I cup her face and kiss her, then pull back, waiting to see what she does. But she stays silent. Still.
Her cheeks are flushed, her mouth hung open in shock.
My attention drops to her mouth, and I already want to kiss her again. “I’ve been wanting to do that since you nearly knocked me over in the lobby,” I tell her, dropping my hands from her face.
Instead of answering, she kisses me back. Everything narrows down to this. The taste of her and the sound of her soft gasp swallowed by my mouth.
All my thoughts and fears dissolve. There is only sensation. The feel of her hands sliding up my arms and into my hair. The weight of her on my lap. The way her tongue feels against mine.
I’m not gentle. The need building up inside me is like a storm, and I’m just trying to keep my head above water. I grip her thigh, my fingers pressing hard into the muscle, and guide her leg over me until she’s straddling my hips.
Her hand curls in my hair, tugging at the root, and a ragged groan tears from my throat.
I slide my hands up her sides, over the curve of her ribs, and find the straps of her swimsuit. I tug, and the material gives, peeling down to her waist.
Her breasts spill into my hands, the peaks tight and pebbled against my palms. Any other time, I would have taken a moment to just look at them, but I don’t.
Instead, I bury my face between them, the skin salty and cool at first, then warming rapidly under my breath.
“Yes,” she whimpers, her head lolling back, eyes blissfully shut.
I take one nipple into my mouth and suck, hard. A sharp cry rips out of her, and she arches into me, her hips beginning a slow, rolling grind against my cock.
“Fuck, Natalie,” I growl against her skin. “Just like that.” I swirl my tongue around her nipple, teasing the other with my fingers. She does just what I say and keeps a steady rhythm good enough to make my eyes roll shut.
It’s been one goddamn year since I’ve had my mouth on a woman and felt this particular softness. For one year, I’ve lived and breathed hockey. I’ve forgotten just how good it can be.
And fuck me, Natalie’s good.
I want to tear her bathing suit from her body with my teeth. Want to bury my face in her pussy and drink her in until my father's illness, my fucked-up knee, and my uncertain future all fade to nothing.
And I just know she’d make me forget it all. With the sounds she’s making already, I know she has the power to make me forget my own fucking name.
My hands slide down her back, over the curve of her ass, and I pull her harder against me. The friction is exquisite. I switch toher other breast, lavishing it with the same desperate attention, lost in the feel of her.
For these few moments, I’m not an injured athlete or a scared son. I’m just a man, drowning in her.
I raise my head back to her and capture her lips again. She meets me with equal urgency, just as lost as I am. “Fuck me,” she orders between kisses.
I don’t need to be told twice.
I reach down to remove her swimsuit the rest of the way. I need to feel how wet she is for me. Need to feel her pussy clamped around my dick. She half stands, and I get the material down to her hips when I hear it.
Footsteps. Coming down the hall.
I freeze, and so does Natalie.
“Ward? You in there?” A man's voice. It’s one of the trainers. Apollo, probably.
“Shit,” Natalie whispers.
I point to the row of lockers. “Over there,” I whisper.
Reality crashes over me. Ken's words echo in my head. The last two physical therapists didn't last a month. One quit, and the other requested a transfer. And now here I am, half-naked, harder than I’ve ever been with my current PT straddling my lap.
I can already hear what Ken would say.So you ran off the first two, and now you're fucking this one?
Natalie knows the stakes as well as I do. She pulls up her bathing suit and slips behind the lockers just as the door swings open.
