CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
EMERSON
I take a sip of the fresh gin and tonic in my hand. It’s only my second of the night, but I’ve barely eaten, so I feel the drink loosening me up. It’s soothing my anxiety, something I never wanted to rely on alcohol to do.
I’m not a jealous woman by nature—or at least I’ve never been before. But I let my insecurities get the best of me tonight when I saw the spotlight on Sam and the way all the women were watching him. When I first arrived, I immediately spotted him from across the room in the middle of his teammates. The guys were laughing and talking together, oblivious to the attention on them—or maybe just used to it. But I was drawn to the tall center above everyone else. I barely noticed his teammates. Sam in athletic gear or his hockey uniform is off-the-charts hot. Sam in a custom tuxedo that fits him like a second skin … he’s easily the handsomest guy in the room. He belongs on billboards or in pages of magazines. Or in the deepest, darkest fantasies, where he has lived inside my head since the night we kissed.
Sam steals attention from a crowded room like people are powerless to look away from him. I can glance to my left and right and see it happening all around me right now. I’m not immune. His appeal has captured me as well these days. He isn’t just gorgeous, but he’s alluring too. Magnetic.
And when I arrived and looked around at all the beautiful, flawless smiles and unblemished skin encased in thousand-dollar gowns. The toned bodies and big breasts pushing through the tops of the dresses. All the perfect tens noticing the hockey stud from all corners of the room. I suddenly felt inferior and outmatched.
Maybe I was never the jealous type before because I didn’t care enough to fear the loss. I was comfortable and complacent for so long. Now, I’m stimulated. My self-control is shedding. And it feels reckless and exhilarating, all at once.
I shiver right before I take another sip of my drink.
Butterflies and fireworks.
But there’s a price to pay for those.
Even the extra time I spent on my appearance tonight in anticipation of this date couldn’t fortify me against my own defiling thoughts. I wanted to be on Sam’s arm more than I’d like to admit, even though I’d once vowed never to be that girl. I’d been looking forward to it since the moment he asked me to go with him. Maybe I built it up too much in my mind because when I got here, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. And it wasn’t because I was swept away by the glittering lights and the glamour of it all. It was because I was scared. Afraid of how much I wanted to be at this event with him. Frightened of the space he’d been occupying inside my mind. Petrified of how much I was starting to crave him, especially after everything I’d heard and witnessed over the years.
Sam is dangerous. He could wreck me.
But only if I let him.
I’ve never been in love before. I thought I once was with Eliott. But now, I’m certain I wasn’t. Eliott was emotionally unavailable, and so was I by default. His first and only love was medicine. That left me feeling untouchable. Bulletproof. Then, Sam removed my vest right before target practice began.
I’m not sure when he started to infiltrate my defenses. It seems like he hated me at first, and there was no love lost on my end either. But slowly—or maybe quickly, when I wasn’t looking—he started to seep into my senses. I began to see the man beneath the image, and I liked what I saw. There’s so much more to him than I originally thought.
Why couldn’t he have stayed the bad guy? Then, my stomach wouldn’t be in knots, and I wouldn’t be in turmoil now, hiding in the corner.
Sam has always been an Adonis on and off the ice. But he was also always untouchable to me somehow. Someone I was content to admire and appreciate from afar, but a man I had no desire to really know. I was happy to buy into the notions about him being selfish and shallow and to let everyone else fight over him. It was easier to keep him at arm’s length that way. Less dangerous.
If I never care too much, I can never get hurt.
My first mistake was taking this job because it eliminated the space. The second was when I started noticing all his small, unexpected acts of kindness. The ones that shattered my preconceived notions. Breakfast that morning in Seattle. Our late-night picnic by the pool that night in Cali that I enjoyed more than I’d expected to. The spa treatments the day after. My art room …
And suddenly, piece by piece, my illusions about Sam were broken apart until I started to see him. Really see him.
“How’s that gin and tonic?” His familiar voice rumbles from behind, bringing a soft smile to my face and chills across my skin.
I was hiding, but I wanted him to find me. I don’t turn around.
“It’s good. You want some?”
He brushes my arm as he moves, only stopping when he’s standing in front of me, looking devastatingly handsome. He runs a hand through his mussed locks, messing them up further. I grasp my glass harder to resist touching him.
“I don’t want a drink.” He shakes his head, his eyes hooded as he looks at me. “What I want is for you to dance with me.”
There was a time when Sam would be the last person I’d want to dance with. But now …
Oh, how the righteous fall.
There’s a slow song playing overhead, and dozens of couples are on the floor in front of the stage.
He removes the glass from my hand, setting it on an empty table next to me. He takes my hand and leads me to the center. I go willingly. Sam watches me as he pulls me into his arms. I drag my hands along his lapels and lace them around his neck. My breasts are pressed against his chest as he tugs me even closer. If I look up, our lips will be mere inches away. I’m hyperaware of every inhale and every exhale we both make.
Sam starts swaying, but barely. He mostly just holds me. I can sense other eyes on us, but for once, I’m more focused on him. Everyone else in the room fades away, along with my doubts.
“Where have you been hiding all night?” he murmurs.
“I’ve been right here,” I counter, although we both know that’s not true. I disappeared into the crowd after the auction, allowing my insecurities to lead me away.
“Hiding in plain sight, huh?”
“Something like that.”
He brushes a piece of hair from my face. His eyes drop to my lips. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“You’ve had a lot going on tonight,” I say softly. “A lot of people vying for your attention.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “But I’ve been fighting for yours.”
“You’ve got it,” I admit freely, liking his confession a little too much.
“Do I?” His brow rises. He glances around. “I think I have some competition. I don’t seem to be the only one here wanting your attention.”
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
“Have you not noticed all the men watching you tonight? Eyeing that ridiculously high slit in your dress.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re just saying that to make me feel good. No one’s paying any attention to me.”
“Look around,” he challenges.
So, I do. A couple of men glance away when I meet their stares. One holds steady, forcing me to look in another direction. My attention goes back to the man holding me.
“See,” he says smugly, though there’s a glint in his eyes that causes him to hold me just a little closer. His possessiveness stirs my blood.
“You’re crazy.” I laugh.
He grasps my chin. “And you’re beautiful.” He’s dead serious.
My laughter slowly dies.
I hold him closer when I feel lightheaded, and his strong arms tighten around my waist.
My voice is low with my next confession. “You said you loved the way I looked at you … when, really, it’s the way you look at me .”
It gives me butterflies. And fireworks. And I find myself wanting them to last forever.
He leans down to press his lips to mine like he can’t stop himself. The kiss is much too brief. The first time he kissed me on that street corner left an impression. It’s burned on my brain, the image running on a continuous circuit in my head despite the alcohol I consumed that night.
“You ready to get out of here?” he murmurs gruffly.
I nod. He kisses me again. It’s starting to feel strangely natural.
“Let’s go.”
Sam laces our fingers together, and we walk to the front of the venue. He’s stopped more than once to exchange pleasantries and goodbyes with different people. Everyone knows him, and those that don’t want to. But he never drops my hand. The few executives we pass just smile and nod, but no one says a disparaging word. We finally make it outside to an Escalade that’s idling by the curb.
Sam opens the door, and I climb in. He slides in behind me. The driver strikes up a conversation about the hockey season, games that have been played and those still to come. Sam is gracious to the man, just like he’s been to everyone who attended the charity event tonight. Another thing I never knew about him before. He never seems to treat fans like an imposition, making them feel seen, even if only for a moment. And I’m suddenly sure it isn’t only his talent on the ice that has hundreds of Hawks faithfully wearing his jersey night after night.
The nerves in my stomach start to swirl the closer we get to home. Because while Sam is talking sports with the man navigating our SUV, I’m picturing what I want to happen when we walk through the apartment door. And I’m plotting how to make it happen. I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want Sam right now, and somehow, that desire overshadows any anxiety or doubts I might have.
I glance at Sam’s profile and watch as the city lights dance across his features. His jacket is unbuttoned and draped over broad shoulders. His pants are pulled tight over thick thighs. He’s relaxed with his legs splayed, and it’s making me tense. Because I’m picturing all those sinewy muscles hidden beneath the material and how the weight of his body will feel when he’s on top of me, pressing me into the mattress. Testosterone oozes effortlessly from his pores, seeping beneath my skin in the process.
He looks over and catches me staring, his words faltering for a moment when he registers the heat in my eyes. I don’t break eye contact. He recovers quickly, finishing his sentence like nothing out of the ordinary is happening back here.
Sam discreetly reaches for me as the driver starts recanting the last time the Hawks played the Bruins. His callous fingers land just above my knee. I exhale roughly and close my eyes for a moment. I can feel his touch all the way to the center of my core even though it’s light as a feather. The material of my dress shifts along with my body, creeping even higher than intended on my thigh, which is convenient as he drags the tips of his fingers along the sensitive skin of my leg. My heart races. He traces the slit slowly all the way to the end. It’s pleasure and torture, all at once.
The entire time, Sam’s eyes remain forward. He continues his conversation as if he’s not igniting a fire inside of me. I’m practically panting when his large hand collapses around my leg beneath my dress, squeezing it as he discusses the last goal he scored with the stranger in the front seat.
My hand lands on top of his, but I’m not sure if it’s to stop him from going higher or to encourage it. He laces our fingers together, tilting his head until our eyes meet. His pupils are dilated through the heat in his irises, and there’s a smirk on his lips, telling me he knows exactly what he’s doing to me right now. His long index finger reaches out until he’s ghosting across my center. I’m covered only by my panties. I’m embarrassingly wet and becoming wetter by the second. My eyelids hood, my head drops back, and my mouth falls open with each swipe.
His teasing touch halts when the car lurches to a stop. I bite my lip to staunch my moan. He removes his hand from beneath my dress, taking mine with it as he thanks the driver. He helps me out of the vehicle, and we walk silently into the building. Sam greets the doorman on our way to the elevator. I can see our blurry reflection in the golden mirrored doors. He towers above me as we stand silently side by side, though my heels put me higher than I’d normally be. He loosens his bow tie. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The doors open, and we step inside. The space immediately fills with sexual tension.
As soon as we’re completely closed inside the elevator, Sam tugs me closer.
“Was that for me?” he asks gruffly, his breath warm across my cheek and his question somewhat desperate. His entire body is hot. He’s hard where our hips are pressed together.
“What?” I ask.
He brushes my core over my dress with the back of his hand, and I fight to keep my eyelids from drifting shut again. I’m wet for him. That’s what he wants to hear.
“Yes.”
His lips crash into mine hungrily. He groans as I struggle to get as close as I possibly can, practically climbing his torso. His palms slide to my butt, squeezing and molding the pliable tissue aggressively over my dress. He pulls my pelvis further into him, lifting me a little in the process, and shamelessly rubs me along his length while I’m anchored against the wall. I struggle to open my legs even more, the tight dress limiting my movements despite the slit.
We reluctantly pull apart when the elevator opens on our floor, and we hurry down the hallway and through the front door together, our minds as fused as our bodies were a moment ago. My back hits the wall in the entranceway before the door has fully shut beside us, and his mouth is on mine again, sucking, licking, and biting me into a frenzy. We don’t bother to turn on the lights.
Sam’s so big that it’s like I disappear inside of his hold. I love how his movements are sure and confident. There is no fumbling or awkwardness. Just desire. His passion is consuming and fuels my own.
He pulls back to catch his breath, both of our chests heaving. He drops to my neck, feasting there instead. Each touch and kiss sparks something deep inside my lower belly, making me want more.
“I want you so bad,” he groans.
I rub my body along his unapologetically, lust consuming my mind. For once, I’m not thinking about who I thought Sam was. I’m not considering all the women he’s been with before or the ones he could have now. I’m not comparing myself to others and coming up short. I’m just enjoying the way he’s turning me on. I’m memorizing the way he’s looking at me at this moment. I’m losing myself in the smell of his spicy cologne and the hardness of his body against the softness of mine. The grayish-blue depths of his eyes and how they change colors according to his moods or the different shades of his shirts. The way they look black with pure lust right now. And how he’s making me feel like the sexiest, most wanted woman in the world.
“So, take me,” I murmur back breathlessly.
Sam screams virility from the rough way he lifts me into his arms to the ease with which he carries me to his bedroom. I kick off my heels when my feet hit the floor, and Sam turns me toward the window until my back is to him. It’s dark in the room. Outside, the lake is a sea of navies and shades of gray, blending with the nighttime sky as I gaze into the distance. I sense his body heat right before I feel him press against me from behind. Sam sweeps my hair to the side.
“Where is the zipper on this thing?” he asks, frustration rich in his tone as he searches for a way to remove my dress.
I scoff out a laugh, intermingled with a groan, just as desperate as he is. “It’s on the side.”
I lift my right arm, and his fingers land on the spot. He’s surprisingly delicate as he lowers it, the teeth dislodging one clasp at a time until the dress slides down my body and onto the floor. I step out of it, wearing only a lacy thong.
The pad of his finger trails down my back the same way he caressed my thigh earlier. He’s leaving my skin pebbled even though his touch is hot like fire, burning me with every stroke. He’s singeing himself on my skin like he’s branding me with an iron. He lowers his head until his lips are hovering over my shoulder. I feel his warm breath right before his kiss lands on my skin. It’s soft and gentle. Reverent. Yet hungry at the same time.
I close my eyes and lean back until my head is resting on his chest as his mouth continues pressing kisses from my shoulder to my neck. He reaches forward and covers my breasts with his large hands. They feel heavy and achy. He tests the weight of them before his thumbs brush over my nipples, hardening them into razor-sharp tips. The ache between my legs intensifies.
“You’ve been driving me insane all night,” he confesses, his voice thick with desire. “That dress …”
“Did you like it?”
His mouth dips to the crook of my neck, and his tongue drags along my sensitive skin. My pulse skyrockets.
“I like you better like this.” His tone is husky and salacious.
I’m far from drunk, but the alcohol still flows through my system. I’m grateful for it as I stand in Sam’s bedroom, next to the window, while he explores my body because it’s numbing my brain. I’m not focusing on my imperfections. The softness of my belly or the roundness of my hips. I’m not worrying about what he thinks of my less than perfect body. I was always stuck in my head when I was with Eliott, concerned that I wasn’t moving the right way or that I looked fat from a certain angle. But now, I’m caught up in the moment instead. It’s freeing.
One of his hands leaves my breast, and it glides down my stomach and slips beneath the lacy band of my panties. He pauses when he finds me bare, and I can feel his smile against my skin. My neck loses all strength when his fingers skate across my slit without the barrier of my panties, dipping beneath my folds. My head presses further back onto his shoulder. He plays with my clit, rubbing circles around my swollen nub, as I part my thighs further. He starts stroking back and forth as the scent of my arousal fills the room.
I turn to capture his lips with mine. He slides his tongue along the seam of my mouth. I suck it inside, my own tangling against it. My bare skin is pressed against the silky material of his suit, and something about him being fully dressed while I’m mostly naked is turning me on. His hand is still working between my legs, teasing my entrance before finally dipping inside.
I’m tight. I’ve always been tight. It’s a combination of genes and never sleeping around. I’ve only had a couple of partners in my life. And even with a steady boyfriend for the past few years, Eliott and I were far from passionate. We didn’t have sex often, and when we did, it was mechanical. Nothing like this. I can feel the moment that Sam discovers just how tight I am. His finger pauses right after he enters me, and he groans as my walls squeeze around him. I grind back against him, feeling his cock hard against my lower back. He’s large, just like the rest of his body.
He’s going to rip me in two with that thing.
But the masochist in me welcomes the pain because I can only imagine how much pleasure will accompany it.
Sam pulls his finger out to give my clit one last teasing flick before he spins me around to face him. He pauses with his palm on my cheek and studies me for a long moment. Then, he kisses me again.
I reach up to release the buttons on his shirt one at a time. I shove it off his shoulders, only to find a white undershirt below it. Frowning as I grab the bottom and lift, Sam starts chuckling at my frustration. He takes over, whipping the shirt overhead in one swift move. My hands fall to his chest as it’s bared, and I start to explore his skin. He’s contoured, like a sculpted work of art, and his skin burns hot against my touch.
Sam watches me as I slide down his chest and over his rippled abdomen on my way to the button on his pants. I flick it open. There’s an obvious bulge straining against his zipper. I’m careful as I unzip him and tug his pants down his hips. He steps out of them, impatiently tossing his boxer briefs off in the next instant. His cock slaps against his lower abdomen when it’s freed.
My eyes widen as I take him in. He’s engorged and massive, his balls hanging heavily between his legs. His hand tugs up and down his length lazily. The flared tip is red and leaking pre-cum. He’s easily the most well-endowed man I’ve ever seen, though my roster is small.
I push his hand out of the way and take him in both of mine, surprised that he can be so smooth and so hard at the same time. He’s pulsing inside my palms. I’m suddenly nervous as I drop to my knees. Sam is much more experienced than I am. So are the women he’s been with before. But when he laces his fingers through my tangled hair and angles my face toward his, there’s no judgment waiting for me there.