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That scares me. It excites me. It frustrates and annoys me. I don't want to like him. I don't want to want him. I can't because what was true in the living room earlier is just as true now. My brother still owns the team he plays for. He's already gotten booted from the NHL by an irate owner. What happens if Jordan decides he wants him off the Falcons?
Many AHL players don't have the same temporary permanency that NHL players do. Once an NHL player is on a team, it takes a lot of jumping through hoops to move them before their contract is up or the season ends. For an AHL player like Atlas, all it takes is a phone call, and they're on a plane, loaned to another team, even if it's the middle of a season.
I don't want Jordan to make that call for Atlas in some misguided attempt to protect me. I'm twenty-two, old enough to make my own choices. But our parents died when I was four, leaving Jordan to raise me. Convincing him to see me as a capable, functional adult instead of the little girl who needed him to slay the monsters under her bed is far easier said than done.
"Fuck," Atlas groans. "Now you've got my dick playing the obedient little soldier again. He's standing at attention for you."
I squeeze my thighs together, fighting a whimper.
"Come to practice with me tomorrow, Temptation. When I get back from New Mexico, I'll take you out, and we'll get to know each other."
I want to say yes. So freaking bad.
"I can't," I whisper instead. "My brother."
"Shit. Then skip practice and agree to go out with me when I get home."
"No, Atlas. I mean I can't, period. He owns the team." Disappointment fills me, as if I'm the one being rejected here. If he weren't a hockey player, I'd say yes in a heartbeat. But I can't risk his career because my brother is a crazy person.
"I'm not afraid of your brother, Gabbi."
"Well, you should be," I say bluntly. "He controls your fate so long as you're on his team. And if I go out with you, you'll be on a plane to a team on the other side of the country before the ink even dries on the paperwork."
"Let me worry about Jordan. I can handle him, Temptation."
"He's my brother. He raised me. Trust me, Atlas. If we go out, there will be no handling him. I'm sorry, but no. I need to go."
"I'm not going to give up," he growls. "I know you want me, baby. I'm not going to quit pursuing you until you're mine; that's a promise."
"It sounds more like a threat," I mutter, pouting about it even though I kind of like the thought of him refusing to give up easily. There's never been anyone who wanted to fight for me before. The fact that this man wants to do it is sweet. I didn't expect that from him.
"Nah, Temptation. If you wear that fucking dress out again, I'm going to cut it from your body and tie you up with the scraps while I fuck you," he says, his voice dark. "That's a threat. If you run, I'll chase. When I catch you, I'll make you pay for running while you're riding my face. That's a promise. See the difference?"
Good grief. They both sound like a good time to me. For a virgin, he has a filthy mouth and an inventive imagination. He probably also has the confidence to follow through on everything he just said. His arrogance should be a turn-off, but it's having the opposite effect on me. I love it a little too much.
There's nothing shy or awkward or hesitant about this man. He may be a virgin like he said, but he may also be the most capable one I've ever met. I am not nearly that self-assured or self-possessed. Just thinking about saying any of the stuff he just said makes me squirm.
Where did this man come from? And what God do I have to pray to in order to keep him? Asking for a friend. Obviously.
"I have to go," I sigh. "Goodnight, Atlas."
"Night, baby. Dream of me."
As if there's any doubts about that happening.
I toss and turn half the night, unable to get comfortable or shut my mind off. My body aches—which is entirely his fault. Halfway through the night, I slip my hand inside my panties and try to get myself off.
I call up a fantasy of him. His words replay in my mind. I see his seafoam green eyes boring into me, commanding me to come. But it's as if my body refuses to get there. No matter how hard I try, I just can't finish.
I finally give up and cover my face with a pillow, groaning in frustration.
He hasn't even touched me, and he's already ruined me.
Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under. The crazy goalie haunts my sleep. In my dreams, he does the filthiest things to me. I'm tied to the goal while he cuts my favorite dress from my body. Even though the ice is cold, I don't feel the chill. I'm a bundle of raw nerves and hungry flame, tangled in the possessive desire in his eyes.
My alarm jolts me awake before we get to the good part. I groan, thrashing around on the bed in what I'm not ashamed to admit is a minor tantrum. I can't even get off in my sleep. This sucks.
I'm still trying to pull myself together when my phone dings with an incoming message. I grab it, hoping that it's Atlas.
