Page 26 of On the Edge of Scandal

I’m lying there impatiently, and instead of setting on me, he goes over and takes up the bag of ice I threw to the ground, considers it. If he tries to make me lay here with that on while we watch tape on his phone, I swear—

But something stops me from voicing my complaint. Maybe it’s the devious look he’s got on his face.

Ash sits on the side of the bed and I cross my arms while glaring at him.Can we get this show on the road please? I have sleep to get tonight.

He reaches over to the other bed and tugs the pillows off it. I start to sit up, but he tuts at me, puts a hand to the center of my chest and presses. “Not for your head. For your hips. Lift them up.”

Ugh, fine. I do as I’m told, and once he’s slipped the pillows underneath me, I feel silly but also . . . lewd? It’s hard to keep my legs closed in this position so I ease them open, feeling the tenderness in my joint as I do. When I’m finally there, it’s not so bad. Little stretch, little ache, but in a way that’s not unpleasant, per se.

While my thoughts are on my pelvis, thrusting up into the air as it is, Ash’s thoughts are also very much there, as is his gaze, so intense my leggings might combust. He climbs up on the bed, making himself comfortable between my spread thighs, and that word comes back in my head: lewd. Forward. Carnal.Pay attention here—that’s what my position seems to say, and Ash looks inclined to agree.

He grasps the waistband of my leggings, and, careful to pull the fabric away from the hip I’ve injured, works them down and off me, not even leaving my underwear. Yep, that’s me right on display.

On the whole, athletes are not modest people. Can’t be, for one thing, because our bodies are a constant source of comment, and we spend a hell of a lot of time around other people’s naked bodies. Locker rooms, shared hotel rooms when you’re on teams that travel. Also, we tend to not be so shy.

It doesn’t make sense in that context, then, why this has me getting all squirmy. Like, yes, this is a very private area of my body, but just being laid out and on display shouldn’t have this effect on a person, especially not me, but here I am, wriggling like a worm on a hook. And Ash, he looks like he wants to devour me, regardless of whether he’s going to get snagged.

I’d forgotten about the bag of ice, but Ash reminds me by shaking out my leggings, laying part of them over my hip, and setting the frigid bag on top of it. I suck air through my teeth at the shock, but it doesn’t hurt. Feels good.

“That takes care of ice and elevation. I’m not going to worry about compression right now because the swelling doesn’t seem bad . . .” Ash puts his hands on my knees, and gets this cocky smile on his face. “Rest, though, you’re not so good with. You’re looking a little edgy. Maybe I can help with that.”

It’s difficult to be sassy when you’re flat on your back and your legs are splayed open, but I give it my best. “And how do you plan to—Oh.”

Ash has used his thumbs to spread me out even further and dipped his head in one quick, smooth movement. Then his mouth is on me, and oh, my. If my head weren’t already cradled by pillows, I’d drop it back. As things are, I curl my fingers into the comforter.

Hot and slick, his tongue goes to work on my clit, stroking it, teasing it, and then, delightfully, he uses his lips and sucks. Christ. He thought this would help me rest how? Then he’s broadening his attentions, tasting the most intimate parts of me.

The tension winds and curls in my belly, making me feel hot and primed for my release.

“Ash . . .” His name is a gasp on my lips, and everything tightens, ready, so freaking ready to let loose. Before I can, though, he’s gone. His mouth, his ridiculously amazing mouth, is gone, and I’m bereft.

“Wha—”

“Patience,” he admonishes from where he’s sat back on his heels, his shoulders bracketing my shins, keeping me precisely where I am. If I weren’t in such an awkward position, I’d grab his hair and force his face down to finish what he started. Patience? I don’t fucking think so.

“Please.” I don’t know where this is coming from. I learned a long time ago asking nicely gets me approximately jack shit. If I were with Brody, I’d reach down and finish myself off, because odds are he would’ve tired of trying to get me off by now. But Ash . . . I think he wants to give this to me. He likes to. But also . . . he values my pleasure. It’s important to him as a thing unto itself. He wants to make me happy, and yes, relaxed.

“Think about it, baby.” He’s stroking that sensitive skin between labia and thigh, and it’s maddening. Enough to pique, not enough to do anything other than that. I want to kick him, but can’t. “If you get off now, it’ll be good, but it’s not going to tire you out, is it?”

Fuck it all, I actually whimper.

“Is it?”

His prompting makes me scowl, but I answer. “No.”

“But if I toy with you, get you all wound up, when you come it’s going to be incredible and you’ll actually be able to relax. Not able to,” he amends. “You’llhaveto because your mind will just be . . . blown.”

My god. I want that, but outside of hockey, I’ve never been super good with delayed gratification. The whole one cookie now or two cookies later? I will take one fucking cookie. But goddamn Ash is holding the cookie jar, and really what choice do I have? So I roll my lips between my teeth to set them and then nod. “Okay, but you better make this worth my while.”

He laughs, one of his dark brows going up as if to saythis girl,but then he’s nodding. “I will do my very best, you have my word.”

Good enough for me.

Ash

Having Bronwyn spread out in front of me like an offering is heady. As is the smell, the heat rolling off her. I did that to her. This incredible woman has been reduced to pleading, squirming, and, if I’m not mistaken, a little bit of quivering because of me. Because of my mouth. If this whole hockey coach thing doesn’t work out because I’m screwing one of my players, maybe I can convince her to keep me.

I’ve got to up my game, though, because just working her up to the edge and then backing off isn’t going to be enough to send her into orbit. My baby is tough, her feet rooted into the ground, and if I want her to be loose, relaxed, to be able to, yes, rest, then I need to bring it. I like the idea of having to work within a certain set of constraints, too. Yeah, that whole thinking outside the box is well and good, but sometimes having to think inside a box forces you to be more flexible. Which Bronwyn is not at the moment, and I never am.

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