Page 85 of The Wildest One
“How did it go? Tell me everything.”
“It went …” I stopped at a red light, my eyes briefly closing. I didn’t know where the emotion was coming from, but it was burning. And that burning led to dripping, tears streaking each cheek. “Nothing he said surprised me. Well, I take that back. The last thing he said before I wiggled my way off the back side of his couch because he was kneeling in front of me—that surprised me.”
“Hold up. You’re saying Beck Weston got on his knees for you?”
Would I ever get that vision of him out of my head?
The way he had looked at me.
The way he had wanted to touch me.
The way the silence had hung between us and I wanted to break it by wrapping my arms around him and kissing him.
That man was dangerous.
I couldn’t be alone with him.
Not until I could trust myself.
If I’d ever be able to trust myself …
“I guess he did,” I replied. “But it wasn’t exactly like that … I don’t know … maybe it was.Fuck.”
“What did he say that surprised you?”
I used my arm to wipe the other side of my face, my thumb tapping the steering wheel. “He basically said I was telling him one thing and showing him something entirely different.”
“Of course you were. You’re in love with the man. You can’t hide that in the way you look at him.”
My head shook, sending a tear straight to my lips. “But I have to, Ginger. I can’t have these feelings for him. If Dad found out, he’d fire me. And if the team found out, they’d never look at me the same. I can’t gain him and lose everything else.”
TWENTY-THREE
Beck
Jolie was fucking everywhere. She would walk along the upper deck of the stadium before she went into her office, the color of whatever she was wearing catching my attention when I was on the ice. I felt her stare from the mirrored window across from her desk that overlooked the rink. She came into the weight room during our workouts, and she sat on our bench during some of our practices. And the day after Mark Jameson’s announcement in our locker room, I had learned she drove an all-black Jeep Wrangler Rubicon with black rims and chrome running boards, so whenever I pulled into the private lot at the arena or left for the day, I saw her Jeep.
Every glance she made in my direction was like another bob of her lips down my dick. Every time we passed each other, it was like she was sucking the end of my tip. And every time I smelled her vanilla-amber perfume in the air, it was like she was goading the cum to rise but leaving right before I got off.
Her teasing was only part of the torture.
The fucking noise from my teammates was the other.
From the moment I entered the arena to the minute I left, it never stopped.
“What do you think she’s jotting down on that tablet?” one of my defensemen said as we were leaving the ice. “All the different positions she wants me to fuck her in?”
“Nah, she’s sketching how I look naked,” the backup goalie voiced. “It’s an accurate portrayal, too, considering I hit that last night.”
I stopped halfway in the tunnel, staring in the goalie’s direction, waiting for him to continue. My fingers pulled back from my gloves so they could ball into fists, my teeth positioned in an underbite, my top lip curled.
I wasn’t out of breath from all the skating and drills we’d just finished.
My body was letting out the air in preparation for destroying this motherfucker’s face.
“You’re full of shit,” the defenseman said to the goalie. “You wish you’d hit that.”
The goalie laughed. “No, she wishes I hit that. But, fellas, it’s only a matter of time before I slide between those gorgeous fucking legs.”
