Page 43 of Tempting the King

In the three days since King’s first session and the whole fire situation, he hasn’t gone an hour without calling or texting me when we are apart.

After my orgasm blackout yesterday, he soothed me in bed, making me the little spoon for a change. Since, thanks to his caveman impulses, I had no clients for the rest of the day, he lingered with me.

He ordered room service, then we took a leisurely shower that ended with his mouth once again between my legs, only this time there was the added bonus of him introducing me to the joy of his tongue and fingers working my back entrance.

I exploded at the dark pleasure he gave with such unselfish passion, I felt guilty. I climbed him like a tree, mounting myself on him as he banged me up against the shower wall until I went limp, and he filled me with another round of his special hot, raw pleasure.

He left for practice, returning to be sure I had dinner, then snuggled me to sleep in the enormous king-sized bed after another round of rough, slippery sex, followed by the softest, sweetest cuddle I’ve ever experienced.

He left during the night, leaving a note with a scribbled heart, criss-crossed with two hockey sticks.

I’ll be back, be a good girl, drink the bottle of water I left. All of it. Then go pee again. There’s cranberry juice in the mini fridge. Drink that too. No UTI’s on my watch, baby.

If that wasn’t enough, we sort of… well… sexted. While I was in the shower this morning, he had me set up my phone where I could see it and told me all the things he’d do to me, and all the things I should do to myself. The waterproof rose toy he had delivered to the room in a plain brown bag earned its money, and I was left swaying and trembling and feeling dirtier than ever in my life as I toweled myself dry, trying to remind myself there was business to conduct today.

The hotel has become my home away from home, even though I’m getting a little cabin fever.

As I sit by the window, watching the traffic below on Vernier, he’s texting again.

King: How did sunrise yoga go?

Me: Fine. Looking forward to seeing you at your session. Eight sharp, don’t be late.

King: I know you are wet.

Me: Please, stop.

I giggle and touch my tongue to my lips, considering the idea of getting my fingers between my legs. Then I glance at the door.

Me: I don’t have time for this. I have someone coming over.

King: Baby, I’m a jealous mother fucker, so who is coming to your room this early besides me?

Me: LOL. An old girlfriend, you Neanderthal.

King: Can’t help it, firecracker. You drive me crazy. I’ll let you go, but we need to discuss my suspension. The team lost last night. I gotta get back on the ice.

That makes me pause.

Red flags are flying high as the thought niggles at me that he only slept with me to get his suspension lifted.

No way. My instincts can be that far off.

Me: I have to be careful. If anyone found out about us, it wouldn’t just be my career. My friendship with Dr. Hoffman would be on the line too. He trusted me, this could come back on him just as much.

King: Got it. I’m just getting pressure here, to get back to the team.

Me: I know. Let me see what I can do.

King: If I had to choose between the team and you, there’s no contest. You know that, right?

Me: I wouldn’t want that.

I hesitate before sending the message, the urge to say three little words so strong I have pressure behind my eyes. I love you. But they’re so easy to say in the wrong place, so hard to take back once they’re out there. What if I said it, and he didn’t say anything back? What if this isn’t what I hope it is?

I type it out.

I love you.

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