It was intimate.
It was heavier, more weighted than any time he’d touched me before.
“Vince,” I warned.
He only held me tighter, and when I closed my eyes, he smacked my ass.
“Look at me.”
When I did, he shook his head, rolling his lips together as he started to fuck me faster.
“What have you done to me?”
He whispered the words so low I thought I might have misheard them, and then he was kissing me so hard it hurt.
Vince was so deep, so needy, and the power that sent rushing through me sharpened into an electric fire. I reached between us, circling my clit, and my second orgasm shot through me so quick it didn’t seem possible. It was more intense, my clit already sensitive, my walls swollen. I cried out every last wave of it, and then Vince came, too, and he held me down on his lap, his cock twitching inside me, cum leaking out and down the insides of my thighs.
I’d never felt anything like that before, not in all my life.
As soon as we stopped moving, tears pricked my eyes.
I panicked, not wanting Vince to see, so I climbed off his lap and muttered something about cleaning up before I padded down the hall to his shower. My face warped when I made it to the bathroom, and I pressed a hand over where my heart squeezed under my rib cage, like that could soothe it.
It was too much.
That first time was fucking.
But that second time…
It felt a whole lot like making love.
I closed my eyes, shaking my head and swiping the tears from my cheeks before they could stain. This was what had gotten me in trouble with James — all the times he made it feel so real, made me feel so safe and wanted. It made it impossible not to trust him, to believe him when he said we had a future together.
And in that moment, I realized that was what had fucked me up the most.
It was one thing to hear a man spurt his lies and know they’re lies, to smile at them in amusement that they thought they could pull one over on you. But the power is still in your hands then, and you can detach. You can enjoy the moment knowing it will end. You can let go before you’ve even started to hold on.
It was when they were convincing like this, when they made you second-guess if you were wrong about men. Could this one be different? Could he care?
Could he be the one?
Sucking in a shuttering breath, I dug my heels into my eyes and internally groaned in frustration.
I was being a fool.
Wiping my nose with the back of my wrist, I hastily turned the shower faucet on and climbed in, scrubbing my skin like I could eradicate my feelings from the outside in.
It wasn’t long before Vince joined me, and he wrapped me up in his arms, pulling my back to his chest as I fought not to feel anything, not to let my body and mind and heart float away in a balloon of hope.
Tell Me What You Feel
Vince
The plane ride home from Canada was a circus.
We’d managed to squeak out a win in overtime against Ottawa, who were the number one team in our division. And it didn’t matter that, really, we didn’t play our best, or that we got lucky on a shot that tipped off their own player’s skate and got us the W.
We partied like we’d just won the Cup.
It was a Saturday, and it had been an afternoon game, so it was just past nine when we touched down in Tampa. The night was young, it was the weekend, we had a late practice the next day, and we’d just won the game every sportscaster in the nation was sure we’d lose.
The energy was untouchable.
Jaxson shotgunned another beer as the front half of the plane debarked, smashing the can on his head when he was done. He shook his head with his tongue hanging out like a dog, and then started barking at Maven, which made her throw her head back in a laugh in such a carefree way it made my chest tight.
“You guys are insane!” she yelled in-between peals of laughter just as Carter started twerking on the seat in front of her.
“Come on, Maven. Match our energy,” he goaded her.
She snorted and waved him off. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“The night is young, we are young, and Tampa is waiting to celebrate us,” Jaxson said, grabbing Maven by the hands and pulling her up reluctantly from her chair. “You’re part of this team now. Time to show it.”
“And exactly how do you propose I do that?”
Will smirked as he grabbed her shoulders from behind and gave them a little squeeze. “Show us your celly dance.”
“My what?”
The guys who were still on the plane cheered, clapping and whistling before Carter started a chant.
Cel-ly dance, cel-ly dance.
Our pilot played right into our hands, cranking the music on the stereo system. It was a club mix of “Ferrari,” and our cheers grew louder as Maven’s mouth popped open in an amused smile.
“You brutes are dreaming,” she said on a laugh. Her eyes found mine then, and I made a fake pouty face, clucking my tongue.
“Aw, I think she’s embarrassed, guys,” I said, crossing the plane until I was behind her. I rubbed her shoulders, brushing my thumb along the slope of her neck and loving that I made chills break out when I did. “It’s okay, Maven. We know you can’t dance for shit.”
The guys laughed and made a deep ooohhhh sound, watching as Maven narrowed her eyes and looked over her shoulder at me.
“Is that what you think?”
I shrugged, egging her on. “Prove me wrong.”
The team started chanting her name, and she arched a brow, breaking out of my hold with a determined nod.
Using the hand Carter had outstretched to help her, she climbed up onto one of the large leather seats, and then she started pumping her fists to make the team roar even louder.
When she had their attention, she cast me one last watch this look, and she broke it down.
She was goofy at first, waving her hands in the air and bobbing her head. Then, her shoulders shimmied, and she pointed at one of our wingers before doing his signature celebration dance — brushing off her shoulders with her brows pinched together before she pretended to shoot a basket. She held her hands up in the little flick and we all went wild.
One by one, she pointed at each teammate and mimicked them, whether by doing their dance or, like in Daddy P’s case, crossing her arms and scowling hard while imitating his crouched goalie position.
My stomach was in stitches, and just when I thought she couldn’t shock us all any more than she had, she pointed right at me with a wink.
Then, she bent in half, her hands finding the leather of the seat. She kicked one foot up behind her to balance on the head rest, and then the other, until she was inverted and stacking her hips over her shoulders.
The plane quieted a bit with confused murmurs, the music growing in a crescendo toward the beat drop. When it did, Maven knocked us all on our asses.
Because she started shaking hers.
She twerked upside down, her ass bouncing side to side, up and down, and then in a circle as she threw it to the beat. The team went absolutely ape shit, but when Carter wound up like he was going to smack her ass, I caught his wrist before he could, pinning him with a glare.
“Do you want to die tonight?” I asked him.
He just laughed, holding his hands up in surrender while he and Jaxson exchanged looks.
Trying to play it off before they could read too much into it, I picked Maven up and hauled her over my shoulder, dancing us down the aisle and off the plane with her little fists beating on my back, and the team following behind us with hoots and hollers.