Chapter 28

28

MABEL

I find my way to the box office and purchase a single ticket right behind the Storm’s bench. It’s expensive as hell, but oh well. It’s still a couple of hours until the doors open so I head outside and find a bar, where I pass the time with a couple of margaritas and a basket of chips.

My mind is a jumble of thoughts, my heart a tangle of emotions. I’m not sure I can even believe what just happened. That Ben loves me. And I love him. And it’s going to be okay.

There are still things we need to talk about. But I feel like it’s going to be okay.

I find my seat just as the warm-up starts. I see when Ben notices me and I smile.

I love watching him in his element, so confident and skilled and fearless. It makes me proud. And turns me on.

Oh my God. Only few minutes into the first period and Ben lays a brutal hit on one of the Cyclone. He did the same thing that first time I watched him play, and the Storm ended up winning that night.

Ben also got in a fight that game.

It seems like Ben is everywhere: hitting, passing, shooting the puck. He’s playing with a different center right now since Carson is still recovering from the car accident, but he and Macklin Murray seem to have found a rhythm, along with their right winger, Chris Turkett. Ben sets up each of them for a goal and then scores himself, giving the team a three-nothing lead going into the second period.

It’s so exciting to watch!

In the second period, the Cyclone seem to regroup. They score right away, and then score again near the end of the period, making it a one-goal game. Eeeek.

Along with the rest of the crowd, I’m on the edge of my seat for the third period. The Cyclone are fighting back, but the Storm are stopping them at every turn. I can’t stop smiling. And gasping. And sighing.

Then the Cyclone score again to tie it up. Dammit! There’s still lots of time for them to get the go-ahead goal. Except the Storm coach, Gord Bastien, challenges the goal on the basis of the player who scored being offside. Oooooh.

The crowd doesn’t like this.

The game is on hold as the video is reviewed. And reviewed. And reviewed. We all watch the replays from different angles on the score clock screen, looking at the Cyclone player with the puck cross the blue line and also another Cyclone crossing the blue line.

I bite my lip as I watch the replays. It’s so close it’s hard to tell. The player without the puck looks like he’s trying to hold up, but his skate blade seems to cross the blue line before the puck. I know it’s the position of the player’s skate and not his stick that’s the determining factor. If both skates are over the blue line before the puck, the player is offside. And his back foot is so, so close…

Finally, the situation room makes their decision and the ref announces the decision. “After video review… the play is offside…”

“Yes!” I jump up to cheer, earning dirty looks from the Cyclone fans around me.

“There is no goal!” he finishes, to loud boos and jeers from the hometown crowd.

This seems to take the wind out of the Cyclone’s sails, which is a couple of mixed metaphors right there, and this time Marek wins the faceoff, gets the puck to Dillon, heads to the net, and when Dillon shoots the puck, Marek tips it in for another goal.

“Yeah!”

Now we’re up by two goals and it feels safer, but I’m still on edge as the Cyclone pull their goalie and swarm the Storm’s net for the last few minutes. So many times I think they’re going to score, and Ford makes some incredible saves and we hold them off until the horn blows to end the game.

We did it!

And Ben is named first star of the game.

Back at the hotel, I hang out in the bar, keeping an eye on the lobby to watch for the arrival of the team. When I see them throng into the lobby, all the big guys in suits and smiles, I turn my back in case anyone sees me. I give them time to go to their rooms before I stealthily make my way to the elevators and go up to the eighth floor. I peek both ways down the hall before I exit and scurry to Ben’s room. I knock softly on the door.

He immediately opens it. And smiles.

He’s gorgeous, still in his suit, now a little rough looking with ruddy cheeks and tousled hair from his shower.

“Come in.” He jerks his head and I hustle in with my suitcase that I had to leave in a bag check area at the arena during the game. He, too, peers out into the hallway.

“The coast is clear,” I say, pulling out another clichéd movie line.

He closes the door and turns back to me and I can’t stop myself. I launch myself into his arms.

He catches me and laughs. I wrap myself around him like a koala and kiss him all over his beautiful face. “You played amazing tonight!”

He turns us in a circle. “Fuck, yeah.” He kisses me back and stumbles toward the bed. He lowers my feet to the floor then cups my face in both hands and kisses me again, so tenderly, and emotion flows through me like hot honey.

We undress each other and ourselves in a commotion of hands, still trying to kiss, stumbling and grappling and pulling at clothes until finally we’re both naked. He picks me up and tosses me onto the bed in a display of strength that I thoroughly enjoy, then climbs on and moves over me. His eyes meet mine and our gazes lock in a heated connection as the hotel room fades away around us and my blood zings through my veins. The curve of his lips is seductive and his hand drifts down my body as his eyelids lower, his face moves closer to mine, and our lips meet again.

I slide a hand around his neck, kissing him back with everything I have, every feeling, every word I can’t say right now. When we’re both out of breath, he moves his mouth from mine, his forehead against mine, his nose alongside my nose, staring into my eyes with so much emotion I feel it in my chest, in my soul.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you, too.”

We kiss and kiss, hungrily, mouths wet and sliding, tongues licking into each other’s mouths while one of his hands roams over my body and the other curls around my head. I touch him, too, gliding my hand over his strong shoulder, down and up his arm. He shifts back to look at my body, tracking his hand gliding over my thigh, tickling me, lightly scraping with his fingernails, squeezing, then pushing my thigh to the side, opening me. His fingers brush over the curls on my mound, making me ache even more.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs. “I missed you so much, Mabel.”

“I missed you, too.”

He shifts again, moving over me, kissing my mouth, his hand coming up to cup my face, then sliding into my hair. I bend and lift the leg he pushed open, pressing my thigh against his hip, my pelvis lifting needily. He kisses my throat, the side of my neck, sucks so gently on my skin there, licks over it.

“I missed these beauties.” He kisses each nipple, then bends over me, pulling me closer so he can pull one nipple into his mouth.

“Oh, God.” I grip his hair, sensation shooting through me to my center.

Taking his time, he brushes his mouth and his beard over my sensitive skin, kissing my nipple, licking it, then sucking again. Fever spreads over my skin, burning hot.

I lift my leg over his hip, trying to pull his lower body closer to mine because I need him there, so much. His hand moves to my butt, tickling and lightly scratching there as he sucks my nipple, making me insane with so much sensation. I can’t help myself, I move against him, my body beginning to writhe with need.

He pushes my leg off him, hand on my inner thigh, pressing my leg to the bed, and then he touches me there , right where I need him, between my legs, his hand cupping my pussy in a possessive, tender hold. My aching clit pulses against his palm. He finds my mouth with his again in deep, devouring kisses and his fingers move on me, teasing me, brushing over my clit, finding the liquid heat between my folds.

“I need to taste you here,” he murmurs. “I need to lick you. Eat you up.” He shifts onto his hands and knees, and with his gaze fastened on my face, he moves over me, sliding his arms under my thighs, palms coming to my stomach. I can’t stop moving, my hips lifting, my hands gripping his hair, and then he opens his mouth on me.

“Oh, God!”

Yes, he eats at me, with his lips, his tongue, his whole mouth, sucking and tonguing me with such worship I’m mindless and hot and frantic. He cups my breasts, flicks my nipples, and turns me into a melted mass of pleasure, soft, boneless, fluid.

My thighs are over his shoulders, his mouth buried between them, and my fingers tug on his hair. “I’m c-coming…”

Pleasure twists up inside me, tighter, higher, until it’s almost unbearable. I’m shaking, my heart thudding, my ears roaring. Cries of relief and ecstasy spill from my lips as the pleasure peaks and wave after wave of heat flows through my body until I’m weak and slack.

He rises onto his knees and takes his cock in hand. Then stops. “Fuck. I don’t have a condom.”

“I guess I should be glad you don’t go on road trips with condoms.”

“Do you have one?”

“No.”

His lips quirk. “I guess I should be glad you don’t chase after hockey teams on the road with condoms.”

“I didn’t plan to do that when I left home.”

We smile at each other.

“I’m on birth control,” I tell him, which he already knows; we had that conversation ages ago. “I’m okay without a condom if you are.”

He nods slowly. “Are you sure?”

“I trust you. Do you trust me?”

“More than anyone in the world.” He bends down to kiss me again, his mouth hot and firm on mine as the head of his cock notches at my entrance.

I know that. I feel it. For both of us trust is huge. For him to trust me enough to make himself vulnerable – emotionally, physically, intimately – means so much to me. And for me to trust him the same way, after opening myself up to someone who saw my vulnerability as a weakness, who used it against me, is so freeing and empowering. I feel like me again. “I love you,” I gasp.

He proceeds with agonizing slowness, drawing out the pleasure and the anticipation of having him inside me, moving the head of his cock lazily through my slickness. My arms are up on the pillow by my head, my chin lifted, my mouth open as I try to get air into my lungs, my body still vibrating with need. “Please. Push in. I need it.”

He smiles, a little bit smug. “You need my cock?”

“I need you.”

“I… Christ , Mabel… look at you taking me…” He gives me an inch. And withdraws. “I love watching this.” Two inches. And out. And in… more.

“Fuck me, fill me, give it all to me…” I blink up at his face and from the tight expression I see he’s torturing himself, too.

He teases me, slipping in and out. I’m empty and aching and greedy, ready to sob at how much I crave him. “Ben…”

“I can’t stop looking at you… at us… but I’m so close…” A groan rumbles from his chest.

I’m barely conscious, floating, needing, wanting, trying to lift my hips and take him deeper.

And then he’s in, pressing, gliding, filling me. I cry out with the beauty of it.

“So hot, baby. I love being bare inside your sweet pussy.” His hands grip my inner thighs, holding them apart as he moves, thrusting in measured strokes. I can’t stop the noises that cascade from my lips as he penetrates me so deeply, so lusciously. I grip his wrists and move his hands up, to my waist then my breasts, and he curves his fingers around me and gently squeezes. “I love having your wet all over me.”

“That feels so good.” I gulp in air. “You fill me up so good.”

On his knees, he presses one hand flat between my breasts, his heavy cock sliding in and out of me. I watch his body, the perfect V shape of him between my legs, the tight abdomen and trail of hair over his lower belly to the thick nest of hair at the root of his cock. The lamp light gleams golden on his skin, gilding the hair on his burly thighs, highlighting the muscles of his shoulders, arms, and chest. “Ohhhhhh.”

“Fuck, that feels good. Bare… skin to skin… Jesus, Mabel.” When I contract my inner muscles, he lets out a low growl. “Oh, yeah.”

Our eyes meet, his blazing with a golden flame, full of worship and devotion. With him, I feel safe. I feel beautiful and strong and safe. I’m so grateful to have this man in my life, when I thought I was done with men and relationships, when I thought I’d never find anyone who loved me for who I am. I want to give him so much – anything. Everything.

I watch his face, entranced as his eyes fall closed, his long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, and then he falls over me, taking his weight on his elbows, his arms sliding around my head, one hand coming to my forehead in a possessive, protective gesture that soothes my heart and makes me melt around him. I hook my ankles at the small of his back and wrap my arms around his neck as our mouths meet again. The press of his body against mine, skin to skin, is voluptuous and substantial, his body hot and solid against mine. Heaven. Home.

Our bodies push together, seeking more, finding a rhythm that matches our heartbeats, his breath a hot gust over the skin of my neck. Then he kisses me, a gentle kiss of such devotion, tears spring to my eyes.

Our mouths fuse together as the pace of his thrusts accelerates and I lift to him, ripples of pleasure coursing through my body. He goes rigid and tight against me, his cock pulsing. I squeeze him with my inner muscles and he shouts and fills me with liquid heat, his movements wetter, slicker. It’s erotic and intimate. It’s reverence and tenderness. It’s trust and love.

He goes still against me, pressing his mouth to the side of my neck. I kiss his shoulder, both of us fighting for oxygen, our bodies damp and sticky and quivering. Then he moves, a long, slow glide out, back in, out, in.

“So sweet,” he mumbles. “So gorgeous. Perfect.”

Perfect.