasms,” he inserts, nodding. “You’re right. Much better than beer.”
I whine, “Can you go back to fucking me? PLEASE.”
He grunts but, finally, he listens.
Moaning as I rub my clit while he hits all the good spots, it’s not long before I can feel that regular firestorm flushing through my system.
My cheeks are probably glowing as I rock my head against the door, trying to hide from the tidal wave of delight that’s incoming, but there’s no shielding myself from this.
I cry out, hoarse and wretched and delirious and overwhelmed, but fuck, this feels too impossibly wonderful. Like flying without the risk of crashing.
When he finds his release, the volume of his grunts grow louder and the sheer rightness of our simultaneous orgasm is enough to make my breath hitch.
Still floating when he rests his head against my shoulder, I observe, “I’m beginning to understand. How do people get anything done?”
He snorts. “I didn’t come this hard until you.”
“Shut up. You don’t have to say that,” I grouse, tugging his hair for good measure.
“I’m not lying! I feel like my cock’s about to drop off, I come so hard with you.”
“You romantic, you,” I say with a laugh, pulsing the exhausted muscles of my pussy around him because that wasn’t a half-bad save.
“Hey, I lasted more than two minutes so I’m taking it as a win.”
I clench down on him again. “It’s my mission in life to make you blow your load fast and furious.”
“You do that without even trying. You are so sexy, gorgeous.”
“You make me sexy,” I say shyly.
“You were confident before—”
“Yes, I was,” I agree, whimpering when he presses his lips to mine. “But there’s nothing like being pounded into a bed, a wall, a door, or the floor while this hot jock tells me I’m perfect.”
His grin’s dopey. “I only speak the truth.”
“I know.” I press a gentler peck to his lips.
Mid-kiss, his hands grab my ass as he tugs me away from the door and, together, we stagger into the living room.
When he falls back on the couch, I bounce a little, and because his dick doesn’t get soft after we’ve had sex, the movement triggers a flood of sensation that I’m too exhausted to be feeling right now.
It’s my turn to rest my head on his shoulder, and when he strokes his hand up and down my back, I cuddle into him.
I rub my lip over his collarbone. “I’m sorry you lost.”
“Me too. You watch me get a call from… Fuck this. I don’t want to talk about him while you’re sitting on my dick.”
“You’ll see him this week.”
When Allan Bradley found out we weren’t going to my father’s for Thanksgiving, he emailed Zach and told him to expect a visit.
Apparently, Allan was going to be one of my dad’s guests…
Guests. Plural.
I’m so glad that we’re skipping that meal.
I’ve never liked Zach’s dad, and ever since he mentioned, randomly, that he was super controlling, my mind keeps drifting back to the weirdest stuff I remember as a kid.
Like how happy Jo was when Allan moved back to Canada.
Like how their arrangement was super informal… Had he refused to divorce her?
Whatever the reason for their weird relationship status at the time of her death, the last thing I want is to share a table with him.
“I doubt it.”
“What do you mean?”
“When does Allan ever go out of his way for me?”
I blink. Cringe.
“Yeah.” His laugh is bitter. “I barely get a call when I fuck up on the ice. The only reason he was willing to see me on Thursday is because I’d be coming to the city and he wouldn’t have to drive up here.”
I stroke my fingers along his shoulder. “You don’t know that. He clearly wants to see you. This place is a lot farther away than Dad’s apartment…”
“Wanna bet he doesn’t show up?”
I pull a face. “I don’t bet on dead certs.”
I retreat a little so I can look at him in the bright lights of our living room. Leading my fingers along the line of his jaw, I tap his bottom lip. Not liking the bitter twist to that perfect mouth.
A part of me has to accept that getting either of the Bradley men into no-man’s land for talks isn’t going to happen. Yet.
Even if I managed it, I’m not sure Allan deserves my help.
“You’re playing on Sunday?”
“Only if Dyers isn’t.”
Tonight, he allegedly had the stomach flu. Seems like it’s going around because wouldn't you know? Coach was still down with that too!
“What are you doing—”
“You.”
I snicker. “If you let me finish... Are you staying with me for the holidays—”
“I hate to say it, Denny, but duh. Of course, I’m staying with you. We’ll fly to Florida together.” His gaze turns knowing. “How are you feeling about Francis since she sent over that pie?”
I pull a face as I find the remnants of said pie on our coffee table—we ate it for breakfast.
“She can’t help that she’s only three years older than me and that my dad’s a pervert. Maybe I should cut her some slack. Being pregnant obviously makes her feel permanent so she wants to play nicey nice with his kids.”
“Your dad married her. How permanent’s that?”
I pat his cheek. “It’s cute how naive you are.”
“A kid doesn’t keep someone married,” he points out.
No, we both know that.
“I’ll ask Mom and the boys to tell Dad we’re staying in a hotel for Christmas.”
His brows lower. “Huh?”
“Keep up, Zach, or did I fuck you so hard you dropped a few IQ points?”
“I think you’ll find that I did the fucking.”
My lips twitch. “That way Dad will leave us alone and if yours asks where we are, he can’t snitch—”
“Ha. Unlikely. My dad doesn’t give a shit where I am—”
“That’s not true,” I immediately argue. Allan has many flaws, but he gives a damn in a general, unfocused sense where his career means more to him than his son.
He grunts. “He likes it when I’m not in the same city as him.”
“That’ll make you playing for the New York Stars impossible. Unless you have a Tardis?”
That earns me another grunt so I prod his side.
“Thought you’d never play for the Stars if your dad coached there.”
“That’s a nonissue. He’ll be fired soon.”
“You keep saying that…”
There’s no denying that the direction the Stars are going in is bizarre. Half the team are following one set of plays and the other appears to be looking to their captain for answers.
When they follow their C, holy fuck, those games are MAGICAL.
“Wanna bet on him losing his job before the All-Star break?”
I tap his chin. “Okay. What are we betting?”
“Whatever we want.”
“You go first.”
“How about… you wear my ring without a murmur of complaint if he gets fired before the playoffs?”
Doing a great impression of a goldfish, I splutter, “Zach! You can’t joke about this stuff. Anyway, you just said the All-Star break. I’ll be back home before then.”
“I’m not joking. And it isn’t like I’m talking about engagement rings.” I refuse to feel disappointed. Not when this is fast. Crazy, insanely fast. “But a promise ring.”
Eyes wide, I repeat, “A promise ring?!”
His hand toys with the finger that kind of ring would sit on. “Maybe you could wear it when you’re in Madrid.”
My mouth opens.
Then closes.
I know this is more about pissing on me like I’m a fire hydrant but…
Everything inside me softens and squirms.
There’s dread in his eyes at the prospect of me leaving. There’s hope there too. Fear. Worry. Preemptive grief. A whole host of emotions that I know he’s not best prepared to deal with and all of them center around me.
For a man with the emotional span of his cubby, this is a lot.
“What about you?”
“Huh?”
“If I’m bagged and tagged—”
“Denny!”
“What?! That’s what this is about.” I shove his shoulder, which does interesting things to the still-thickened dick inside me. “How am I staking a claim on you? You’re the one who’s surrounded by pretty girls who want to get into your boxer briefs.”
“And you’ll be surrounded by hot Spanish guys who’ll think you’re on a pilgrimage to find yourself while fucking your way through the city as some kind of rebellion against the puritanical norms of the US.”
I blink. “You really thought about this.”
His grin’s sheepish. “Maybe.”
“You know that’s not why I’m going, don’t you?”
He studies me from under his lashes. “Maybe? I… I want you to have fun, and if that’s what you think’s fun, then at least I taught you how to be treated by guys.”
There’s a lot to unpack in that one sentence, so instead I blurt, “Mom suggested I study abroad and because it’s the one bit of freedom Dad gave me with my major, I leaped at the chance.”
He doesn’t need to know that I have ulterior motives. Seeing where my grandmother lived once upon a time has been big on my bucket list for a while. I can tell him anything, but this is something I want to keep to myself.
Not forever. Just for now.
“You know how to be treated by guys now, though, don’t you?”
The statement has me frowning because it’s obviously important to him. “Orgasms first, ask questions later.” When his lips curve, I shake my head. “You’re such a moron.”
“Your moron.”
I huff. “If I wear a ring, that doesn’t solve our equality problem. What are you going to do?”
He sits up, happy that I’m talking about the damn ring again. “Weekly blood tests?”
I sputter out a laugh. “EW!”
His nose wrinkles. “Too much?!”
“Yes! Anyway, I trust you—”
“You do?” He breathes the words like I said something holy.
I pull back. “I… Shouldn’t I?”
“No! I mean, yes. I mean—fuck. I don’t know what I mean. I just didn’t think you would yet. Like, I figured you’d need some kind of grand gesture or…” He peters out. “I don’t deserve you, Denny.”
“Hush,” I chide. “I decide that. Not you or anyone else.”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “How about we both wear rings. In the interests of equality.”
I’m well aware that rings don’t stop hockey players or puck bunnies, but I wasn’t lying about trusting Zach.
You have to trust what a man shows you and Zach’s shown me nothing that makes me question him.
Still, I have to tease, “Aren’t you supposed to give someone a promise ring before you take their virginity?”
“Pecan’s not the only one who always rushes his assignments.”
“Can confirm, but you’re getting better.”
“Ouch! We could go to Madrid for the holidays. Together. See some of the sights as a couple.”
“That sounds awesome, actually. Mom wants me there for the day itself and I’d like to be there too, but after? Sure.”
Excitement gleams in his gorgeous eyes. “It’s a date.”
“No, it’s a vacation.”
“Our first one together,” he rasps as he kisses me, his dick hardening again inside me.
I bridge our fingers together. “I trust you, Zach. No rings. Just faith. How about that?”
When he pulls a face, I snicker, but he concedes with: “Now, before we move on to more orgasms, what’s your stake in our bet?”
The first thing that pops into my head has me blushing.
Immediately, his grin’s back. Cocky and self-assured. Any vulnerability having faded after our conversation. “Ohhhh. Now you have to tell me where your mind’s at. Seems like it could be dirty.”
Well aware that I’m squeaking, I burst out, “You have to do something for me, but you can’t laugh or ask questions.”
“Like… a fantasy?”
“Y-Yes.”
“I almost wish I were wrong about Dad. Can we change the parameters of our bet?”
I snort, his humor easing my embarrassment like he usually does. Cupping his cheek, I let my hand slide over his jaw and onto his throat. I hold him there. Lightly. Then, I lean into him and whisper in his ear.
I feel his Adam’s apple bob.
“I kinda dreamed about you doing that to me,” he rasps.
“I’ve done more than dream about it.”
I feel his cock throb inside me.
Someone likes my idea.
I seal the deal when I go in for the attack and thrust my tongue into his mouth until he’s panting for even more than I already promised him…
If he loses our bet.