15. Maya
Maya
I’m walking back toward my dad’s office, realizing I had left my keys on his desk, when Jamie storms past me in a rush, shoving the door to the locker room open so hard it slams into the wall.
What the hell?
I knew my father wanted to check in on him after the whole situation with Colton Crosby. It’s the same reason I was in my dad’s office earlier: to check in on him. Watching a player get hurt like that is tough, and my dad is the type to take it personally.
Stopping at the locker room door, I hesitate, waiting to hear voices or something to indicate that there are other guys inside besides Jamie. When I don’t hear anything, I tentatively crack the door open, hearing only silence.
Slowly, I let myself in, berating myself for entering the hockey boys’ locker room, but also unable to leave Jamie in the state I just saw him in without checking on him.
“Jamie?” I call, my voice echoing off the walls. The sound of running water—the shower—hits my ears, and I know I should leave, but something inside me forced my feet to keep moving further into the room.
I peek around the corner, into the room of shower stalls, and see the one on the very end is running, but I don’t see Jamie’s messy mop of dark waves standing under the spray.
Making my way to the shower, I finally see him, sitting on the floor of the shower, fully clothed, and my chest aches.
“Hey,” I whisper, dropping down to a crouch beside him, “what happened?”
He opens his eyes, and his gray ones are dimmed, dark in the shadow of the shower. His face is expressionless as he lets himself be pelted by the freezing water.
“You can’t stay like this, Jamie. You’ll make yourself sick.” I reach up, turning the knob to a warmer temperature, then try to offer him a hand to help him stand up.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for my hand, doesn’t take his eyes off of me. Knowing he isn’t going to make this easy, I reach out and take his cold, damp hand in mine, moving to pull him to his feet.
Instead of moving with me, Jamie resists my tug, but his grip on my hand tightens. Then, in barely a whisper, he lets out two words. “Fuck it.”
One moment, I’m crouching next to him, the next, I’m pulled into his lap, my knees straddling either side of his strong thighs, and his lips are on mine. I hesitate, caught by complete surprise for half a second before giving in and meeting his kiss with my own.
Strong, calloused fingers tangle in my wet curls as Jamie devours me. Every sense, every nerve ending, is flooded, overwhelmed by him.
My mouth opens, letting his tongue meet mine, and I melt, giving in. My hands find their way up his broad shoulders and around the back of his neck.
Punishing. Ravaging. Starving. Drowning. None of them adequately describe the way Jamie kisses me.
It’s all-consuming.
Involuntarily, my hips grind against his, and I feel the outline of him beneath his gym shorts. I try to rise up, to not press myself down onto his cock again, but Jamie has another idea.
One of his hands travels down from my hair and grips my hip, urging me to do it again as he arches himself up to meet me.
Fuck.
Jamie wraps his arms around my back, then he stands, picking me up with him as if it was the easiest feat in the world, all while never breaking his lips from mine.
My legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he pressed my back into the cold tile wall. I breathe him in, tugging on his hair as he grinds his hips into me.
His hands wander, one cupping under my ass and the other around my ribcage. He’s so close to where I want his touch, and yet he’s not close enough.
I bite down on his bottom lip, gently pulling at it before moving my lips over his jaw and down his throat.
Jamie’s pulse pounds as I kiss my way back up, and finally his hand travels up, palming my breast through my now-sopping-wet shirt, and I let out whimper at the feel of him.
He pulls his face away from mine, and I expect to see hesitation or regret. Instead, I’m met with swollen lips and heated eyes.
His other hand finds its way under my waistband and onto my ass, and I arch into him again.
My gaze travels over the swells of his tattooed biceps, dripping with beads of water and on full display in his cut-off. I want to lick them.
Unwrapping my legs from around his hips, I lower my feet to the floor and tug up on the hem of his shirt, needing to see the rest of him.
Jamie takes the reigns, pulling his wet shirt over his head, proceeding to stand over me. With the lightning tattoo across his chest and the water running down his chiseled body, he looks like a fantasy.
He pulls me away from the wall, removing my shirt next, then my bra, all falling into a pile on the floor.
He grips me by the waist once more, pulling my slick body to his, and I almost combust at the sensation as his lips find mine again.
With practiced fingers, he undoes the button and zipper of my jeans, pushing them and my underwear down over my hips to my ankles, and I kick them off with my shoes.
Jamie’s eyes scour over my body, taking in every curve hungrily.
I feel like, at this point, I should say something—anything—to break the silence we’ve let envelope the space between us. Jamie must see it on my face, because before I can speak, he turns me around so that I’m facing the wall and grinds his hips against my ass.
“Don’t,” he says, brushing his lips against my ear, taking my lobe between his teeth. “Don’t say anything. Just…just let me have you this once.”
His words have a tone of finality to them I don’t like, but his mouth is too distracting, his hands on my waist and his body behind my back. I’m entirely overwhelmed by him.
I nod my head frantically, unable to argue against this, no matter how bad a decision it inevitably turns out to be. I want it just as desperately as he seems to.
His teeth trail back up the side of my throat. “Birth control?” he pants, and I can feel the torment within him.
His fingers inch lower, finding my clit and rubbing in maddeningly slow circles.
I nod again, leaning my head back on his chest as he teases me.
“Thank God.” I feel him struggle to shed his shorts with one hand as he continues to send lightning through my nerves.
“Put your hands on the wall,” he commands as he grips my waist, bending me forward.
I do as he says, splaying my hands against the cold tile and am rewarded by a deep groan and a “Good fucking girl,” muttered under his breath, causing a surge of heat to flow south.
The tip of his cock nudges against me, and I whimper again, shaking with anticipation. I’ve wanted this since Halloween—before, if I’m honest with myself. I’ve wanted Jamie for a long time, and I’m not strong enough to deny him now.
And as he slowly presses forward, slipping inside of me, I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to go back to life without him.