30. Benji
Benji
The moment Lyssa’s door swings open, there’s fire in her gaze, and I’m momentarily stunned by the deep blue of her eyes.
My first thought is fuck, she’s beautiful. Even in leggings and a t-shirt, this woman is breathtaking.
My second thought as the fire in her eyes registers is fuck, I’m in trouble.
“I can’t believe you,” she says.
I’m thrown off by how she can put so much intensity into her tone without so much as raising her voice. “What?”
I truly don’t understand where this is going.
Is she mad that I couldn’t come over until late?
It’s a little after nine, but we had a team meeting to discuss Jordie’s transition and a celebratory send-off.
I’d told her as much, but perhaps she’s sick of my unpredictable schedule.
My chest constricts at the thought that this might be her deal-breaker.
“You just expected me to stand by and watch while you get tossed into the boards like a sack of potatoes?”
I wince. Not gonna lie, that visual is a hit to the ego.
She continues. “And you gushed blood all over, probably broke your nose, then just – nothing? You say nothing about it, just move right on the next day to talk about pie?”
Ah, shit. Yeah, that probably wasn’t the best move.
I rub the back of my neck. “It ended up being just fine. Nothing was actually broken.”
“Nothing was actually broken?” She stares at me like I’ve sprouted an additional head. “Did you say something to set him off?”
What the hell?
I cross my arms, more than a little offended at the insinuation. “Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know, why else would he do something like that unprovoked?”
“He was provoked,” I scoff. “I was scoring, riding high, and he didn’t want to see me back at the top of my game.”
Her brow furrows, as though this concept is entirely new to her. I sigh.
“Listen. I’ve played with Roberts before. We have a history, and it’s not a great one. We were always competing for the same slots, and pressure like that…it makes some into diamonds, and it cracks others. We both made it pro in the end, but let's just say, it left some cracks in Roberts.”
I gesture into her apartment in a silent question, and after a second, she moves aside, letting me in.
"Do you want some water?" she asks, her tone softer now. I nod, taking the peace offering.
While she wanders to the kitchen, I go to her couch and Winston hops up beside me. My hand automatically goes to scratch behind his ears. He wiggles closer, tongue lolling happily out, fanning me with his disgusting breath. I grin at him and do my best not to inhale.
“So, he’s just jealous,” Lyssa says, giving me the glass of water and taking a seat next to me.
I shrug and stare into the water glass. “Maybe? He’s made it very clear he doesn’t think I deserve everything my brother had.”
And sometimes, I don’t, either. I don’t voice this portion out loud.
“Jealousy, in my experience, boils down to fear. He’s just afraid he’s not as good as you.” Lyssa takes a thoughtful sip of her own water. “And he’s using everything he can to tear you down. Including being a piece of shit about your brother. That’s the lowest of the low.”
I hum. She’s right – I don’t know many guys in the league that would stoop that low. In fact, talking shit about my brother is something nobody else has ever done. My own team is reluctant to mention him to me, even if it’s something positive. It’s just not done.
“True. Even though Grant’s a menace out there, he’s not going to take it off the ice. He’ll give a guy ten stitches on the ice during a fight, and then they’ll be grabbing beers together later that night.”
She shoots me a disbelieving look, and I toss back a half-smile.
“We’re just wired that way, I guess. We know when it’s gone too far, and even when we’re riled up, we can leave it all on the ice.
But some guys…they’re just rats, through and through.
It’s cutthroat out there in the AHL, and they don’t have any lines they won’t cross. ”
She bites her lip. “So you really didn’t say anything? Did Grant, when he got there?”
“No,” I shake my head. “Grant was just protecting me. Actually –” I give a soft laugh. “–he was protecting you.”
“What?” Lyssa straightens, the water in her glass sloshing.
“Roberts was trying to start shit by talking about you.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah.”
She glances down at her glass, then peers back up at me through her lashes. “And you're really okay, then?”
“I am.” My lips twitch in amusement. “Sweetheart, were you worried for me?”
“Of course I was!” She sets her glass down to glare at me, but this time, her expression is no fire and all wide-eyed concern. “I watched you turn an entire washcloth red with your blood! They put it on the big screen!”
“Ah.” I wave a hand dismissively. “I’m sure you’ve caused a few bloody noses while boxing.”
“I haven’t, actually,” she huffs. “Though I’m considering it now, just to knock the stupidity out of you.”
I fake a dramatic gasp. “You’d give me a bloody nose, just to teach me a lesson about getting a bloody nose?”
She gives a nod so serious I can’t help but grin.
“Such beautiful ways you show me you care.” I put a hand over my heart, and her expression turns mischievous.
“You want me to show you just how much I care?”
It’s my turn to give a solemn nod.
She takes the glass from my hand and puts it on the table, moving to straddle me as soon as her hands are free.
When she slides against me, I let out a soft groan and wind my hands around her waist. Fuck, she’s perfect, warm and round as she settles into my lap.
Her hands skate up my chest, where I’m sure she can feel my heart pounding against my chest. I can already hear it, picking up pace, sending blood rushing to my head and far lower places.
“The whole time I was watching you out there, I was just thinking of how much I wanted these talented hands on me again,” she murmurs, gazing down at me through her eyelashes.
I squeeze my hands against her waist, and she responds by rolling her hips against me. I’m wearing sweats, and the barrier is somehow not enough and also way too fucking much.
“Anything else?” I ask, gravel in my voice.
“I wanted your lips on me,” she breathes, her eyes going to my mouth. “Though when you got hurt, I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to anymore.”
A raw sound escapes me. “I can show you just how well they still work.”
A smile brightens her face, and she leans forward to kiss me. I sink into it, allowing her to feel just how much I want her with each sweep of my tongue.
I’m dying to peel her clothes off and sink my cock into her soft wet heat again, but I’m determined to savor this. It’s a beautiful form of torture, watching this new confident, sexy side of her emerge. Knowing I’ve had a part in making her feel safe enough to show it to me.
I slide my hands across her skin, careful to keep the touch gentle and away from any area that could replace her pleasure with pain. “What else do you want?” I ask when we both lean back, panting slightly.
She gives a thoughtful hum, and then closes her hand over one of mine.
I let her bring it up from her side, watching, mesmerized.
She closes her lips over two of my fingers, and a hiss escapes through my clenched teeth, the sight of her mouth on me immediately sending fantasies racing through my mind.
Her lips curl into a wicked grin, as if she can read my thoughts, and her tongue flicks over my fingers. My cock, already aching painfully in my sweats, jerks at the movement. It takes everything in me not to grab her and carry her to her bed.
I will give her anything she wants, and more.
With one final sweep of her tongue, she removes her mouth from my fingers and backs off of my lap.
Without removing her eyes from mine, she shimmies out of her leggings and panties, and reaches her hands under her shirt.
I hear the snap of a clasp, and her bra drops to the ground.
All that’s left on her is a soft, loose T-shirt.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, drinking her in. Her nipples are hard under that shirt, telling me her teasing has just as much of an effect on her as it does on me.
She saunters back to me, bare from the waist down. I bite down a groan as she settles back onto my lap, but her next words are my undoing.
“I want you to touch me.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I rasp, running the fingers she’s moistened down to her core. I slide them across her entrance and curse. “Fuck, baby, you’re already so wet for me.”
She lets out a desperate whimper, a noise that’s been burned into my memory since our first time.
It’s an addictive sound. I slide one finger into her, pull out, and plunge two in.
I’m immediately lost in the feel of her soft, warm pussy.
My gaze slides to hers, and I watch her eyelids flutter, her lips parting as I move inside her.
The sight of her losing control over my motions is intoxicating.
I increase my tempo, curling the tips of my fingers to bring her to the edge.
She responds instantly, rolling her hips against my hand, and I feel her walls begin to clench around my fingers. “Yes, baby,” I whisper hoarsely, adding the pressure of my thumb against her clit. “Come for me. Let go.”
Another thrust, another curl, and she shatters around me with a cry. I carry her through it, savoring the flush that enters her face, the beautiful shape her mouth makes, the way her chest heaves from her pants.
When she’s come back down, I slide my glistening fingers out of her and bring them to my mouth. She stares as I suck them clean, still catching her breath.
“See?” I murmur. “My mouth works just fine.”
She leans into me, giving a breathless chuckle. As she does, she brushes against my hard cock, and I can hear her breath catch. She fists my shirt.
“Bedroom, Benji.” It’s an order, and one I’m happy to oblige. “Now.”