Stormy
His pants hang low on his hips, his erection extending inches above the wide band of elastic on his designer boxer briefs. So. Crazy. Hot.
And yes, that little whimper is mine.
The corner of his mouth tilts, and he hooks his thumbs in the waist and, catching his pants and underwear together, pushes them down those massive thighs.
“Your body,” I whisper, awe in my words as he prowls over me, that heavy shaft bobbing, the head broad and dark and glistening at the tip.
I’ve never come two times in a row in my life, but somehow, beyond all reasoning, the look in this man’s eyes has me tightening with a sweet ache that whispers I might be down for round three.
Liam reaches for the condom he pulled out when he tossed me on the bed and tears it open with his teeth. How is that so sexy? But mmhmm, that’s another needy sound emanating from some wanton part of me I didn’t know existed.
We like the sexy condom show.
And the kisses that taste of my pleasure and the feel of his hair through my fingers and the way he guides my knee up his side, telling me he wants to feel my heels when he fucks me.
He notches that broad head at my opening and ohh…
My thoughts scatter, leaving nothing but the decadent stretch of his body filling mine.
“Slow,” he murmurs gently, taking me another inch.
I nod, holding onto my last breath the way I’m holding his shoulders.
He gives that nod back to me and then sinks in full length, and the rush of air that leaves me is every kind of wanton and shock.
“Fuck,” he groans, when he’s given me all he has. His brow touches mine, and for a moment, we pass the air between us. Give and take.
And then, slowly, he starts to move, dragging that heavy, thick shaft back, back, back through my sensitive flesh and then driving deep enough to push another needy moan past my lips.
It’s so good.
So hot.
And when he starts to move in earnest, working his hips in a way that has me seeing stars, it feels like this is the first time. Like I didn’t know what I was missing.
Like this man is giving me more than just his body. Like he’s setting a higher bar for everything in my life.
He hits that spot inside me again, and my senses spiral as everything draws tight and hot and— “Like that… Please, don’t stop… Keep on… Yes… Like that… Liam!”
He pounds into me, arms steely beneath my grip.
“Knew it would be like this— Knew I shouldn’t—” He grinds into me, pushing himself so deep I feel the strain of my body’s limit… my muscles clamp down on him hard, and another pulsing climax takes me over the edge.
Liam
Cracking an eye open, I realize that I am in fact still in this swank hotel suite. My face is buried in the soft waves of Stormy’s hair, my arm wrapped tight around her waist, and her bare, beautiful ass is tucked snug against my junk.
Which, no surprise, woke up before I did.
What is a surprise? I didn’t leave.
Typically, I wouldn’t have even fallen asleep. Whether it’s a one-time thing, or even those rare occasions when I let one night extend into a few, I never stay.
But with Stormy? It didn’t even cross my mind to leave.
Not because I’m getting ideas. The opposite.
This thing with us has an end date, even if I don’t know exactly when it is.
All it’s going to take is one of these last fraying threads holding us together to snap— for Noel and Misty to burn out, Stormy to move, our divorce to finalize —and that’s it. No more reasons or excuses or justifications for our paths crossing.
We both know it.
We’re counting on it.
So instead of getting up and gathering my shit to go, I’m burrowing deeper into her hair, wrapping my arm tighter around her, and drifting back into—
Ping.
My brows knit.
Bzz.
Bzz.
Shit. My phone.
I don’t want to wake Stormy, but—
Ping. Bzz. Bzz. Ping. Bzz.
Her breathing changes, and my jaw sets.
“Two phones.” Stormy’s muscles, lax the moment before, go tense.
The pings and buzzing turn to dual rings, and we jerk upright in the bed.
She slips out the right side, managing to take the sheet with her, while I climb out the left, too used to being naked to care about covering up.
We get to our phones at the same time, eyes meeting across the expanse of the unmade bed as we answer.
Noel’s voice booms through my phone as Stormy’s mouth drops open in a shocked gasp.
“Dude, she said yes! You’re going to be my best man!”
“It’s going to be fine,” I say as she sits on the couch beside me, my oversized shirt from last night doing little to keep my mind off the panties beneath. Panties so scant that even in the midst of this chaos, I’m getting hard thinking about them.
Not the time, asshole.
“It was supposed to burn out, Liam. We were only supposed to have a few weeks together. Just a run-in here and there, some fun, and maybe a single night of indulgence or so, and then they were going to break up and there wouldn’t be any more home games or parties I’d be showing up to because they’d have broken up.” Her eyes are wide, her usually pink cheeks pale as she turns to me. “But they’re getting married. For real. Forever.”
“That’s what he said.” Along with so many other things that told me how fucking off base I was with my assumptions about what this guy was like and where their relationship was heading, I want to kick my own ass for being so completely blind to who he really is.
Just like I am with the rest of my teammates.
She bites her lip, nerves bringing her hands together at her chest. “We’re getting divorced. It’s not supposed to be the start of some beautiful friendship. Right?”
“We’re still getting divorced. And hell, we’re already friends.” Friends who spent the night trading a half-dozen truly spectacular orgasms. Despite the unorthodox nature of our relationship or maybe because of it, I do count her as a friend. One of the few. “So, we’re going to be seeing more of each other. Is that really so bad?”
Because it doesn’t sound that way to me.
Those big blue eyes cut to mine, and I wait.
“No. It’s not bad. I like you. A lot.”
Why is hearing that such a relief?
“But—”
I reach for her hand pulling it into my lap. “But what?”
“But this?” She makes an uneasy perusal of my body, lingering on my bare chest and abs, and even though I threw on the pants from last night, I swear I can feel the heat of her stare burning through the layers of fabric when it stops pointedly there.
Down, boy.
“This can’t happen again. I’m not a casual-fling kind of woman, and even if we’re not staying married, that’s the only thing that’s changed since Vegas. I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want to fall in love. So, once we leave this room, no more of the will-we-won’t-we. I need you to fit in a box that has a clear label. Okay?”
“Yeah, I get it. Once we leave this room, we’re friends.”
“Friends getting a civilized, quiet divorce.”
“That no one will ever know about.”
We look at each other, in total agreement.
I nod.
She nods.
She inhales.
I exhale.
But the words are there between us. Waiting.
Once we leave this room.
I don’t know who moves first, but my hand is in her hair and she’s throwing a knee over my lap.
“When’s checkout?” I ask, my face buried in her neck so I can get another hit of the sweet smell of her.
Her hips shift on my lap. “Noon.”
It’s not blurring a line. It’s… fuck, I don’t know what it is except that it feels fucking amazing, and when I’ve got the warm, damp softness of her teasing my cock, I stop thinking altogether.
We’re at home tonight, facing off against the Tempest— a team that’s been on a hot streak we need to break. But when I get to the locker room, no one’s talking about the game.
My teammates have turned into a pack of gossiping aunties, each asking the next if they’ve heard anything more about Nichols’s engagement.
If it’s true.
If it’s serious.
If he’s gone round the bend because hasn’t he only known this girl a week?
Boomer is lacing up his skates, backtracking through away games and after parties, trying to pin down the last time Nichols hooked up. But with every suggestion, Bowie shuts him down.
“Seattle, end of October. That blonde with the pink tank top.”
“Nope. He chatted her up, but remember when we went upstairs, he slid in through the elevator doors just as they were closing? Alone.”
“Okay, but what about that night at Erikson’s? Before the kid, obvs.”
“The night with the couch?”
Assorted sounds of disgust rise from the guys. But thankfully, the man of the hour walks in then, because I don’t want to know any more about the couch than I already do.
Nichols’s smile is cranked to epic proportions as he holds his arms up, rotating his hands, waving in the questions.
This guy.
The locker room goes nuts, players in various states of dress crowding in as the questions fly.
I pull on my pads. Squirt some water into my mouth. Wait for the answers.
Rux Meyers brushes a couple of the younger guys aside, his mouth tipped in a slant as he steps up to Nichols.
“Tea time.”
Nichols pulls out his phone, and sure as shit, there’s Misty on the home screen, snuggled up against him with her hand against his chest and the fourth finger sporting—
“Jesus, that thing’s like a satellite dish,” Rux coughs. “Nice, man.”
Nichols looks like he’s about to make kissy faces at the picture, but in the end, he settles for stroking it with his finger.
“Thanks.” And then he strolls past the rest of the guys to sit beside me on the bench. One heavy arm slings over my shoulder before he addresses the team. “Girls, you’re all pretty, but I’ve already picked a best man.”
He hugs me into his side, and I feel my face heat. Then, just as fast, he’s up and headed to his locker, talking about how he wants to marry her on the ice between periods and how he doesn’t think he can wait until after playoffs.
Rux sits beside me, his wild mane sticking out in every direction. Eyes still on Nichols, he leans into my space. “Didn’t know you guys were that close.”
We aren’t. But while I might not be the most open and chatty member of the team, no way I’m saying that. “I sort of introduced him to Misty.”
And then, before there’s time to elaborate, the coaches come in.
No more time to think about Nichols or Stormy or anything outside that sheet of ice we’re about to hit. Bit by bit, I shear off layers of the outside world.
My focus sharpens.
I know this team. I know the players. I know their weaknesses and their strengths and their moves and—
“Dude,” Nichols says, striding up beside me as we head for the tunnel. “You and Stormy last night, huh?”
My head whips around.
He nods. “Picture of you sucking face turned up.”
“What?” I choke.
Nichols’s shoulder bumps mine. “You and I are going to have a word after the game.”