Chapter 22 Jake
JAKE
The key card beeps green on the first try and the door opens to reveal a tidy room with two dimmed lamps casting warm light across the city skyline visible through the window.
Tish pauses in the hallway, scanning the corridor before meeting my eyes.
“Come in,” I say. “Five minutes. Then I’ll walk you back.”
Her mouth tightens. Not with fear, but something closer to wariness, then she gives a curt nod and steps inside.
“Drink?” I move to the credenza, lifting the ice bucket lid. Fresh cubes clink against the sides. Two glasses wait on the tray.
“What’ve you got?” She leans against the sofa arm, keeping her jacket on. Light catches the curve of her neck, and I force myself to look elsewhere.
“Soda, water, or the mini-bar they pretend to hide.” I open the small cabinet. “Gin, questionable bourbon, three tiny wines, and something called ‘artisan mezcal’ that might erase tonight—for better or worse.”
“Water’s fine,” she says. “Two limes if you’re showing off.”
“Always showing off for you.” That earns the faintest smile. I fix her drink and hand her a glass.
She sips and glances toward the window. City lights paint her cheekbone gold. “So what now? Small talk for a few minutes, then I leave?”
I settle onto the couch where she’s still leaning. “Why not? Got somewhere better to be?”
She moves to the opposite end, maintaining distance. Smart woman. She surprises me by nodding.
“Research.”
“Oh? Into what?”
Tish shrugs off her leather jacket, draping it carefully over the couch back.
That black dress is devastating, fitted perfectly to her curves, making my pulse quicken.
Her crossed legs catch my attention as her boot swings nervously.
“Trying to figure out who’s sabotaging the Thunderwolves.”
Her words snap me back to focus. “Any leads?”
She shakes her head, sighing. “Nothing solid.”
The weight of responsibility shows in her shoulders, the tension in her jaw.
I reach over, covering her hand with mine. Her skin feels cool but warms under my touch. Her fingers tense then relax.
“This isn’t all on you,” I say.
“I’m PR. Of course it’s on me.” She stares out at the city, Christmas lights twinkling through the falling snow. “I keep running through suspects, but the list is endless.”
I slide closer, inch by careful inch, until I’m beside her. My hands find her shoulders, working at the knots of stress there. She’s wound tight as a spring.
“Makes sense,” I say, kneading her shoulders. “We’ve got plenty of enemies, rival teams, mostly.”
She nods then lets out a soft moan as she relaxes into my touch. “God, that feels good. But this seems personal. These incidents don’t feel like standard competition sabotage.”
Her mouth tightens again, and I hate seeing that worry on her face. I squeeze the back of her neck gently.
“You’re not alone in this. I’m here. Coach and Ash too. We’ll figure it out together.”
Her eyes find mine, something warm sparking there, gratitude mixed with something deeper that settles low in my stomach.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
The room falls quiet except for the heater’s hum and muffled city sounds. Her lips part slightly, like she’s weighing whether to speak.
“You keep staring at my legs,” she says, amused rather than annoyed.
“They’re exceptional legs.” I grin.
“Figured boots were smarter than heels with your height,” she says. “Didn’t want to trip and become a meme.”
“Smart and gorgeous. Dangerous combination.”
Her fingers toy with the lime wedge before she sets the glass aside. She turns toward me, one hand on the cushion between us, the other at her throat. The movement draws my eyes to the hollow there, where her pulse beats quick and steady.
“You keep saying the right things,” she says. “Experience or instinct?”
“Instinct,” I answer honestly. “With you, it’s all instinct.”
The space between us shrinks to nothing as I lean in. Her breath meets mine first, warm and lime-sweet.
The first kiss is gentle, testing. Everything in me unclenches when she responds.
She makes a sound low in her throat that shoots straight down my spine. My hand finds her jaw, thumb tracing the curve, and she leans into the touch.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” I murmur against her mouth.
“I won’t,” she whispers. “Not tonight.”
Desire jolts through me and I deepen the kiss.
She moves closer, her knee sliding over my thigh.
Heat spreads where she settles.
My hands find her waist, then drift higher, waiting for her signal. She takes my wrist, guiding my palm just under her ribs.
“Condoms?” she asks, quiet but certain, and that confidence hits me hard.
“Drawer.” Standing requires more control than I’d like to admit. The foil tears as she watches with steady focus, removing her boots and setting them aside. When I sit again, she climbs into my lap, knees bracketing my hips, dress sliding up to meet my hands.
This time she kisses me, then guides my hand to her zipper. I lower it slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room, mingling with our heavy breathing.
The fabric opens and my palms explore warm skin. Her breath catches, and so does mine. She helps with the sleeves and the dress pools at her waist.
Her hands slide under my shirt, pushing it up, her tentative yet determined touch driving me wild.
She smiles when I yank the shirt over my head in one impatient move.
I reach for her panties’ waistband, pausing to meet her gaze. Passion and desire shine in her eyes, along with a hint of impatience.
I slide the fabric slowly, feeling every inch of her. She rises immediately, shimmying the panties to her ankles before kicking them across the room.
“Your turn,” she says, reaching for my waistband. I unfasten quickly, afraid she might tear them off, which would be incredibly arousing.
I’ve been with plenty of women, but I’ve never felt this turned on. I lift my hips to help, and she has my pants around my ankles in seconds.
She climbs atop me, breasts pressed close as she settles in my lap.
“This has to go,” I rasp, quickly undoing her bra. Her breasts spring free and I stare eagerly at them, perfectly shaped, full and firm, pink nipples tightened into peaks.
She runs her hands through my hair, pulling my face up for a kiss. I cup the back of her neck, angling her mouth under mine.
Her hands grip my shoulders, then her nails scrape down with just enough pressure to leave marks for tomorrow. My whole body shivers as she squirms on my lap, rubbing against my length.
I don’t know who moans first, but the sounds mingle with our breaths as the kiss turns deeper, more urgent.
This woman is incredible.
Something tells me I’ll never be the same after tonight.
Never look at another woman without comparing her to Tish.
A warning tries to surface in my mind, but I push it down. Nothing’s ruining this.
My hands roam up her sides to cup her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples.
She moans and breaks the kiss, head falling back. She reaches up, taking her hair down.
I nearly lose control as she shakes her head, dark silky hair cascading around her.
Lamplight catches the maroon highlights and the ecstatic expression on her face.
When she looks at me again, her hair falls forward like a curtain, shrouding us in our own world.
I can’t wait anymore. I roll on the condom, and she sinks down slowly, keeping her hungry gaze locked with mine.
“Jake,” she breathes, and it explodes at the base of my spine. She moves in a slow, deep rhythm that I guide with my hands at her hips.
She rides me like she can’t get enough, rising until I almost slip out, then sliding down until I’m completely buried.
The room narrows to just us and the steady beat of our bodies.
“Damn, Tish,” I rasp.
She leans forward, mouth finding my jaw, throat, lips again. Her grip around me tightens, pulling a rough sound from my chest I barely recognize.
Her breath skims my cheek, pulse kicking under my thumb as her inner muscles clench tighter.
She’s close.
I reach down, rubbing her clit with my thumb. Her body jerks and shivers.
“Come for me, Tish,” I breathe, not sure how much longer I can hold back. Usually I have more control, but not with her. Not this first time.
My words seem to give her permission. Her muscles grip me almost painfully, in the best way.
She rides harder, her body slamming down on my thighs while her nails dig into my shoulders.
Her body milks mine and I jerk once, twice, then the orgasm hits.
We come together, both crying out. I’m not sure who’s louder. Our bodies spasm and pulse and release.
It takes minutes for our breathing to normalize. Tish lies atop me, cheek pressed to my chest as we struggle to regain composure. Her fingers toy lazily with the hair at my nape, and I kiss the crown of her head.
A knock sounds at the door.
Our eyes meet in surprise, then Tish panics, jumping off my lap and running to the bathroom.