Chapter 15 #2
“I asked him, you know. About why he cheated. He said it was because I was too much , needed too much from him. I wanted to control everything, wanted everything to be picture perfect. And I guess I did, in a way. I wanted the life they promise you when you’re young, the one with the white picket fence, the two A-plus children, and the flawless family photos.
I wanted that life. And now all I have is…
” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “All I have is working at a bar and renting a room. I don’t have a house or an apartment or even a car. ”
Gavin’s quiet so long I have to talk myself into looking into his eyes, too scared of what I might see.
Does he think I’m too much, too? Hell, the night we met, I cried in his arms on the freaking sidewalk.
Does he think I’m too much because I called him panicking about his fish?
I did have a major freak-out. Does he think I’m too much because I wanted to talk to him after he got hit?
I’m not his girlfriend. I don’t deserve that. Does he think I’m?—
“Stop,” he says softly. “You’re not too much, Nessa.
Stop letting him get into your head and think otherwise.
There is nothing wrong with you. What Neal did falls solely on his shoulders.
It’s not your burden to carry. It never was, and it never will be.
” He leans forward, ghosting his lips over mine. “You’re just enough for me.”
My eyes flutter closed against his soft kiss and his words. Words that mean more to me than he can imagine. I’m not too much. I’m just enough , I repeat to myself.
Gavin kisses me again, and I open for him, letting him sweep his tongue into my mouth. It’s slow, languid, like he’s taking his time with me, and I love every second of it. When he eventually pulls away, he smiles at me.
“Shower, then more cuddles?”
The butterflies—the ones that seem to be permanent where he is concerned—flap their wings again, and I grin right back. “That sounds perfect to me.”
Gavin holds me all night long, and when I wake, I’m warm and satiated in a way I haven’t been in a long time. I crack my eyes open, the sun filtering into the room, and stretch my legs.
“Mmm,” Gavin says from beside me. “I could get used to waking up next to you.”
Me too.
Maybe a little too used to it. I think I already did after my first night in the apartment.
I even slept on the couch with his blanket while he was on the road because it didn’t feel right being here without him.
I don’t tell him that, instead putting my mouth to good use by pressing kisses all over his chest. The hair there tickles my nose, and I love the way it feels against my chin.
I trail a path up, never once taking my lips off him.
I trace over his throat, loving how he swallows roughly, and the dimple in his chin, up until I reach his lips.
I kiss him the same way he kissed me last night—with everything I have, telling him how he makes me feel without actually saying it.
After I have my way with him, I pull away and get my first look at him.
I gasp. “Oh my god!”
“What? What is it?” Gavin’s eyes fly open, wide with worry as he checks me over. “What’s wrong?”
I cover my mouth, pointing at him. “Your… Your face!”
“What?” He reaches up, then winces when he makes contact with the nasty wound. “Fuck, that hurts.”
Somehow, with all the pleasure from last night, I forgot about him taking the puck to the face. Clearly, he did too, but now looking at him… Let’s just say I won’t be forgetting it for quite a while.
“How bad is it?”
I grimace as I take in his swollen cheek. It looks like he has a baseball stuffed in there or got some really, really crappy filler done. “Uh, bad.”
He scrambles off the bed and into the bathroom to check it out.
“Well, safe to say I’ll be wearing a fishbowl for a while,” he calls out.
“Fishbowl? What’s that?” I ask as I climb off the bed, grabbing my discarded shirt and tugging it over my head.
We didn’t bother putting our clothes on after our shower.
It seemed pointless at the time, and we were right.
Gavin woke me up at six AM with his tongue between my legs, bringing me to completion before fucking me slow and sweet.
I try to find my underwear but give up when they aren’t anywhere to be found.
“It’s a style of helmet. The NHL uses them for injuries.”
“Wait—you’re still playing after that?”
He chuckles, coming out of the bathroom, and I try my best not to look at his cock hanging half-hard between his legs. “Hell yes, I’m still playing. I’ve scored in every game this season so far. No way am I sitting out.”
The look on my face must tell him exactly how I feel about it because he crosses the room, gathering me into his arms.
“Hey,” he says, tipping my chin up to meet his gaze. “I’ll be okay, I promise. The fishbowl will protect me, and it looks a lot worse than it feels.”
I wince. “It just looks so…”
“Ugly?”
I roll my eyes. “Please, even all banged up, there is nothing ugly about you, Gavin.”
“Nothing?”
“Well…”
He tickles my sides, and I squeal with laughter.
“Stop! Stop! That’s so unfair!” I say, squirming in his grasp.
“Unfair how?” He continues his assault. “ I’m the injured one here.”
“Because you’re stronger than me and bigger!”
He laughs. “Oh, love, I’ll show you big.”
I don’t know how he does it, but suddenly my wrists are captured in one hand, and he holds them behind my back, pressing my tits up against his chest. He drives his hips into me, and there’s no denying just how much he’s enjoying me wiggling against him.
Truthfully, I like it too. We’re no longer laughing and messing around, the air charged with palpable sexual tension.
He runs his nose along my neck. “I could fuck you like this, you know. Holding your hands behind your back while you ride my cock.”
I rub my thighs together, wanting just that.
“Or maybe I’ll bend you over again, take you from behind until you’re screaming my name.”
I whimper as he slides his free hand between us, his fingertips tracing along my thighs, teasing me. Always fucking teasing me.
“Play with that sweet little hole of yours I caught a glimpse of last night.”
A shiver races through me, my mind chanting, Yes, yes, yes. He cups my bare pussy, slipping a single finger between my lips, grazing over my clit that’s already pulsing.
“I could?—”
Dolly Parton’s “9 to 5” blares through the room, interrupting his next thought. I groan, tossing my head back, and Gavin laughs dryly.
“Work?”
I nod. “Work.”
“Don’t suppose I could convince you to call in?” he asks.
“Not a chance.”
“Boo.” He releases me, and I miss his touch instantly. “But I understand. I need to check in with Doc anyway, get this face looked at.” He kisses the top of my head. “Rain check, then.”
Maybe it’s silly, but I’m surprised by his words. He…wants to do this again? I mean, I know he said a lot of things last night and said a few things just now, but that was just in the moment, wasn’t it? Maybe not. Maybe he meant them.
I want him to have meant them.
The thought terrifies me. Not just because I have only been divorced for six months and it feels far too soon to get tangled up in something, but because of who he is—my brother’s teammate. He’s completely off-limits.
It’s bad enough that I had a one-night stand with Gavin in New York, and even worse that I’m living with him without telling Reed. To continue sleeping with him? That’s really bad. We shouldn’t be sneaking around like this. It’s wrong…isn’t it?
No.
I can’t tell if that’s how I really feel or just wishful thinking, so I decide not to think of it at all. I’m in Seattle for a new life, a new Vanessa, and this version of me wants not to overanalyze something she doesn’t have an answer for. She just wants to live. She just wants to have fun.
She just wants Gavin.
So, I kiss his cheek—the uninjured one—pat him on the chest, and tell him, “Rain check.”
My pencil moves across the page. It’s just a little doodle, but it’s the first one I’ve made since I saw The Video.
I first got the itch last week after we finally gave in to whatever is going on between us.
We haven’t really talked about it, but we’ve certainly been enjoying it.
Every night, Gavin whispers into my ear—dirty things, sweet things.
It doesn’t matter; I love them all. He touches me.
He tastes me. He worships me. It’s heaven.
It has to be. There’s no other reason for it to feel so damn good.
I’m convinced it’s why I’m sitting on the rooftop of his building with my sketchbook in hand.
It’s where I’ve been planted since I washed the smell of bar off me after my shift at Top Shelf.
I trade the pencil for a marker, tracing over the lines I want to be sharper and darker.
While my preferred medium is painting, I figured I’d start small and get one sketch out, just to make sure I can still do it.
Once finished, I study the image, picking it apart. I need more color, for starters, and my lines could certainly use some finesse. But overall, it’s not the worst thing I’ve drawn, and it feels good to flex my dormant creative muscles. That’s got to be a win, right?
Feeling inspired, I flip the page to start something new.
I start with the marker, trying to find what feels comfortable, and then I allow myself to get lost. I have no idea how long I keep my head bent over the pad, but it must be long because suddenly I hear footsteps.
I whirl around to find Gavin striding toward me with a smile plastered on his face.
He’s wearing a pair of jeans that look entirely too good on his long legs and a Seattle Serpents-branded shirt that stretches across his chest just a little too well.
There’s a baseball cap spun backward on his head, and it instantly makes me want to kiss him.