Page 18 of Offside

“The one time having a newborn gives me an advantage.”

I hold out my fist for him to bump it. “At least I get free dinner and drinks.” Nils groans and slumps back in his seat.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Karis asks politely, her eyes scanning over the room.

Dieter Volmer, a fairly seasoned guy and backup goalie, raises his hand. “Uh, does the event we’re going to include a seat for my spouse?”

Someone in the back snickers. “Whipped!”

Karis smiles graciously. “Of course. For those of you who would like to bring a plus-one, you may. Just let me know or contact my admin, Christine, so we can have a ticket ready. For those who will be solo attendees, you’re more than welcome to attend with me.”

You can hear a puck drop in Pittsburgh for as quiet as it gets. That’s when I hear it. A nasty under-his-breath comment from a 19-year-old prospect sitting behind me who thinks it’s funny to be disrespectful of our female owner of the team.

“Oooh…a wine, dine, and sixty-nine event.” The kid chuckles. “I’d like to raise the paddle to that ass.”

It might be jealousy tearing through me like a breakaway down the ice, but I’m fuming hot with rage when I swing my arm around to rest it on the back of my chair and glare at the punk ass. He smirks because he thinks he’s hot shit.

“Fucking shut your mouth, prospect, and have some fucking respect,” I murmur, then growl like the savage beast I am and narrow my eyes in icy censure. “Remember, she’s the one who can either pay your salary or trade your ass to wherever the hell she wants. Got it?”

The kid goes pale, his jaw falling open at the severity of my death stare. He nods and swallows noticeably.

Karis continues, none the wiser to this punk’s remarks. “Thank you to those who will be joining me for this Friday’s event as leaders of our team. Those players I called should expect to receive an email tomorrow with all the details. If you have any other questions, my door is always open. I look forward to seeing you all out on the ice this week and good luck.”

There’s a sigh of relief from the guys who didn’t get selected and everyone claps as Karis steps off the small platform and walks back down the aisle with a graceful stride.

I turn in my seat to find Nils giving me a curious look.

I shrug. “What? I’m just being a leader like coach asked, eh?”

8

Karis – Las Vegas Last December

“Bend over, spread your legs, and let me see that delicious pussy of yours.”

I do as Ballas commands, his voice brooking no objection from me. I place my feet out in a wide V-shape and bend in half over the king-sized bed, my arms outstretched.

“That’s a good girl. Now hold on and don’t move because I’m going to eat your pussy until you are hoarse from screaming with pleasure.”

The filthy words he uses send zings of sexual bliss to all the right places where I ache for him. Even though this is the third time he’s taken me tonight, I can’t get enough. I’ve reveled each time over his remarkable sexual endurance and virility. Ballas knows how to please a woman with his low and raspy directives and every patient touch and each seductive kiss.

It’s as if he’s savoring me like he would a strong cocktail—slow and intentional.

You’d think I’d have had enough by this point, but my body still quivers at the very thought of his lips and mouth kissing me in that forbidden place where I’m so wet for him. Where I’m ready to have his fingers and cock sinking deep inside me to get me off to that next orgasm, each one bigger and more intense with pleasure than the last.

“Ballas,” I moan, my eyes half-shut with arousal and my breath coming out in fast pants as my fingernails dig into the bedsheets. His feathery touch flutters over my clit and then through my wet folds. I buck against him, wanting him to stop the teasing and torment and give me what I want. He chuckles coolly, completely unaffected by my needy desire.

“Greedy little princess, aren’t you?”

Then his fingers begin to move—but not around my pulsing clit or into my wet entrance. They leave my sex and climb upward above my tailbone. He gently rolls a thumb along the length of my spine, caressing over the puckered skin of my scar. I stiffen and try to flip over to put a stop to his curious perusal, but Ballas’s strength is no match for mine. He grips my hips firmly in his grasp and holds me in place. I clench my teeth and cringe knowing exactly what he sees and feels under his touch. My disfigured body is an embarrassment, something so ugly I want to disappear under the covers and hide from his scrutiny.

I am completely naked and exposed to him and at his mercy. There is no doubt that in a few seconds, he’ll want to leave after getting an eyeful of the ugly, raised, puckered, reddish brown scar; the reminder of my pain that snakes down the middle of my back and looks like a science experiment gone bad.

“I’m sorry.” I squirm loose from his hold, tears pricking at the back of my eyes. I want to get up and leave and avoid the awkward conversation that’s sure to follow. I turn away on my hip and drop my head down to hide from his gaze. “I know it’s grotesque. I can lay on my back so you don’t have to see it.”

I plant my butt down on the edge of the bed, suddenly cold and vulnerable under the awkwardness of this situation. For a long moment, it’s silent. Ballas remains standing at the end of the bed while my eyes remain cast downward so all I see is his feet.

When I finally get the courage to lift my head, his expression is indecipherable. Did he lose his arousal and interest in me because of this imperfection on my skin?

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