Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
cameron
I couldn’t have been in the bathroom for more than thirty minutes, but in that time, my hotel room transformed from a standard suite into a melting pot of takeout containers.
A shot of pain radiates through me as I pull up short and survey the scene.
What the fuck?
“I didn’t know what you wanted,” Kennedy tells me without looking up from the TV where an episode of Survivor is playing. “The burger bun isn’t gluten-free, but you can eat everything else.”
She’s perched on the right side of the bed, wearing a shirt that I distinctly remember packing in my suitcase.
“You’re wearing my shirt.”
She laughs, the sound bright. “I wanted to see if you wrote a matching note for me to find in your suitcase. I didn’t see one, but I did find a new shirt for my closet, so I consider it a win.”
I shake my head, chuckling. I figured if she’d found it, she would have brought up my snooping memo right away, so I assumed she hadn’t. Apparently, I was wrong. “Keep it up and I won’t have any shirts left to wear.”
“That’s the plan.” She winks at me. “Now, come eat. You haven’t had anything since the game ended.”
“I had to shower.”
The shower wasn’t a shower at all, but it was a fucking ordeal. The heat from the water will make the bruising worse, so I spent twenty minutes awkwardly contorting myself next to the bathtub with a washcloth and soap, trying to get clean while maintaining a little dignity.
Each step I take toward the bed sends a dull throb through my thigh, the discomfort far better now that the painkillers have kicked in. I ease myself down next to Kennedy, snag a piece of pizza off her plate, and scarf it down quickly.
It’s a simple move, but not one I take for granted. I’ve never been able to steal food off anyone’s plate like this, but as she always does, Kennedy made sure everything (but the burger bun) was safe for me to eat.
It means way more than she probably realizes.
“Let me see your leg,” she demands, trying to come off as sweet but just as sassy as always.
“It’s already wrapped.”
She raises a brow. “I know this is wild, but there is such a thing as unwrapping and redoing it.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, matching her sarcasm, even as amusement courses through me.
“Mm-hmm. It’s all the rage with Gen Z.”
I huff out a laugh and lean back against the pillows, resting my arm behind my head. “I’m fine. I don’t need you to baby me.”
She shrugs, her head held high, completely unrepentant as she finishes the last bite of her pizza. “If you don’t want to be babied, then maybe don’t get hurt.”
I scoff. “I didn’t purposefully take a puck to the thigh, sweetheart.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “No, but you purposefully continued playing after you got hurt.”
“I was doing my job,” I explain slowly. What’s with the irritation?
“Your job is to guard the goal,” she disputes. “Not to continue to play because your ego is too big to allow you to step back and take care of yourself.”
“That’s what you think I was doing? Playing through it because of my ego?”
“Yes.” She throws up her hands with a growl. “A puck slammed into your thigh hard enough to knock the wind out of you, and you stayed out there anyway. What else am I supposed to think?”
“That I was doing my job,” I repeat. I run a hand through my hair and tug on the roots. “We were up, but the Titans were pressing hard. I wasn’t being reckless or worrying about my ego. I made a calculated decision based on what my team needed and what I could physically handle.”
“You have another goalie,” she points out.
I shrug. “Yeah, but Cavanaugh didn’t let them score on him during the first period. I did. The team can fuck up as a unit, but if I let in a bad goal, that’s on me. I wasn’t going to let my team down when they needed me to step up.”
She studies me, thoughtful, and nods. “Okay. Now show me your leg. Then I’ll drop it.”
I sigh. “Kennedy.”
“Cameron.”
Grumbling, I sit up and tug down my sweatpants. I’m damn stubborn, but I learned early on that Kennedy is worse. I carefully unravel the elastic bandage, then throw my arms out. “Happy?”
She makes a cute little squeak as she takes in the full view. “No, but apparently you are.”
Frowning, I tuck my chin. Oh. My dick is standing at full attention, completely unaware that I’m not undressing for sex. “Yes. Great observation. Ten out of ten, sweetheart.”
She tilts her head, her focus never leaving my body. “In my defense, I thought you’d be wearing briefs. The bruise and boner combo really threw me off.”
“I didn’t expect you to demand I drop trou, so that makes two of us.”
She laughs, the sound sending a wave of affection through me despite the situation.
“All right, lay back down. Let me get a better look.”
“At my dick?”
She rolls her eyes, her mouth falling open. “I’m serious, Cam.”
“So am I.” I toss her a wink, then ease back and relax. “All right, Dr. Caplan, get your fill so I can rewrap.”
On her knees, she shuffles closer, and as she takes in my injury, her expression turns into one of helplessness. With one hand splayed over my abs, she gently rotates my leg with the other so she can get a better look. “Christ, Cameron.”
I cup the back of her neck, dragging my thumb along the soft skin in a soothing motion as she continues to study the bruise.
“Would it help if I told you I’ve had worse?”
“No, definitely not.” She looks up at me through her lashes, blue eyes questioning. “Are you in a lot of pain?”
I shrug. “I mean, yeah, but it’s manageable. You’re more worried about it than I am.”
She nods, almost as if agreeing. “You know what helps with pain?”
“Rest, ice, compression and elevation,” I grumble. I’ve heard this spiel too many times to count throughout my career.
She breaks into a coy smile. “I was going to say orgasms.”
I let out a breath of a laugh.
She trails a hand slowly down my stomach, and that laugh turns into a groan. As her finger traces over the sensitive head of my cock, heat gathers inside me, my breath hitching and my hips jerking forward.
“What are you doing?” I ask stupidly. My cock has gone from happy to fucking exhilarated, and if I have to deal with a bruise and blue balls, I think I may evaporate on the spot.
“Orgasms help with pain, as you so sweetly proved to me.” She regards me, the need in her eyes sending shivers up my spine. Without looking away, she grasps my length, her hand slowly gliding up and down. “Unless you feel fine and—”
“I’m in excruciating pain,” I quickly agree, my abdominal muscles clenched, spine already tingling. “Dire, immediate, unbearable pain.”
“Should I call Fallon for tips on how to help?” She wets her lips. “Or am I doing okay?”
“No. I mean yes,” I grunt. A spark of pain radiates through my leg, but it’s overshadowed quickly by the bolt of need that races through me. “You’re—doing fine.”
“Just fine?” She traps her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m an overachiever, Cameron. I can do much better than fine.”
She gives me the most beguiling smile, then tilts forward, swirling her tongue around my crown. Panting already, I lean against the headboard, struggling to keep my eyes open as she inches her mouth down, cheeks hollowing.
She grips my uninjured leg for support, the other hand wrapped around my shaft, acting as an extension of her mouth.
“Oh fuck, baby,” I mumble. “That feels so fucking good.”
She takes more of me, nose pressing against the groomed hair on my groin, and a guttural groan rips through my chest. She pulls back a bit and falls into a steady rhythm, my cock sliding in and out of her mouth with a sinfully wet sound.
My thighs shake as she sucks me messily, her tongue working me over with each bob of her head.
She looks like a fucking wet dream. Just the sight of her has me barreling dangerously close to the edge.
My breathing comes in short, quick bursts as I watch my cock disappear between her perfect lips over and over again.
Kennedy’s a fucking goddess when it comes to giving head, which is both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because holy fuck, but a curse because I don’t last nearly as long as I’d like to.
And I’m not ready for this to end. I want her to feel just as good as I do, so I tug gently on her hair, pulling her away from my cock.
When she straightens, she shoots me a frown, but I yank her face up to mine and dive in, tasting myself on her lips.
I kiss her slow and deep, and she melts into me with a soft sound that makes every potential ounce of pain in my thigh absolutely worth it.
Before it dawns on her that sex is probably not what Fallon meant when she said she trusts me to know my body, I fumble around the bedside table for a condom.
I need this distraction, this release, more than any amount of rest. With one hand, I sheath myself.
With the other, I yank on the hem of the shirt still covering Kennedy’s body.
She laughs but helps me, pulling it over her head and sliding out of her underwear in one fluid motion.
When she’s completely naked, she lowers herself onto me.
I grip her hips so I can control how close she gets to my tender thigh.
We’re still for a moment, giving her a chance to adjust to my size, then she clutches my chest for support, my name rolling off her tongue over and over like a broken record.
I ease her down a bit more, and when she’s fully seated yet not coming into contact with the bruise, she rocks against me, her clit flush with my pelvis.
I keep my grip firm, guiding her movements forward, keeping the pressure off my injury while giving my girl what she needs.
“God, riding your cock is so much better than riding your thigh.” She groans, her neck extended in pleasure.
I burst out laughing, my body shaking beneath her. Before Kennedy, I’d never laughed during sex. It was always a means to an end, chasing an orgasm rather than enjoying the experience.