Rookie (Seattle Sharks 4)

So much of him.

I rolled my neck, and gasped.

He was hard as a rock.

For me.

I went slick between my thighs. “How much longer?”

“Oh. They’re gone.” He chuckled. “You can sit back up.”

I pinched his thigh, then turned my head just enough to graze my teeth over the bulge in his pants.

“Fuck, woman,” he hissed, the leather on the steering wheel groaning from his grip.

“I meant how much longer until we’re home?”

I froze the second the word left my mouth.

“I mean . . . your home,” I said quickly, pathetically.

This is a bad idea.

One night.

That’s all it is.

This is a lifetime and one night.

Shit.

I pushed myself upright, hugging my arms around myself as the cold doubt crept into me.

“We’re here,” he said, pulling into a large garage and closing it before I’d even reached for the handle. He eyed the closed garage door, then me. “No one will ever know.”

“Just us,” I sighed, chewing on my bottom lip as he easily slid from the car where I was frozen solid.

Gone was the teasing bravado from seconds before.

My slip about home reminding me just how much my heart ached for his—because Bentley did feel like home.

And if I gave myself to him—regardless of career stakes or threats from my ex—it may ruin me.

Bentley opened my door and reached for my hand.

No words, just his eyes and his offer.

Sincerity, warmth, desire.

But clearly my choice.

That was my Bent—it was always up to me.

Something went taut between us, and I took his hand, knowing it would wreck me more to leave him.

To deny what crackled between us.

He intertwined our fingers and gently pulled me through the garage and into his house.

The place was four times as big as my studio apartment. Nothing like Gage’s near-mansion, but sleek and luxurious and comfortable.

It screamed Bentley.

“It’s beautiful,” I said as he led me toward the kitchen.

“You are, yeah,” he said, dropping my hand near his giant marbled kitchen island. “Want something to drink?”

“Sure,” I nodded and fidgeted with my hands like I didn’t know where to put them. “Water,” I added when I realized my head was spinning enough.

A crooked smile, and he pulled two bottles of water from his fridge then set them on the island next to me.

I opened and shut my mouth several times.

Now that we were here, the agreement from earlier rang between us, and I wasn’t sure if I could stand just a night.

More than I could stand nothing with him, but still.

I trembled from the nervous energy—I’d never done something like this before.

Never climbed into the car with a man and rode home with him with the full knowledge that riding him is exactly what I wanted to do.

Though, Bentley wasn’t any man.

He was mine.

Once.

A lifetime ago.

And yet my heart pulsed and thrummed with the knowledge that time blended and warped until I wasn’t sure if he’d ever left.

“Chloe,” he said, sliding his fingers into my hair with one hand and resting the other one on the opposite side of me on the island, caging me in. “You’re trembling.”

“Cold,” I said too quickly.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, flames licking his eyes as he inched toward me.

My chest rose and fell like I’d ran a few miles, the breaths coming too fast.

He bypassed my lips, and I almost whimpered at the motion, but then he pressed a kiss to my bare collarbone, the touch so searing and yet so damn gentle.

I arched against him, my body acting on its own as he kissed his way up my neck and under my ear.

“Still cold?” he whispered, his teeth grazing my lobe, his body now flush with mine.

My lips parted but my answer was unintelligible because he freed his hand from my hair and slid it down my arm, resting it on my hip.

His fingers gripped, their strength shooting bolts of electricity right to my center, and I arched again, shameless.

Tracing his lips over my cheek, he trailed the tip of his nose over mine.

Teasing.

Tempting.

So much the Bentley I remembered.

Drawing out the moment.

I tipped my chin up, my lips his for the taking.

But he only smirked, flicked his tongue over my bottom lip, and trailed his hand down my body, splaying it between us.

“Oh!” I gasped as he grazed his fingers over my center, the leather leggings doing nothing to stop the heat from his touch.

Soft grazes and harder pushes.

I was a lit fuse, arching against his touch, my head rolled back, sighing.

A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, the vibrations tickling my neck.

I gripped his face, forcing him to look at me.

“What’s funny?” I whispered, breathless.

“You’re making it so fucking hard to go slow,” he said.

“Then don’t.”

I rolled my hips, feeling both his hand and the hard cock begging to be set free.

He shifted, gripping both my hips, holding me so absolutely still.

“I have to take it slow,” he said.

> I tilted my head, my fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck.

He pressed his forehead against mine.

“If I only have you for one night,” he whispered. “I want to savor every single second.”

My throat tightened and I swallowed hard.

“You’ve always had me,” I admitted, knowing full well it could break my barely healed heart.

“You know that isn’t true.”

“It is.” I closed my eyes. “It’s just my fault you never knew.”

My cowardice.

Convincing myself he never spared me a second thought the minute those bunnies became a staple at his games.

And why shouldn’t he have fun?

I’d let him go.

And then . . . life happened.

“Ten years,” I said. “Ten years, Bentley.” I opened my eyes, locking with his. “And I’ve wanted you every single one of them.”

My confession unleashed some restraint in him, and he crushed his mouth on mine.

I whimpered when his tongue parted my lips, hungry and claiming. Flicking along the edges of my teeth, tasting of whiskey and Bentley and oh my god I couldn’t think straight.

I buzzed from the sensation, my entire being focusing on one primal need.

Him.

All of him.

On me.

In me.

Now.

I clenched his shoulders, forcing him to spin around, switching positions so now his back was to the island’s edge.

He could take it slow all he wanted.

I didn’t have to.

Breaking our kiss, I gasped for breath as my fingers found his waistband, and I dropped to my knees. The cold tile of his floor soaked through my leggings, but his growl when I unzipped him sent flames across my skin.

“Wow,” I said as his considerable length sprung free.

I’d forgotten—the years dulling how he looked, how he felt in my hand.

“Mmm,” I couldn’t help but purr as I gripped him and then sucked his head into my mouth.

“Fuck!” he hissed, his hands flying to my hair. “Chloe,” he growled my name like a warning or a prayer, I couldn’t tell.

I was too busy.

Tasting him—the hint of salt sweeping into my blood and sending my mind soaring.

Feeling him—the hard length, the way he gently fingered the strands of my hair as I devoured him.

My Bentley.