Page 42 of Stick Break
I take him into my mouth, savoring every inch, every taste, the way his body trembles, the way he mutters my name like a prayer he’s afraid to finish. My hand slides lower, cradling his balls, and he jerks beneath me. So close. So fast.
He tries to pull me off. I don’t let him.
I want this. All of it.
His thighs shake. His hands tangle in my hair. His control shatters with a raw cry that lights me up inside. He spills into my mouth, and when I can’t take all of it, I slide back just enough for the rest to land across my cheek, my lips, my throat. When I finally look up at him, his eyes are wide with awe. I think I just wrecked him in the best way possible and I can’t deny that I’m a wreck too..
He reaches for me instantly, pulling me to his chest like he can’t stand the distance. I melt into him, face pressed to the wild rhythm of his heart.
“Char,” he breathes, voice rough and full of something that feels suspiciously like amazement.
“Rip,” I whisper back, because I can’t say anything more.
His hand strokes my hair and he exhales like I’m the answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking. “You’re fucking incredible.”
I swallow, hard, because this man is incredible too. Too bad his heart belongs to someone else. Not that you’d know it from the way he’s looking at me. But it’s a path I can’t—won’t go down. Not again. Hell, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that fairy tales don’t exist and perhaps this Goldilocks crawled through the wrong damn window.
11
Rip
I peel my eyes open, and for some reason, I feel… lighter. Happier. Like my soul did yoga in its sleep. Then last night rushes in with the force of Ash Wheeler, our team’s toughest defenseman—after me, of course—and I smile.
Charley.
I turn, expecting to find her curled beside me, but the bed is empty. Just like last night when I heard a sound, checked the couch, and found that empty too. But this time, I don’t panic. Because somehow, I know she’s here. My gut says so, and my heart… well, it’s pounding a little too hard with that knowledge.
That’s concerning as hell.
I barely know the woman. We’re both keeping secrets, but still… I like having her here. I like talking to her, cooking with her, sitting by the fire with her, and don’t even get me started on how much I liked what we did in bed last night. What we plan to do for the rest of the week.
Which, I wish was longer.
I shift in bed, and that’s when I feel something soft under my knee. A pillow. I didn’t put it there. At least I don’t think I did. I toss off the blankets and stand, stretching out like I normally do, and much my shock, my groin doesn’t throb like a war drum.
Huh.
Maybe the sex cured me.
I snort. Sure, dude. That’s totally how anatomy works. It’s the yoga. The relaxation. The cold dunks in the ocean. I tug on a pair of sweats, and head to the kitchen. That’s when I spot it. A bag of ice in the sink. Or what’s left of it. A soggy, melted mess. I didn’t ice myself last night. Which means this was all on Charley.
She iced me.
Propped up my leg.
Took care of me while I was snoring without a care in the world.
I blink at the sink, suddenly full of feelings I wasn’t prepared to have. Gratitude. Wonder. Maybe even the tiniest spark of?—
Nope. Not going there.
Honestly, for someone who’s pretending not to know about my injury, she’s doing a damn good job of knowing exactly how to help. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
It’s sweet, Rip.
Sweet.
Right.
