Of course, he was right. I was Sunday, and I didn’t work weekends. That was what I said to avoid the exact argument we were having. I actually spent the day before hiding at Piper’s, not at work.
It had been a little over a week since I saw Seb and, to my frustration, my intense desire for him hadn’t dulled over time. Instead, it only seemed to grow bigger, the chasm wider, emptier, and needier.
Piper told me to suck it up and call him, but I couldn't do it. For one thing, Sebastien St. Clair is a love ‘em and leave ‘em type of guy. And second, spending time with him was way too complicated. If I had been thinking with my head instead of my hormones the night he asked me to meet him at the hotel bar, I would have said no. Especially if I knew saying yes meant I would never watch my brother play hockey in person again.
I frowned and the more I thought about it, the dumber the logic sounded. I mean, was I serious? I wasn’t going to any of Rocco's games as long as he played on the same team as Seb? The whole thing was stupid. So stupid, in fact, I was beyond over it, over Seb and Rocco and their macho ridiculousness.
"Fine," I said. Rocco froze mid-pace. Since Saturday’s was a matinee, the Sunday game would be at night. "I'll go tonight. Does that make you happy?"
Instead of answering, Rocco grabbed my hand and hauled me off the couch, straight into one of his patented, bone-crushing, bear hugs. "It makes me ecstatic, Ky. You being there means everything to me."
I winced. Way to plunge the knife in further.
"I know it does.” I held back a snuffle. “I’m sorry I haven't been there for you, Rocco.”
“Well, you'll be there tonight and that's all that matters."
You won't be saying that if everything goes to hell.
Good thing I had a plan. A stupid one, but hey, everything I did lately turned out to be stupid.
Why change things up?
The Comets easily defeated Chicago 4-2 and Rocco played one of the best games of his career. At first he didn't understand why I insisted on switching seats. When I explained I'd rather sit a few rows back than have the penalty box block my view of the ice, he understood. Sort of. The divot between his brows said no, but he didn’t argue. Good enough for me.
Because I’m an idiot, I kept stealing glances at Seb from under the rim of the baseball cap I wore low on my head. Seb glanced toward my old seat several times throughout the game, searching for me. At first, it made my heart hurt. Then, once I had time to mull it over—and maybe two or three beers. Okay, fine. Four beers—it made me mad. Seb knew how to reach me. If he missed me so damn much, which I doubted was the case, he had no one to blame but himself.
And yeah, it stung that he hadn't bothered to reach out—no calls, no texts, nothing. I kept reminding myself Seb’s behavior wasn't anything unexpected. We weren't dating. We weren’t even friends. We had sex, period. That was what he did, right?
So why did it hurt so much?
I slunk out of the game early and passed out on my bed fully clothed.
All right, fine. I had five beers. Don’t judge.
Nearly two weeks to the day since Sebastien chained me to his bed, my desk drawer vibrated. I was almost done typing up a report on gang violence in Chicago and didn’t want to break my concentration, so I finished the last sentence and hit send before I checked my phone. When I slid the drawer open and caught sight of the screen, I might have stopped breathing.
A text. From Seb.
My pulse kicked into high gear and I chewed on the inside of my cheek. The arctic temperature of the open newsroom shot up a good twenty degrees. Celsius. I picked the phone up carefully, as if it might bite my hand, and swiped the screen. I fumbled once or twice and had to read the message several times before it sank in.
Seb: Plans tonight?
Holy. Crap.
I blinked. Then blinked again before rereading the text two more times and looking up at the high ceiling as if it might collapse on my head.
I figured the sky must be falling because Seb actually reached out.
“Oops!” The phone slipped and I flailed. I probably looked demented as I juggled the thing over my desk to keep it from clanking back into the open metal drawer.
My hands and feet felt numb. I couldn’t believe he did it. Seb texted, and he wanted to see me again. I was simultaneously thrilled and terrified. Everything about Seb was a terrible idea. Getting more involved would only make it worse for my mental well-being when the inevitable happened and everything went sideways. Yet a tiny, traitorous part of my brain, the part that hoped that against all odds we could end up together for real, did a victory dance.
That itty-bitty part of my brain hip-checked common sense aside, and made the idiotic decision to jump without a net. I typed a response before I wimped out.
Me: No, why?
I drummed my fingers on the desk and waited for a reply.
Seb: Pick u up @ 7?
My out of control, horny, hormonal half lit up. It knew precisely what Seb had in mind. My romantic, foolishly hopeful half, well, it wilted under the crushing weight of disappointment.
I knew better than to expect romance from a man like Sebastien St. Clair. To call him emotionally stunted would be a compliment. He couldn’t find romance if he had two extra hands and six sets of eyes.
Sex, Kylie. It's just sex.
My fingers flew across the tiny screen.
Me: I know where you live. I’ll come to you
The long pause made me smile. I pictured the frustrated look on Seb’s face as he wrestled between the desire to control everything by insisting he pick me up, and pure logic that said I was perfectly capable of making the fifteen-minute drive to the W. Those three bubbles popped up and stayed there for way too long, taunting me, until finally the swish of an incoming text broke the silence.
Seb: Fine. Code for garage 3637# Park in spot 28
I imagined his disgruntled expression and laughed out loud. A few of my colleagues popped up from neighboring cubicles like prairie dogs to shoot me questioning looks.
Me: C U then.
I planned to call Nat when I got home. Hopefully, my best friend would hammer some freaking common sense into my thick skull. Historically speaking, my judgment when it came to men was questionable at best. I needed Nat to stop me from thinking of Seb as relationship material. He wasn't, and even if he was, Rocco was a very obvious, tatted and muscled six-foot-six barrier to any happiness I might find with Seb. No doubt she would call me a bonehead. Nat would keep my expectations reasonable. Wrestle them down to the level they belonged when it came to a future with Seb… subterranean.
Still, that stupid little voice in the dark recesses of my mind persisted. Had me thinking—no, had me fantasizing—that someday Seb and I could actually be a couple. That we would fall madly in love, Rocco would wake up one day, get over himself and his annoying—if somewhat justified—hatred of Seb, and the two of us would have his blessing to make adorable little hockey babies and live happily ever after.
I sighed and thumped my head on my desk.
Like I said, stupid.
Seb
Of course I was irked that Kylie insisted on driving. Her being one hundred percent correct didn’t make me feel any better. It absolutely made more sense for her to come to me, instead of me going to her only to turn around and drive right back to the W. Logical or not, it aggravated me, but it wasn't worth arguing over, especially since I had big plans for Kylie. Specifically, my cock getting to know her pussy a lot better. And maybe I wanted to know a little more about Kylie as well.
After making a few calls and grabbing a quick shower, I glanced at the clock and frowned. I started getting ready way too early and was faced with an excessive amount of time on my hands and nothing interesting to occupy my bouncy-ball brain. Over the years, I came to discover bad things happened when I had loads of free time.
I stood next to the windows and watched it rain. The wind blew fiercely and people darted around, covering their heads with their
jackets or papers, or whatever they could find. In the more entertaining instances, they had umbrellas, which ultimately turned inside out, to my great delight.
I stepped away from the windows, and the second I did, unhelpful thoughts whirled around inside my head like an F-5 tornado.
There were too many questions and not enough answers. Why did Kylie stop coming to Comets games? Why was she there to begin with? Were those her seats or did she borrow tickets from a friend? And the one that bothered me most, that dangled like a carrot in front of the spinning hamster wheel in my skull every minute of every day… Why was Kylie so eager to get the fuck out of dodge forever ago?
Forever ago?
I pinched the bridge of my nose. It had only been two weeks, yet it felt like I hadn’t seen her in months and that was fucking scary.
Unbeknownst to me, I have deeply buried masochistic tendencies. It had to be, because I spent the next hour and a half agonizing over those questions, chucking handfuls of spaghetti at the wall to see what stuck and what ended up in a cold heap on the floor.
Pointless.
If I wanted the truth I had to suck it up and go to the source for answers, hence, me asking Kylie to come over.
I wasted so much time spiraling down a bottomless black hole of “Why did Kylie do/say/think xyz,” I was startled by an incoming text.
Not a St. Clair Fan: in the elevator
Ah, fuck. I glanced at the time. Seven-thirty, and what was I doing? Getting myself nice and worked up so I would be a complete mental basket case when Kylie showed up.
Dammit. I cracked my neck and shook out my hands as I tried to clear my mind. I didn’t want Kylie to think I was distracted, not that I wasn’t always distracted, but still. She deserved, and would receive, my full attention. Everything else could wait.
A soft knock on the door announced Kylie’s arrival. I took a few deep breaths to calm down. Satisfied I wouldn't come across as a crazy, wild-eyed, psycho, I opened the door, and with a silent whoosh, all of the air sucked out of the room.
Kylie looked up at me and blinked those big brown eyes. Eyes I got lost in every time I stared at them. Slowly, a frown began to form at the corners of her mouth with a matching, tiny indent between her brows, in a cute little V-shape.
Aaaand, she was waiting for me to stop fucking slobbering all over her…
"Sorry." I stepped aside to let Kylie enter. "I forgot how beautiful you are,” I blurted out.
Fucking-A. It was not my night.
"Hi," she said, gaze flicking around the foyer, alighting on anything and everything except where I wanted it. On me. I made the most of the opportunity and studied Kylie. She fascinated me. Before we met, I never knew anyone who could shift from confident seductress to shy ingénue so quickly and seamlessly, and not even know she was doing it. Her naiveté was natural and charming. I found her so intriguing, I pretty much waited on tenterhooks to see what Kylie would do or say next.
"Traffic bad?" I asked as I circled around and reached for her coat. Greedy as I am, I couldn’t stop from brushing my fingers across the back of her neck. The tiny hairs stood on end and Kylie shivered. It was barely noticeable, but her reaction sent all the blood in my body rushing south.
Great. Now I had a cramped boner to contend with.
"A little." Kylie shrugged out of the coat and watched as I hung it on the rack.
With pleasantries taken care of, there was nothing to stop me from moving things along. Even if the biggest, most-badassed defender in the NHL dropped out of the sky and stood between me and Kylie, I was going to get some answers out of her. I went right into her personal space and then stepped closer, going until the blistering heat radiating from her body hit me like a shot of testosterone to the family jewels.
When she realized I wasn’t going to stop, Kylie’s eyes grew wide. Aggressive and determined, I got so close, she had to tilt her head back to look at me. I stared down and she swallowed nervously. Like a magnet, my eyes were drawn to the slender lines of her throat, then back up when Kylie licked her lips. Watching her tongue slide across her mouth, all shiny and slick, was torture. My balls hung heavy and my cock grew hard.
It was too much. She was too much.
I was done.
Questions? What questions? And more important, who gave a shit?
I reached out, wanting to be tender and sweet for a change, entirely different from my typical snatch and grab. I moved slow enough to be classified under the Geneva Convention as cruel and inhuman punishment, cupped the sides of Kylie’s face, and lowered my mouth to hers. She didn't miss a beat.
Kylie parted her lips, welcomed me in, and turned what was supposed to be a gentle kiss into something deeper and so much fucking hotter. The last shreds of my willpower disintegrated. I shoved my tongue into that inviting mouth, and one taste was all it took. A desperate sound rumbled from my chest and I wound my arms around Kylie's back to pull her flush against my body.
It hadn’t been my intention to jump her the second she walked in the door. I had planned for us to talk a bit before we got to the naked stuff, but she offered and I’d be damned if I was going to say no. If someone told me to close my eyes and imagine heaven, Kylie would be front and center, yet at some point she also became my personal hell. When it came to Kylie, I was weak. She made me break my rules. Bust down the carefully constructed walls that surrounded my heart.
Kylie moaned and rubbed against me. That was all it took for me to no longer give a flying rip about rules or questions or anything but getting skin to skin. I had to get inside her. As soon as physically possible.
"Bedroom," I growled.
In a moment of déjà vu, we re-created the exact scene from the last time Kylie was there. Same as then, I’d only give up her mouth when I was dead, so we continued to swap spit as I walked her backward through the condo until we reached the master bedroom. Instead of shoving Kylie onto the bed and stuffing my cock between those thick lips, which, frankly, wasn’t that bad an idea, I continued to kiss her. For whatever reason, I didn’t want to stop. Not yet, anyway.
I located the hem of Kylie’s shirt and slid my hands under the material and up the satiny skin of her back. At the same time, Kylie's fingers flirted with my waistband, then came to rest on my hips. She dug her thumbs in on either side and my hips jerked.
“Fucking, hell,” I muttered as I thrust a thigh between her legs and pushed up, practically lifting her off the ground. Kylie's whole body trembled and her head fell back.
"Don't stop," she pleaded. With her mouth out of reach I went for the nearest available surface and dove in to lick and bite the tantalizing skin of her exposed throat.
"I have no intention of stopping," I growled. God she tasted so fucking good. If hedonism had a flavor, she was it.
We ground against each other for minutes, hours, days… I wasn’t counting and didn’t give a shit. It got to the point that if I didn’t get something hot and wet clamped around my dick, I had the very real fear it might really start to hurt.
The bed was too far away, so I grabbed Kylie by the shoulders and propelled her toward the nearest surface, which happened to be the wall next to the door. She smacked against it. The breath left her lungs and I wasted no time. I plastered the front of my body to hers and rubbed my erection against her abdomen. It still wasn’t enough. I was so hard I could have used my dick as a crowbar. Kylie, moaned and groaned as she clung to my arms and humped my thigh.
Equally frustrated, we came to a conclusion at the same time—there were too many layers separating us. Desperate hands scrambled and fingers fumbled, our mouths came together again and again as we tore each other's clothes off.
"Hurry," Kylie gasped.
Her frantic, pleading tone made my balls pull up, primed to blow my load before I got inside her. I clenched my teeth and focused on keeping it together. Fuck, Kylie was going be the death of me. With an impatient grunt, I grabbed her ass with both hands and hoisted her up the wall to claim my spoils like a conq
uering marauder. Kylie wrapped her legs around my waist and hooked her ankles at the base of my spine. Out of patience, I held Kylie up with one hand and aimed my cock with the other, then dropped her down and thrust my hips up, burying myself so deep I think my dick touched China.
Stars shot off behind my eyes. It felt so good, I went momentarily blind with pleasure. The tight, wet heat of her pussy was fucking rapture. Angels sang and fireworks exploded.
"Je veux te lécher des hanches jusqu’aux pieds. Je bande por toi,” I groaned, the French coming out of me in a torrent. My head grew heavy and I struggled to breathe. I had to press my forehead against Kylie’s in order to maintain what little fragments of control I had left. “You feel so fucking good,” I managed to say in English.
When my vision cleared, I looked at Kylie. Her expression was one of absolute bliss and the sight made my dick throb. Spurred into action by a non-stop litany of tiny mewls and groans of pleasure that came from her mouth and the way she squirmed on my cock, I shifted my weight to use the wall as leverage, and fucking went for it. Bending my knees, I pounded up into Kylie at an unforgiving pace. Jackhammered in and out like a man possessed. She didn’t say a word and I wondered if it might be too much. All at once, the dam broke and a flood of nonsense and half-sentences tumbled from her lips and I knew she didn’t want me stop.
“Oh… oh…. God, yes. Seb, more… harder… like that, yes!”
“Fucking hell, Kylie. Tu me rends folle.”
“Don’t… stop. I-I… ohmygod.”
I stared into her eyes and she stared into mine as I rolled my hips and fucked her against that wall. Out of nowhere, my chest constricted and my throat grew tight. Oh shit. I felt it happening, emotions creeping in, and it was scary as fuck. I was unable to do anything to stop from tumbling head-first into a bottomless abyss. The connection between us grew so strong, it became a palpable entity in the room. My only consolation was that I knew Kylie was right there with me, falling hard and fast. She hung on for dear life, her fingernails biting into my shoulders added another layer to the absolute frenzy I was in. The mind-bending pleasure built, and so did the invisible ties that bound us together.