Stepping out onto the street after the game, I make a beeline for my car. My body feels heavy, there’s a knot in my chest, and I don’t know what the fuck to do. There are no messages on my screen, no missed calls, just silence, and it’s deafening.
Familiar curves and loose red waves meet me at the side of my car. It takes all I have not to rush to her and check she’s okay. She seems it, other than the scowl darkening her features.
“Are you okay?” I stop a few feet from her to give her space and drop my hockey bag to the ground.
She crosses her arms and somehow her frowny face gets frownier under the street lights. “Why are you still playing hockey?” She purses her lips, tension radiating from her person, but I have no idea why. She’s picking a fight with me over hockey?
“I…uh… Better question.” I hold up a finger. “Why wouldn’t I play hockey?”
“Because you could get hurt.”
A match flares to life in my chest, a flame flickering and warming my body. She cares. She’s worried. And despite believing I abandoned her and our kid a few years ago, she doesn’t want to run me over with a Zamboni. This is all fucking amazing news and makes me want to dance.
But her face tells me if I dance, I will die.
“Is that why you left? You were worried I’d get hurt?”
“This isn’t about me.” She waves a hand with a flick of her wrist. “This is about you. Why are you being an idiot? You shouldn’t be on the ice. You could really hurt yourself. Youdidreally hurt yourself. Your memories are gone, Raffi. Does your coach know that? Do your teammates? Do they know how dangerous it is to skate around like you do just waiting to get your face shoved into the glass?”
There’s nothing I can say right now to calm her fears. I know this, because they’re the same fears I push down deep in my chest every single time I step out onto the ice. It’s easier to ignore them when it’s just me. I can pretend I’m exaggerating or overreacting, convince myself it’s no big deal. I’m doing what I love to do to secure a future for myself and a better future for my family than they’ve had.
“I’m scared, Raffi.” She rubs her forearms with her palms. “I don’t know you all that well, but it doesn’t matter. We have a child together now, and if you want to be part of our lives, you’ve got to step up and show us you’re not going to disappearagain. Or forget about us.” The way her voice breaks on her last sentence crushes my soul.
She turns to leave, and I pounce forward. “Wait, Victoria, please?”
Hesitation slows her feet, allowing me to grab her arm and turn her to face me. The temptation to kiss her senseless without asking permission is strong, because if she says no to me right now I might die. Actual, heart-stopping death.
But I wait, cupping her face in both my hands and staring at her lips like they hold the key to the universe. Please don’t turn me away, Tori. Please. Silent pleading, heart in a vise, breath stopped right at the back of my throat.
Her breath is heavy in the silence, her eyes flickering between my lips and my eyes. She wants to kiss me, but until I have her explicit permission, I’m not making a move.
“Raffi.” My name sounds painful as it falls from her quivering lips. Her hesitation is short lived. She grabs my shirt and pulls me toward her, our lips colliding in an explosion of strawberries and cinnamon.
Her kiss is cautious at first, timid. Maybe she’s not sure I want to kiss her, or she’s not sure she wants to kiss me, but her lips are pressed against mine and I’m not wasting it. Backing her up until she bumps into the side of my car, I pin her with my body.
“Raffi.” This time my name sounds more like a plea than pain. Is she pleading for more or for me to stop? Her breathy voice speaks straight to my cock, and there’s no controlling that thing as it pokes into her. There’s also no hiding what she’s doing to me.
She melts against me, quiet moans dropping from her mouth between hungry kisses. Her lips are velvet soft, her tongue firm and curious, and her fists grip my shirt in tight balls. She’s not letting me go until she’s done with me, and I’m absolutely okay with that. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
She shivers when my hands skim her waist under her jersey. I’m not risking going another layer deeper, not yet. I need her to know I don’t simply want her naked, but it’s fucking hard. The urge to kiss every inch of her pale skin is as consuming as it is distracting.
When she moves my hand down between her legs and grinds on it, I almost make a mess in my dress pants. She’s eager, hungry, and not afraid to put me exactly where she needs me to be.
My needy little firecracker. Victoria dry humping the heel of my hand is the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.
She’s chasing her orgasm, her breath coming in short bursts between our kisses. Heat from her core seeps through the fabric of her pants. She’s wet under these clothes. I’d bet she’s got a perfectly pink pussy dripping just for me. As though she’s reading my mind, she tugs my hand and shoves it into her panties, spreading her feet for balance and access.
A beautiful woman riding my hand in the parking lot wasn’t what I had on my bingo card for today, but I sure as hell am not complaining.
Her head tips back, and my lips trail sloppy kisses down the column of her neck as her phone rings. Without missing a beat, she pulls it from her pocket and answers it.
This fucking woman. She thinks she can get fingered by me and be lucid enough to talk on the phone?
Her pussy is soft, silky, and so fucking perfectly wet. As she’s speaking, I pinch her clit, and a small yelp escapes before she coughs to hide it.
She mutes her side of the call. “I will murder you.”
“Uh huh.” I mumble against her throat as I make my way down to nibble at her collar bone, fingers working against her clit. Her body bucks, her spine bending, her hips rolling as she chases release against my fingers. “We don’t take calls when we’re fucking around, Firecracker.”
