“You were fucking eighteen years old, Blue,” I admonish her. “I’d say that speaks to your immaturity more than anything. And you are one of the least vain women I’ve ever met. You don’t even wear makeup unless you’re working.”
She just stares at me, and I think this might be the first time she’s been validated—in a way—over some early life choices. She has to realize we all do stupid shit when we’re younger.
“Thanks for saying that.” Her smile is small, but grateful.
“We’re going,” I tell her as I snatch the invitation back from her hand and tap it on the counter.
“No way,” she exclaims and tries to snatch it back.
“Yes way,” I counter. “And you’re going to walk in there with a famous hockey player on your arm, looking more beautiful than any creature in the world, and you’re going to look down your nose at this Christina woman.”
“Erik…that’s stupid and petty.”
I ignore her words even if she’s right. “We’ll go shopping. Expensive haute couture dress, jewels, fancy handbag, and designer shoes, preferably with a strap around your ankle because that is sexy as fuck. And—”
“Erik,” Blue interrupts my ramblings. “You don’t have to do something like that for me. Trust me…my hurt feelings have long heeled from the things done to me in high school.”
“Yeah, but I’m recently pissed off about this so we’re going. No arguments.”
Blue opens her mouth to say something and I hold a palm out to her. “Say one word and I’ll find something else to occupy your mouth.”
Her lips twitch and her eyes sparkle with playfulness. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
“Well, fuck yeah I’d like that,” I tell her truthfully.
“Come here then,” she murmurs and crooks her finger at me.
My cock immediately responds and I round the kitchen counter quickly. She grins at me and tugs at my belt, releasing it from the buckle with much-appreciated efficiency. On the contrary, she undoes my zipper with aching slowness.
When her hand reaches in and wraps around me, my legs wobble for a moment.
When Blue goes to her knees and takes me in her mouth, I have to put my palms on the counter for balance because my head swims with a pleasure that’s almost incapacitating.
When this stunning creature takes me into the back of her throat, I close my eyes and thank the heavens above for bringing her back into my life.Chapter 18ErikThe team executive offices are set on the top floor of the east side of the arena. It holds only four offices for the four men that run this team. Christian Rutherford, our team’s president and general manager; Tarly Moore, the chief financial officer; Scott Rigal, the executive vice president and general manager of the arena and last; the team’s owner, Dominik Carlson.
Dominik—as he has asked everyone to call him—doesn’t live in Phoenix but rather Los Angeles. He made his first millions off an Internet radio company he founded and then promptly diversified to make his first billion. He owns one of two professional basketball teams in LA and spent a lot of money and time politicking to get Phoenix a professional hockey team. He even owns shares in the entertainment group that owns the arena.
He comes to Phoenix often to watch us play, flying in and then back out again on his private jet. I’ve not met him yet but the word is he’s very cool. He loaned Bishop his private plane last month to chase Brooke to New York when she thought she could do something as foolish as to break up with the man.
Still, despite all that, it’s disconcerting to get a call from some secretary at the arena that Dominik was there and wished to meet with me. In fact, I’d been lying in bed with Blue when the phone rang.
Ordinarily, I would not have answered it but we’d been lying there awhile talking—after we had amazing morning sex whereby I made her come once with my mouth and the next time with my cock—and I had been contemplating getting up for breakfast. I was grumpy after the call requesting an immediate meeting, as this had not been time budgeted into my plan to spend four glorious days with Blue. Regretfully, I had to shower alone as Blue whipped us up something to eat and I had to leave her there alone while I went to see what the head honcho wanted.
Hannah, the executive receptionist, greets me with a smile when I walk in. “Good morning, Mr. Dalhbeck. If you’ll have a seat, Mr. Carlson will see you soon.”
I look over to where she points, a sitting area of two couches done in sleek gray suede. Sebastian Parr, the team’s director of merchandising sits there scrolling on his iPhone. He looks up, gives me a nod and then looks back down again.