Parker (Face-Off 1)

“I love you,” I whisper, our lips so close, they are almost touching.

“I love you more than hockey,” he says, his voice low, a smile on his lips.

That makes me laugh like a fool. “Basketball was my first love. You have got some stiff competition, Parker.”

Grinning, he presses his lips to my ear, the heat from his breath sending chills down my spine, leaving a trail of heat on my skin. “Speaking of things that are stiff, that whistle is all you will be wearing later.”

I giggle, excited by the promise. “Sounds like you will have plenty of penalties to work off. I plan to make use of this gift.”

He grabs ahold of my hips, pinning me in place, and he inches back just enough that he’s looking into my eyes when he says, “Looking forward to it.”

“Damn, Coach, would you kiss him already?” Dante yells from behind me, followed by a resounding echo of grunts in agreement.

“We should give the people what they want,” Alex says, shrugging.

I grab Alex by his hockey jersey, and his lips crash against mine. He parts my lips with his tongue and kisses me as if I were his last meal, hungry and passionate, making my toes curl, as the crowd claps and cheers, fading into the background.

Nine Months Later

Coach

I’m straddling Alex in bed with my hand wrapped around his rock-hard erection, about to push him inside me, when he says, “Go get that whistle, Coach.”

“I’ll get it for the next round, Parker.” I lift my hips, and Alex grabs ahold of them to keep me in place.

Why is he so insistent I get that now of all times?

I’m dripping wet, my insides clenching at the promise of another mind-blowing orgasm.

We’ve had sex twice since dinner, and I have no intentions of stopping after going two weeks without Alex. Phone sex only goes so far before you need the real thing. One thing that sucks about dating a professional athlete is that they are on the road as much, if not more, as they are home.

“C’mon, babe, just do it. For me.” He stresses the words, begging me with his eyes that make my ovaries explode.

This man is ten shades of sex appeal. Alex fulfills all my fantasies, so it’s only fair that I indulge his. He really loves it when I’m Coach in bed, which works for me because I get off on our sports-themed sex.

When he walked through the door of my apartment earlier, I had the white gold whistle he had given me last year around my neck, paired with black-and-white-striped calf socks and cleats, holding a field hockey stick in my hands. That has been our thing for the past year. We make a game of what sport we’re playing every time Alex travels. I think some sick part of us secretly likes when he leaves and comes home. But our emotional connection was and always will be stronger, no matter how hot and intense the sex.

But, right now, I am denying his request. Pushing my palms down on his chest, I break his grip enough to lift my hips and push him inside my slickness. He makes a hissing sound, and as I move faster, he clutches my hips tight enough to leave fingerprints, working in harmony with me. It doesn’t take long before a brush of fire spreads beneath my skin, and my entire body tingles and shakes from the ovary-exploding orgasm that won’t quit, making my gums go numb and my toes curl. Alex and his thick cock are the real masters of sex.

He flips me over and onto my side of the bed where he spreads my legs, entering me, as I lean my forearms onto the mattress. I love when he’s an animal, both rough and passionate, just as much as I like when he makes love to me. But, after a long road trip, I need him to take what he wants and show me how much he missed me.

He gives me two more orgasms by the time his body jerks against mine. Alex leaves a trail of sweaty kisses on my back and neck and says, “I love you, Charlotte,” before he rolls over onto his back, still sporting a semi hard-on.

My legs are trembling, his juices seeping out of me and running down my inner thighs. Instead of cuddling, I plant my ass on the mattress and give myself a second to recover.

Alex snuggles up next to me. “Go get your whistle, baby.”

Looking over my shoulder at him, I flash a smile. “What is your obsession with that thing? Are you ready for another round already?”

“Just go get it,” he pleads.

“Fine. Let go of me then, so I can get up. I left it on the living room table.”

Sliding off the mattress, I bring the silk robe at the edge of the bed with me to the bathroom and slip my arms through the sleeves. Alex winks at me as I close the door. He has been acting so weird lately. After I clean up and wash my hands, I tie the robe at my waist. When I open the door, I’m surprised when I find Alex missing from the bed.

This must be part of whatever game we are playing. A little game of, Where’s the Hot and Hopefully Still-Naked Hockey Player?

Without looking too hard, I hear him rustling around in the kitchen, and I take a right out of my bedroom and head down the hallway. Alex is making a sandwich in dark gray boxer briefs, looking as if he just stepped out of an underwear ad. For over a year, I have had the pleasure of this incredible view every morning and night.