Rookie (Seattle Sharks 4)

It broke something inside me.

I darted for her, stopping her and yanking her against me.

I crushed my mouth on hers, fingering the strands of her hair to angle her head back. Slanting my mouth over hers, I plunged my tongue deeper, faster, stealing her breath to fill my ragged lungs.

Each swipe of my tongue felt like a goodbye, and pain lanced through me like a thousand knives.

She drew back, hot tears on her cheeks like she could feel it too.

“I love you, Bentley Rogers.”

The words slid through me, trying like hell to weave me together when I had already broken myself with my decision.

“It’s truer now than it was then. Deeper. Stronger.” She shrugged. “That will never change.”

I pulled her back into my arms and whispered against her lips, “I love you. I’ve never stopped.”

Two tears rolled down her cheeks, and I licked each one, savoring her salt and the tiny gasp from the contact.

I caught her gaze, bending at the knees to meet her eyes.

So many words I couldn’t speak, crowded and clogged in my throat.

The world had brought us together again just to cleave us apart—the timing never, ever right for us.

I smoothed a soft kiss over her lips, holding her against me as she trembled.

“I know it’s selfish,” she asked. “But can I have you? One last time?”

I pressed my forehead against hers, my eyes closing against the onslaught of emotions ripping through my soul. “Always.”

“And never,” she finished for me, her voice coated with her tears.

I snaked my arms around her back, clinging to her as I kissed my way up her neck, over her jawline, and beneath her ear.

She arched within my embrace, her body submitting to wherever I directed it.

I palmed the globes of her ass, hefting her up, and she locked her ankles around my hips. Slanting her mouth over mine, her fingers clutching my shoulders like she was afraid I’d let her fall.

Never.

I could never let this girl go.

But I had to.

Ten years ago, she pushed me away.

For my own good.

To ensure I chased every damn dream I ever had.

Every one of them but her.

And while it had ripped my heart in half—I had achieved everything I’d wanted to.

Now it was my turn.

Walking carefully, kissing and holding her, I made it to my bedroom and gently laid her on the bed.

Slowly, as if I could stretch the moment, I peeled off her clothes, layer by layer, until she was bare for me.

And I feasted on her.

Devoured her.

Consumed her.

Savored her flavor on my tongue as I lapped and teased and sucked until she writhed against my face and sighed my name. And right when I felt her clenching, felt that energy coil around us like we had our own atmosphere, I slid two fingers inside her, and made love to her with my mouth and hand. Over the edge she went, arching off the bed, hungry for more as she shattered.

“So damn beautiful,” I managed to say despite my heart stuck in my throat.

I kissed the inside of her thighs, working my way up to her hips, her naval, and then her breasts. Lingering there, I rolled her nipples between my fingers—still damp from her slickness—and then popped one in my mouth. Grazing my teeth ever so slightly over the puckered flesh until she whimpered.

Raising, I only took long enough to shed my clothes, then fell between her thighs with nothing separating us.

Nothing but timing.

A barrier that never gave us a break.

I tangled my fingers in her hair, arching her head back so I could slant a kiss over her mouth, deep and consuming as I teased her center with my dick. It was ramrod straight and hard for her, and she was drenched for me, soaking my tip with each torturous rub.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Watching her eyes as she arched.

But not in.

Not yet.

No, I wanted to claim her mouth, taste her before I took her.

One last time.

I drew my mouth away long enough to catch her eyes as I slowly, inch by painful inch, slid inside her, until I was seated to the hilt.

Flames crackled, sparked, and I swear I felt the heat from that gaze.

The understanding roaring between us as our bodies clung to a truth that could never be.

One pump.

Then two.

Pause—the pulsing ache of holding her there enough to shove me toward my release, but I locked it down.

I wanted this to last.

Forever.

If only.

She thrummed around my cock, clenching and pulsing as she rocked against me while I held her there—allowing her to take control despite being under me.

God damn, this woman.

Perfection.

Meeting me when I decided to thrust.

Slaking me when I decided to hold.

Her nails dug into my back, her sighs filled my ears, and that face . . . those eyes . . . they filled my soul.

Pain and pleasure.

Love and hate.

We clashed together in a hungry, desperate way.

The more I teased, the more I brought her to the edge and then yanked her back, the more worked up she got. Until she hooked her legs around my hips, gripped with all her might, and urged me to move.

I flipped over, obeying the ferocity of this woman, and let her ride me.

“Fuck,” I hissed, marveling as I looked up at her.

The usual sleek black hair was wild around her beautiful face. Her lips parted, moans slipping out as she rocked on top of me—back and forth and up and down—hitting every perfect spot as she went.

I gently gripped her hips, merely holding on as she unleashed herself on me, clenching so damn tight, so fucking perfect.

“Oh god, Bentley,” she cried out, one hand on my chest to steady herself as she increased the pace, the other in her hair, holding it back so she could watch me.

She tightened and pulsed, and when she gasped, her orgasm ripping through her, I found my own release.

A deep, raking shudder rippled from the base of my spine and onward, but I continued to move within her, slowly bringing us down.

Another moan and she collapsed on top of my chest, her breasts lined with the hard muscles of my chest, her cheek flat against it as she caught her breath.

“Your heart is racing,” she said after we’d come down a bit.

I slid my hands over her curves, my fingers drinking in her shape.

“My heart beats for yours,” I whispered.

New wetness dribbled onto my chest—not sweat but salt—her tears slow and easy and accepting.

For so many moments, we stayed like that—her on top of me, my arms holding her like I’d never let go.

Until we fell asleep, exhaustion of many forms sweeping us away.

And when I woke up . . .

She was gone.

Chapter 16

Chloe

My nerves felt frayed—stripped pieces of raw flesh that jolted and jarred with any sudden movement.

Which was constant considering I worked with a bunch of hockey players.

And currently, each one of them was operating on a high-alpha frequency because the Ontario game was in an hour.

My ex had already texted me four times to confirm our postgame coffee meet-up. The one where I prayed I’d get closure. Prayed I’d make him realize I no longer meant anything to him. Urge him to move on to bigger and better things and leave me the fuck alone.

Pair that with the fact that it had been exactly one week since I’d climbed out of Bentley’s bed, taking only a moment to look back at his peacefully sleeping body before I got in my car and left him for good.

A flash of pain speared my heart—as it had done each time I thought about that night.

The tender way he’d held me.

The wild abandon in the way we’d made love.

The fact that we both knew the risks were too great to keep it up.

I sucked in a sharp breath, willing my body to relax.

The combined knowledge of my ex in the same rink as I sat in now, and the fact that I was still shredded over Bentley’s heartbreaking farewell—I was a fucking mess.

But, a sliver of hope bloomed amongst the darkness sticking to my soul.

If I could get my ex to leave me alone, then I’d be free.

And Mom was healthy.

My job was secure, for now, and so she’d be taken care of.

Life would align, and I would survive.

It’s what I did.