Because this woman turned me into a straight caveman—nothing but hot blood and urges to pump inside her until she saw stars.
She reached down between us, slipping her hand through the slit in my pants, gasping when she found no other barrier between us.
“I want you inside me.” She accentuated the words by stroking me, long and firm.
I growled, claiming her mouth again, as I moved through the kitchen, only making it to the living room before dropping her on the long chaise next to my couch.
Fucking bed was way too far away.
On my knees between her legs, I smirked as I drew her hands above her head and locked them onto the top of the chaise.
“Stay,” I demanded, and a warm shiver ran through her.
I lifted the hem of my shirt she wore, drawing it high enough to expose those delicious breasts. I palmed them, sucking a nipple between my lips, flicking it with my tongue until she arched against me.
A buzzing hum vibrated between us, shooting straight to my dick, making me so fucking dizzy for this woman.
I worked my way lower, kissing and licking down her smooth stomach, over her hips, until finally I met silk. I hooked two fingers in the edges and tugged it off, throwing the scrap of fabric over my shoulder.
Planting slow kisses to the inside of her thighs, I couldn’t help but chuckle when she lifted her hips, her body begging for me.
“Always in such a hurry,” I teased, darting my tongue out for a quick, torturous taste.
Her flavor exploded on my tongue, my entire body going taut.
“It’s been ten years, Bentley Rogers,” she chided, and I groaned at the use of my full name. “Can you blame me?”
There was a hint of fear in her tone, of doubt, like she really believed I could blame her—for our past, for our present, for everything.
“No, baby,” I said, another long lap between her thighs to prove my words. “I want you just as badly.”
“Then take me,” she said, sighing. “I’m yours.”
Those words shattered my resolve.
Pushed me beyond caveman and to purely primal instinct.
I slid my hands under her ass, sucking her clit into my mouth until I could feel her right on the edge.
She writhed against my face, needing more.
Shifting on my knees, I rose and situated her hot center right on the tip of my dick.
Fucking hell, she was so wet, so perfect.
“Bentley.” She didn’t beg, she fucking demanded it with my name, and I plunged into her.
So tight, her walls hugged me as I seated myself to the hilt.
A gasp burst from her mouth as I held her there, her hips slightly off the chaise, me on my knees, my hands under her as I controlled her body.
A shaky breath ripped out of me as I held us so damn still, allowing her to adjust to my size.
Then she rocked her hips, her hands still above her head, gripping the top of the chaise, her glorious breasts bobbing with the movement of her body.
I pulled all the way out before thrusting into her again.
“Yes,” she said, her head arched back. “More.”
I obeyed, gripping her body to me as I pumped over and over again. Gliding in and out, her warmth coating my dick, slicking it in her scent, fueling my lust like nothing I’d ever experienced before.
I didn’t just want to fuck her.
I wanted to devour her.
Consumer her.
Make her come so many times she wouldn’t remember another man before me.
“Fucking beautiful,” I growled, never taking my eyes off the way our bodies joined, the way she moved with me, meeting me thrust for thrust, like she wanted me deeper, harder.
I obliged, finding that spot in her warm depths, hitting it again and again until I felt her clench and pulse around me.
“Oh my god, Bent,” she moaned, most of her body lifting off the chaise to meet mine.
“Yes,” I hissed, feeling my release prickle at the base of my spine as the woman went liquid for me.
So wet, so slick, so fucking delicious.
She moaned and writhed against me, every clench drawing out my own release, until I’d spilled everything inside her without a second thought.
I brought us down with slow strokes, until my muscles quivered and I laid on top of her, my head nestled between her breasts as we caught our breath.
And then reality crashed over me hard and cold.
“Fuck, baby,” I hissed, raising my head enough just to catch her eyes.
There was no panic there, only hooded lids and lust filled eyes.
“I know,” she said, her fingers scraping against my scalp. “That was brilliant.”
“No.” She jolted against me. “I mean yes it was,” I quickly amended and she relaxed underneath me again. “But I didn’t wear anything.”
She blew out a breath like that was the least of her concerns.
“I know,” she said. “You think I would’ve let us go there if I wasn’t on birth control?”
My body relaxed again, but I smirked up at her. “I was pretty fucking lost in you, Chloe. I didn’t even consider it.” I swallowed hard. “You’re dangerous,” I only half-teased.
“We’re dangerous to each other,” she said with more sincerity.
I kissed her breasts instead of responding, because she was right.
Today proved it—me ravaging her without a second thought.
And I still wanted more.
“We have to be at work in an hour,” she said some breaths later.
I closed my eyes, burying myself in her breasts.
Work.
Where I’d have to pretend not to care that I was drenched in her scent.
Where I’d have to pretend like she didn’t mean the fucking world to me.
I sighed, nestling myself into this sacred happy space.
Yes, we truly were dangerous.
But I’d take the danger, if it meant I got to have her . . .
In any way I could.
Chapter 11
Chloe
“Ms. Lewis?” Eric Gentry, the Shark’s newest goaltender, asked as he knocked on my opened exam room door.
“Chloe,” I said. “Please.” I motioned for him to come in. “What can I do for you?”
I’d been the Shark’s PT for five weeks now, and this was the first visit I’d had without requesting it. I tried to quell the excitement fluttering through me. Not that I wanted him to be hurt, but I did want to have earned the team’s trust.
He left the door slightly cracked behind him, his brow furrowed.
Tall with strawberry-blond hair that hung in loose waves on top of his head, and bright green eyes, the dude was almost mythical looking. Ripped, naturally, as almost every single Shark was, and yet, not a spark.
Sure, I could appreciate the man’s good looks, but my body was attuned to Bentley’s so much I could almost feel him out there in the locker room. Showering, soaping up those abs, running his hands over his large . . .
Fuck, there is the heat.
I blinked out of my fantasy and focused on the Shark at hand.
“I’m . . .” He swallowed hard, raking his hands through his hair.
“It’s okay to talk to me,” I said, encouraging him to sit on the black cushioned exam table. I watched his face, noting the way it pinched together slightly as he put his weight on his right leg to hop up. “I’m here to prevent injuries or fix them.” I glanced down. “Now, is it your right knee?”
His green eyes flew wide. “How can you tell?” he asked. “No one else can.”
I arched a knowing brow. “It’s my job.”
“Right.”
“May I?” I asked, gesturing to his loose athletic pants.
He nodded, and I gently pushed up the fabric on his right leg, until his knee was exposed.
I resisted the urge to hiss—luckily, years of examines and training players had helped me put a lock on any surprises. I flicked
my eyes up to him, gently prodding the purple bruise that rested just beneath the fully wrapped tattoo of black script around his knee.
“How long has this been swollen?”
“Since practice last week,” he admitted, his brows pinched together as I touched the sore spots.
I sighed, dropping my rolling stool’s height, allowing me to be eye level with his massive leg.
“I understand why you didn’t come to me,” I said instead of scolding him. “But—”
“It’s not because you used to be with Ontario,” he said, cutting me off, his eyes sincere as he looked down at me. “I swear. I don’t give a shit about that.”
Translation—some of the other guys still did.
Great.
His offer was genuine, though, and that was something.
“I just don’t want to get benched.”
I smiled, comforting and supportive—as the newest and one of the youngest on the team, his worries were merited.
“You know what would help that?”