Chapter 9 #2
I was naked from the waist up. My chest was heaving. I had bruises forming on my ribs from the cross-checks.
Vanessa stared at my chest. She reached out and traced a purple mark on my ribcage.
"They hurt you," she whispered. Her voice was fierce. Angry.
"I hurt them back," I said.
"Good."
She looked at the brace on my leg.
"We need to ice that," she said. "And you need a shower. You smell like a locker room."
"I can't stand in the shower," I said. It was an admission of weakness that tasted like ash in my mouth. "I can't balance on the wet tile."
Vanessa looked at me. Her gaze was steady. Unflinching.
"Then I'll help you," she said.
"Vanessa..."
"I've seen you naked, Volkov," she said, reaching for the zipper of her dress. "I've had your hands inside me. Do not play the modesty card now."
She pulled the zipper down. The green velvet pooled at her feet.
She wasn't wearing a bra. Just tiny black silk panties.
My mouth went dry.
"God," I groaned. "You are trying to kill me. My heart cannot take the strain."
"Your heart is fine," she said, stepping out of the dress. She kicked off her boots. She peeled off her socks.
She stood there in just her panties, looking like a goddess in the dim light. She wasn't hiding. She wasn't posing. She was just... there. For me.
"Come on," she said, holding out her hand. "Let's get you clean."
The shower was small. It was a stall, designed for efficiency, not luxury.
We fit, but barely.
I sat on the small built-in bench. The water cascaded down on us, hot and steaming.
Vanessa stood in front of me. She had grabbed the bar of soap. She was washing my chest.
Her hands were slick with suds. She moved them in slow, circular motions over my pectorals, down my sternum, over my stomach.
I sat with my head back against the tile, eyes closed, letting her take care of me.
It was the most vulnerable I had ever been in my life.
"Your leg," she said softly.
She knelt down. The water sluiced over her back, plastering her hair to her skin.
She washed my good leg. Then, very carefully, she washed around the brace on the bad one. She didn't touch the injury, but she cleaned the sweat from my calf, my ankle.
She looked up at me through the steam. Her lashes were wet and spiked. Water dripped from her nose.
"Roman," she whispered.
"Yeah?" My voice was a croak.
"I was so scared today," she admitted. "When you went down... I thought I lost you."
I opened my eyes. I reached down and cupped her face.
"You didn't lose me," I said. "You can't lose me. I'm right here."
"Are you?" she asked. She leaned her cheek into my palm. "Or are you going to leave for the NHL in three months and forget the girl who lived in your basement?"
The question hung in the steam.
I looked at her.
"I am not going to forget you," I said roughly. "I couldn't forget you if I was lobotomized."
She let out a watery laugh.
"Come here," I growled.
I pulled her up. She stood between my legs as I sat on the bench.
I buried my face in her stomach. I kissed the soft skin there. I kissed her hip bone. I kissed the scar from her appendix surgery.
"You are my anchor, Vanessa," I murmured against her skin. "I was drifting. You pulled me back."
She wove her fingers into my wet hair.
"Then stay," she whispered. "Stay with me."
"I am staying."
I pulled her down. She straddled my good leg, her arms going around my neck.
We kissed under the spray of the water. It was slow. Deep. Tasting of water and soap and hope.
My hands roamed over her back, down to her hips. I gripped her ass, pulling her closer.
I was hard. painfully hard. The compression shorts were torture.
"Take them off," I whispered against her mouth.
She reached down. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of my shorts.
She pulled them down.
I kicked them off.
Skin to skin. Finally.
The friction was incredible. Her wet skin against mine. Her breasts pressed against my chest.
I groaned, leaning my forehead against hers.
"Not here," I panted. "The bench is hard. My knee..."
"Bed," she agreed breathlessly.
We turned off the water. We dried each other with clumsy, hasty motions. I couldn't stop touching her. Every time I wiped a drop of water from her shoulder, I had to kiss the spot.
We made it to the bed.
I collapsed onto the mattress, dragging her down with me.
She landed on top of me. She straddled my hips, careful of my leg.
She looked down at me. Her hair was a wild, wet halo. Her lips were red and swollen. Her skin was flushed pink from the heat.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi," I smiled. A real smile. One that reached my eyes.
"Is your knee okay?" she asked, reaching for the ice pack I kept on the nightstand.
"Fuck the knee," I said.
I reached up and grabbed her hips.
"Ride me, Vanessa," I ordered softly. "Take what you want."
She bit her lip. She reached down and guided me.
And when she sank onto me, taking me inch by slow inch, filling herself with me...
I realized that winning the game was nothing. The roar of the crowd was nothing.
This... this was the only victory that mattered.
"Look at me," I commanded as she started to move.
She looked at me. Her eyes were locked on mine.
"Mine," I said.
"Yours," she sobbed.
And we fell together into the dark.