12. Sophie

12

SOPHIE

I love the pool house and make arrangements to move in as soon as possible. It’s decorated exactly in my style, like it was meant for me.

“So, what’s your plan for today?” Miranda asks as we walk through the trees back to the barn.

I chew my bottom lip. “Are you going to the rink today?”

She nods. “Do you want to come with me?”

“Yeah. I need to let Teagan know I’ll be staying here and pack up my things. Trevor and I will practice this afternoon. It’s the rumba this week.”

Miranda grins and wiggles her eyebrows. “Ooh, sexy. Have you slept together yet?”

I stumble over air. Not a question I was expecting from Miranda. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m nosy,” she answers frankly. “You guys have chemistry like crazy. I know how Trevor is with women. The signs are there.”

“What do you mean by, how he is with women? How is he?” I know we’re having a fling—that better be consummated tonight before I explode in a flaming pile of frustrated goo—but I don’t want to be part of a cast of thousands.

“Um…well…he likes to play the field. He’s not a jerk about it, but he’s not a relationship type of guy. He treats them well, but it’s always casual. I’m surprised he gets away with it, but he’s charming.”

“Aye…” He’s certainly charming. And I fall for it every time. “That’s fine. I’m not looking for a relationship. We haven’t had sex yet because the night we were going to do the deed my best friend and brother cockblocked us, and since then, we’ve been surrounded by the team or exhausted from all our practices to do anything. We get to kiss some and make out in dark corners when we have a moment, but that’s not satisfying. Anyway, it would be a fling, not forever. We’ll be scratching some itches for the time we’re together, nothing more than that.” I stop and look up at the sky, my breath making puffy white clouds. “Miranda, I’m so…itchy . It’s torture being near him and touching him all the time but not being able to touch him. It’s driving me mad. When we’re done with the show, we’ll move on. He has hockey here, and I’ll be preparing for the next season of the show in New York or wherever. But lordy, I need my itches scratched in the worst way—and soon. By him.”

As we exit the band of trees and approach the barn, Miranda says, “Long-distance relationships are a thing, you know.”

I sigh. “Yes, they are. I don’t want one.”

I take a few more steps before I realize that Miranda stopped walking. Glancing over my shoulder, I try to determine why she stopped.

“You could commute. New York isn’t that far. Buses go to and from the casinos every day.” She has an excited gleam in her eyes.

Oh no. I need to quash this idea right now so she doesn’t get her hopes up. So I don’t start thinking about things I have no business thinking about. “You know all this time I spend with Trevor? I need to do that with every partner. This isn’t a job I can work remotely. For months each year, I’d be with that partner. And Trevor would travel for hockey. We’d never be together. That’s no way to have a relationship.”

“It’s a few months each year, and it overlaps, so you’d both be busy. Then you’d have free time to be together. It could work.”

“Okay. But I don’t want to make it work. I don’t want a relationship beyond now. So let’s drop this and focus on you and I enjoying being together again.” I loop my arm through hers and continue next to her, back to the barn.

When we arrive in Atlantic City, I go up to my room in Devil’s Den while Miranda goes to her office in The Nest. It doesn’t take me long to pack my belongings. What takes the most time is gathering my courage to call Teagan and tell her I’m moving out. I appreciate her generosity in letting me stay in this gorgeous suite. I’m hoping I don’t offend her or make her think I’m ungrateful.

Okay, Sophie, be a brave wolf. It’s just a phone call. Not a big deal. Taking a deep breath, I pick up my cell phone and dial Teagan’s phone number. A few minutes later I’m shaking my head over how silly I was to worry.

Calling down to the front desk, I arrange for them to keep my bags there so they can do what they need to get the suite ready for future use, then I head to the theater to work on the choreography for this week’s rumba. It’s a sexy dance all about sensual movement, precise footwork, and connection. It’s going to be a challenge to make it seem like we’re connected sexually when we’re not. I know the show likes to promote showmances and the fans like to speculate, but I don’t want my real life to be fodder for gossip. Especially when the relationship will only last as long as we’re on the show.

Nigel and Nancy show up and suggest we go over to the rink to get some footage of Trevor at practice. I protest because we haven’t cleared that with the team, but Nancy insists. I shoot Miranda a text so she can stop us at the door if necessary. No such luck. She thinks it’s a great idea and meets us to act as our escort to the practice rink. The team looks like it’s broken into four squads based on the four colors of jerseys they’re wearing—black, white, blue, and gray. Trevor’s in a blue jersey. I have no idea what the specific drill is, but Trevor shoots the puck to a skater on his right and then speeds toward the goal. The other skater passes it to a teammate across the ice, who then fires it to Trevor. Somehow the puck bounces off Trev’s stick and into the goal. They run a different version of the drill that has Trevor doing the passing and his teammate somehow redirecting the puck into the goal. Other squads run the same drill, but it looked best when Trevor did it.

“Hey,” he says when he skates over. He’s removed his helmet, and his copper-toned hair is darkened with sweat.

“Hi,” I say, feeling shy. “I wanted to see you on the ice. What was the drill you were doing?”

He looks over his shoulder toward the ice like he needs to jog his memory.

“Deflection drill. Practicing getting into position so we can take advantage of pucks

sneaking through and target them into the goal without actively shooting. Sometimes hockey is about lucky breaks just as much as it’s about pure skill.”

Chuckling, I nod. “So is dance.”

His smile is so warm, I’m surprised the ice isn’t melting.

I make a show of taking a big sniff and scrunching my nose. “Go shower and meet me for practice. Maybe we’ll get lucky with the rumba.” My cheeks flame when I realize my choice of phrase. “See you in the theater.”

Half an hour later, Trevor comes striding in the studio backstage of the theater. He must have rushed through the shower and raced across the Boardwalk into the hotel because his hair is still damp, but now it’s clean and he doesn’t smell all sweaty. Sometimes he smells good when he’s sweaty, but that’s after we’ve danced. Dance sweat is different from sport sweat. We do our banter bit and then jump right into learning the basic movements of the dance.

“The rumba is all about the connection between us,” I say for the camera’s sake. “It’s a sensual dance. Lots of rhythmic, fluid motion and hip action. We shift our weight to create figure-eight motions with our hips.” I demonstrate, then motion for Trevor to follow along. He kind of gets it, but he’s not getting the swivel needed. “You’re doing more hula hoop and less rumba. Here.” I place my hands on his hips and help guide him through the motion. Heat flares in his hazel eyes, and I wonder if he’s imagining us doing some naked rumba practice tonight in my new bedroom.

“Okay,” he says when he has the basics of the hip motion down. “What do I do with my arms?”

“You want to make sure you take up lots of space when you dance. Your arms will have their own fluid motions, and you want to make sure you complete the movements. Don’t cut them short. You can’t dance small. That’s something they dinged us on yesterday. I can match you, so you don’t need to dance down to me. I’ll follow you.”

The lecherous grin that spreads across Trevor’s lips will not get edited out. Damn it.

We spend the next two hours working on the beginning counts of the dance. Even though this is my job, the way we have to touch and move suggestively really turns me on. If the bulge in his track pants is anything to go by, it’s affecting Trevor, too.

“Are you packed?” he asks after Nancy and Nigel leave.

I smile. “Aye. Tonight I’ll be staying in the pool house.”

Pulling me close, he presses a kiss to my lips.

“What was that for?” I ask when we break apart after a few intense moments of kissing and above-the-belt caresses.

His eyebrows almost reach his hairline. “I couldn’t resist. Do you mind?”

Smirking, I rest my hand on his chest. The steady beat of his heart tempts me to create a dance to match it. “Does it feel like I minded?”

“No, but it doesn’t hurt to double-check. Having you next door is going to be very convenient.”

We grab my luggage from the front desk and get in his car to drive home. Turning on the highway that takes us off the island and toward home, he changes the subject. “Did you want to stop to get some groceries?”

I hadn’t thought about having a kitchen and needing to feed myself. I can cook, but I rarely have the opportunity to. Or the motivation. Since I have a shifter metabolism and burn a lot of calories dancing anyway, I can get away with takeaway curries or whatever else I want delivered to my flat in London. Out in the woods, there aren’t as many options.

“That would be grand, thank you.”

American grocery stores are fascinating places. They’re huge. Everything is so big: the store, the packaging, the variety of things. An entire long aisle is just breakfast cereal. So many varieties and so many sizes of the same thing. It’s crazy. I push the trolley, and Trevor grabs what I want. It’s an efficient system since I wouldn’t be able to reach half the things because the shelves are so high. That’s an advantage of having a tall boyfriend.

No. Oh no. I stop dead as Trevor walks on. I don’t know where that thought came from, but Trevor is not my boyfriend. Boyfriends don’t have expiration dates.

“Are you okay?” he asks when he walks back to me. Concern shines in his eyes in a touch of gray clouds I hate to see.

“Aye, just amazed at all of this. It’s different from London.”

He looks around. “Oh. I’ve never been to London. Do you miss it? Maybe we could visit.”

The deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face tells me he didn’t mean to suggest making plans for the future any more than I meant to mentally call him my boyfriend. Our brains go on autopilot sometimes. That doesn’t mean it’s what our hearts want.

“Uh…I mean, maybe I’ll get there someday. Not that we would go together. I know that’s not happening.” He blushes adorably. A pang hits me in my chest. It’s affection for this man, but also sadness I won’t get to show him around London. Show him all the places I love.

Nodding, I give what I hope passes for a smile. “Let me know if you want any suggestions on things to see, restaurants, where not to go.”

We continue up and down the aisles, and he adds things to the trolley that he likes. I don’t think he realizes the assumption he’s making that he’s going to be in my place enough to eat all of it. Not that I say anything to disabuse him of the notion he’ll be there at breakfast to drink the extra pulpy orange juice I can’t stand. I just follow him and point out the things I like as we discuss the team’s travel plans to figure out when we’ll be cooking dinner. Together. Like a couple. But we’re not a couple. I heard about how Kendall and Burke started out fake dating and fell in love, but that’s not what this is, and we aren’t them.

The pasta we make for dinner is delicious, and Trevor is good company as we wash the dishes as a team. Holding his hand as I lead him upstairs, I think about how much I enjoyed cooking dinner together. Other men I was involved with didn’t set foot into the kitchen, and most of our time was spent in the studio or in the bedroom. If we had dinner, it was at a fancy restaurant when they were trying to seduce me or something I threw together when I was trying to keep them.

Entering the bedroom, his eyes roam the space. His smile is wistful when he says, “This room suits you.”

I unpack my first suitcase while he sits on the chair. He offers to help, but there isn’t really anything he can do other than keep me company.

“Funny you should say that.” I put a pile of leggings in the dresser drawer.

“Oh?”

“This is the furniture and bedding I have back at home.”

He looks around and seems to pay more attention to every detail, like it’ll tell secrets about me or something.

“Really? Exactly?”

“I noticed it when I toured the place earlier today. It’s one of the reasons I decided to stay here.”

I unlock my phone and swipe to the picture of me taking a selfie in a sundress. You can see the bed and nightstands in the background.

His finger hovers like he wants to swipe to look at more of my pictures, but good manners and self-preservation stop him from following through. Not that I have anything to hide in the photos on my phone, but it’s rude to snoop. His parents may have been less than ideal in the attention department, but they taught him manners.

“That confirms you belong here.” He stands, crosses the room, puts my phone on the dresser, and then takes me in his arms to kiss me with a mixture of sweetness and thoroughness that makes my tummy flip and my toes scrunch against the bedroom rug. His hands gently frame my face as his kiss moves from my lips to my jaw, down my neck, and to my shoulder. Little nips and quick licks accompany the kisses. Goosebumps break out across my skin. He clasps my hands and interlaces our fingers.

Our dance lessons are paying off. He uses his body to direct me to the closet door as if he’s leading in a dance. With my back against the door, he steps closer, one of his thighs slipping between my leggings-covered ones as his torso brushes against mine. Trevor raises our joined hands above my head and uses one of his to hold them there. I know I’m not trapped. If I said no or struggled at all, he’d step away. But I’m enjoying this show of dominance. We’re going to set the ballroom on fire with our passion.

I rub my center against his thigh, desperate for the friction I need. Trevor’s erection is solid and hard against my abdomen. We’re burning for each other.

“Please,” I moan.

“Please what?” he whispers. “Please more? Please stop? Please take my clothes off? You’re going to have to be more specific with your requests, princess.”

This time when he calls me princess, it doesn’t feel like snark. It’s said with affection, and it touches something within me. Not that spot where I want the something currently stiff against my abdomen hitting, though.

“Please naked. Please bed. Please now.”

“As you wish.”

I don’t know if he knows he’s making a Princess Bride reference or not, but it makes me smile nonetheless. He releases his grip on my wrist so I can help with our disrobing. We get a bit tangled trying to remove each other’s shirts, pants, and underwear. It’s obvious I didn’t choreograph this. I’m not sure what to expect when I see his cock for the first time. He’s been blessed with length and girth, but not ridiculously so. I’ve never slept with another wolf shifter—or any shifter—before. My previous partners have been human. I think the fact I was a shifter caused them to have sexual expectations of me I didn’t live up to. Like that I prefer doggy style. I don’t. Back when I was hoping to feel connected to my partners, I wanted missionary. I wanted to be facing each other.

I wonder what Trevor expects. When we’re naked and stretched out on the bed, I expect our joining to be frantic and explosive. However, it’s slow and tender. Brushes of fingertips, lingering kisses, sighs, and murmurs of “yes” and “ooh, I like that.” As good as everything feels, I can’t stop the worrying thoughts pushing into my mind. What if I don’t satisfy him? What if I don’t know how to do something that’s expected of me as a wolf shifter?

I must tense up because suddenly he stops nuzzling my neck and is rolling off me to hold himself up with a forearm.

“What’s wrong? Did you change your mind? It’s okay if you did, we’ll stop. If you don’t like something, Sophie, just tell me.” His eyes are hazy with lust, but I can see the concern in his expression. He would stop. That’s how every man should react, but I know that’s not always the case. It makes me want him even more. And makes me more afraid of disappointing him.

“Hey, talk to me.” He runs his calloused fingertips gently along my jaw.

“I…I haven’t done this before,” I whisper. When his eyes widen, I realize how that sounds. “I mean, I’ve done this before. I’m not a virgin. But I haven’t slept with another shifter. Is there something different about it? Doggy style?” I’m blushing, and if it was possible to pull the covers over my head and hide in embarrassment, I would.

His brows pull down in consternation. “Do you like doggy style? I want to give you what you want, but that’s not my go-to. It feels so impersonal, and that’s not what I want with you.”

His chest expands with a deep breath and slow release.

“Should we be getting dressed and talking? We don’t need to rush into anything. Your pleasure and comfort are what matter to me. If you’re uncomfortable going any further, we can get dressed and watch a movie. I can go back to the barn.” He gestures to his cock. “I obviously want you.” As if to emphasize the point, a drop of precum drips onto my thigh. “But I want you to want this too. I care about you, Sophie.”

My last shield crumbles. My heart is going to be broken when this is over, and I may break his heart, too. But it’s going to be worth it.

Resting my hand on the back of his neck, I pull him down into a kiss. I pour all my yearning and desire into it. I want this man. His body, his pleasure, and lord help me, his heart. But for tonight, I’ll settle for the first two.

“I want this, Trevor. I want you,” I say between kisses. “I want to hold you and see you as we do this.” I pull back from our kisses so I can look into his eyes. “Is that okay?”

He nuzzles my cheek with his nose. There’s a tug low in my core. I want this man. I hope he still wants me, too.

Trevor presses the gentlest, sweetest kiss to the corner of my mouth and rubs his chin along my jaw. His scruff is ticklish, and I better not have beard burn in the morning.

“More than okay,” he murmurs, kissing his way down my neck and to my breasts. He’s now resting with his weight upon me, but I don’t feel suffocated. I feel cozy. He’s so tall, his torso is over my lower abdomen and between my legs. His large hands completely engulf my breasts as he caresses one while kissing and sucking on the other. I’m not overly endowed, a B cup, but they’re firm and perky and, if his moans and low growls of pleasure are any indication, completely enough to please Trevor. The attention he’s paying to my breasts, while appreciated, makes me want him inside me. Now. I know I should be doing more in the foreplay department than lying back and enjoying his attention, but he’s getting so much pleasure from giving it, it feels rude not to relish in receiving. I’ll take care of him next time.

“Trevor,” I whisper.

“Hmm?” he hums as he licks his way to my navel, lifting his lust-filled eyes to mine.

“Do you have a condom?” Please let him have a condom. I’m on the pill, and I know my cycle, so I shouldn’t be fertile, but I don’t want to risk anything. Shifters rarely get STIs, and I know hockey players are tested by team doctors regularly, so I’m not overly concerned about that, but I always use a condom. No glove, no love, as they say.

“Yeah,” he says, licking around my belly button before pressing a kiss to it and then blowing a raspberry. I giggle, and he looks up with a boyish grin. “Should I be getting it?”

I nod. In a flash, he’s retrieved a couple of foil squares from his wallet and is stretching to put one on the nightstand.

“For round two,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

I mentally add a box of condoms to my grocery list.

Sitting up, I hold out my hand. “Let me.”

I roll the condom he produced from his wallet onto his hard cock. Once sheathed by the latex, he gives his shaft a couple of strokes as he kisses me, easing me back against the duvet. The cotton is cool on my skin, but it feels nice in contrast to the heat radiating from Trevor’s body. His weight settles on top of me, and the head of his cock brushes through my folds. I know I cheated myself on foreplay, but I’m dying to have him inside me, filling me in a way I’m sure no other man has been able to. We can do more foreplay next time. This time I want to get to the main event.

We’re kissing as he eases his length into me, stretching me, filling me. We both sigh with pleasure when he’s fully seated. I clench my inner muscles, and he growls. I’ve never made a man growl before. I don’t know if it’s a shifter thing or a Trevor thing. All I know is that I love it.

“Sophie, love,” Trevor says, between nibbles, kissing to a spot below my right ear that I didn’t know was connected to my clit. “If you keep doing that, this isn’t going to last very long.”

Love. I know it’s just a casual term of endearment and doesn’t mean anything, but I wish it did. I know I’m going to regret all of this when it’s over and I’m a brokenhearted mess. But I don’t care. It’s worth it to feel what I’m feeling now.

He starts a steady rhythm of deep thrusts and even works in some of the rumba hip swivels I taught him earlier. I think naked rumba moves are my new favorite. He thrusts faster and harder, and tension coils inside me. We’re still kissing, and my hands are roaming over his strong shoulders and down his muscled back. His hands have been tracing my curves and gripping my hips. When he slips one between us to massage my clit, I tumble over the edge into the most earth-shattering orgasm of my life. I call out Trevor’s name, and with another two thrusts and a satisfied moan, Trevor falls over the cliff with me. As we lay tangled together, sweaty and catching our breaths, I realize we aren’t having sex. We’re making love. And I’m terrified.