Page 57 of Enticing the Enforcer
“Fuck–” I grit out, barely holding on. Her orgasm drags me down with her, my body surging once, twice, before I spill inside her with a groan that vibrates against her chest. I bury my face against her back, breathing her in, holding her like if I let go, I’ll lose the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Just the sound of our ragged breaths filling the room.
Finally, I lift my head and pull out, easing her down to her side, where I take in her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Her eyes are wide and glassy. And she’s smiling–small, disbelieving, but real.
I press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, softer this time. Reverent.
She runs a hand over my jaw, thumb tracing my bottom lip like she’s memorizing me. “Thank you,” she says. “For letting me be me.”
The words hit me harder than anything else tonight.
And I know, as I settle beside her and pull her into my chest, that nothing about this is casual. Not a hookup. This–her–is the only thing that’s ever felt like it mattered.
19
Ingrid
Three days later,it still feels like a fever dream, like maybe I made him up–this six-foot-five hockey player with abs made of steel, with the uncanny ability to give me many, many, amazing orgasms. We barely slept that night, caught between getting to know each other and getting one another off–like we wanted to memorize every part of one another before having to part.
I should be sad and missing him. And I do miss him, but I’m also caught up in the energy of it all. It’s no secret that I fall hard, but also, the world doesn’t stop spinning just because I’ve fallen into Jefferson Parks.
I took the plane from Atlanta to Miami, the bus loads of equipment arriving a day later. I needed a full day to recharge and get a night without Jefferson distracting me from sleep. What makes it even better is that Miami has become home base for me, with my parents living there most of the year. My mother loves the water. My father is devoted to golf. After a good sleep in my own bed, I feel a million times more rested the day of the first concert. I’ve had my morning smoothie and am stretchingon a yoga mat on the back patio. Madison is in a similar position across from me, but is glued to her phone. I recognize the look, the pursed lips and furrowed brow. That look never means anything good.
“What is it?” I ask, bracing myself.
She turns the screen around. A headline glares back at me:
“Love Triangle? Ingrid Flockton’s Ex Jake Seen Backstage–But What About the Hockey Hunk?”
The article is full of candid photos, including one of Jake exiting through the back door. There’s another of Jefferson in the wings during my encore, a wide grin on his adorable, sexy face.
Heat crawls up my neck. “Another one? Don’t they have something better to talk about?”
“Of course not. You’re the story, Ing. Always have been.” Madison places the phone on the floor in front of her, eyes still skimming the article, and pretends to stretch. “The question is–who leaked it in the first place?”
“A fan probably. They miss nothing.”
“I don’t know.” She thumbs down the screen and reads, “Backstage Power Play: Ingrid’s Ex Jake Merchant and New Flame Jefferson Parks Face Off.”
I shake my head. “A hockey pun?”
“Do you think it was Jake?” she asks, turning her phone over and actually focusing on what we’re doing.
“Are you crazy?” I snort. “Jake hates press more than I do, and getting caught coming in and out of my dressing room isn’t his style.”
Even worse, being caught at one of my shows.
Her gaze flicks to me, sharp. “Then maybe it was Jefferson.”
The suggestion makes my stomach drop, but almost immediately, I shake it off. “No. He’d never.”
“You’ve known him, what, a few weeks? You don’t know what a guy like him is capable of.”
I bite back my retort, because fighting with Madison the morning before a show is the last thing I need. She’s been my right hand for years, my anchor. I trust her. I do. But something in her tone makes me uneasy, like she wants me to doubt him.
And the thing is–she’s not wrong. I haven’t known Jefferson for long. Not really. A handful of weeks. A blur of late-night calls, stolen hours, one perfect weekend tangled up in his arms. That’s not much to build a foundation on. She’s right about that.
But what Idoknow feels solid. He’s not angling for camera time. He’s not dropping my name in interviews or trying to squeeze himself into a spotlight he doesn’t need. Hockey already gave him more attention than most people could handle. If Jefferson wanted fame, he could’ve had it years ago.
