Chapter 33

33

No one would leave.

Georgia could turn off the music or kill the lights or go to each person individually and tell them the party was over, but the people pleaser in her hated the idea of being a buzzkill. Mere weeks ago, she was a party queen. Now she was wishing everyone would scoot so she could clean up and ready the place for Banks’s arrival in the morning.

As it stood, she had spent the last four and a half hours following people around, telling them to use a coaster or take their smoke out to the patio or not pick up Cheddar who didn’t like anyone touching him except for Banks. After a while, she placed him in the laundry room and locked it behind her.

Which made her think that she should lock the rest of the rooms. Knowing her friends and acquaintances as she did, open bedrooms were like catnip. She bounded up the stairs, stepping over a couple mid-make out, and did a circuit. None of the rooms featured anyone banging, thank God, so she happily cut off those avenues with locked doors then went to Banks’s bedroom for a breather. Their bedroom.

The steady thump of music sounded distant but not distant enough. Time to shut this down, even if it made her a party pooper. Goodness, she was a married woman.

She opened the door. Oliver stood on the other side, his fist raised pre-knock.

“Hey!”

“Could I have a word?”

“Sure. But make it quick because I’m about to call time on this gathering.”

He gentled her backward and shut the door behind him. “I’m worried about you, G.”

“You are? Why?”

He rubbed his chin, which had the beginnings of some blond jaw scruff, but nothing near as glorious as her husband’s beard.

“This marriage. This whole situation. It’s not right.” He reached for her cheek and cupped it. “If you need money or a way out of this drama, let me help.”

Alarm streaked through her. Oliver had always been clingy, but not to this extent.

She curled out of his grasp. “What’s going on, Oli? Are you feeling down about Sav?”

His eyes flashed. “No, Georgia. This isn’t about Savannah. I’m your oldest friend. I was there for you through everything, when Dani died, when your parents cut you off. I’ve been waiting for you to realize that I’m your guy, the one who will save you. From yourself, really, because that’s clearly what you need. You owe me.”

About halfway through that speech, she felt sorry for him. She’d always suspected a puppy dog crush from his end, but she had assumed it was resolved years ago. By the time his rant ended, anger was on the rise.

“Owe you what exactly?”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I’m a nice guy, your best guy. We had a pact and you ruined it by marrying this brainless jock who is so not your type.”

So everyone kept telling her. Her husband was no dummy, and while he might not be her type, he was something better. He was her man, and she wouldn’t hear a word against him.

“We’re going to forget this ever happened and put it firmly in the camp of bad-decisions-courtesy-of-alcohol.” She wouldn’t push for an apology, not when she just wanted everyone to leave.

“You’d know all about bad drunken decisions. It’s why you made this mistake.”

Okay, enough . “That’s where you’re wrong, Oliver. Sure I’d had a couple of drinks, but you know my tolerance is sky-high. I wasn’t drunk when I married Banks. I knew exactly what I was doing, and if I had a chance to repeat ‘my mistake,’ I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

She went to walk by him. He placed a hand on her arm and pulled her back.

And kissed her.

The plane ride home was nowhere near as exuberant as the one out. Boston had come to play and now the series headed back to Chicago. Banks had been praying to get it done in four or five, but now they had to go to at least six. And that was just the first round.

His shoulder felt worse, and he needed to ice it. Not exactly doable when surrounded by a fitfully sleeping team and support staff. A couple of painkillers down the hatch, and he tried his best to get comfortable, playing on repeat the image of Georgia’s tight, lithe body splayed on that foyer table while she rubbed his come into her pussy.

His wife was something else—and he needed to see her.

It was after three by the time he arrived to find his driveway filled with cars, some parked haphazardly. The house lights blazed into the sky like a nightclub advertisement.

Someone was throwing a party, and the number one suspect was his wife. Disappointment chilled him.

She was young and vibrant, and he’d never forbidden her to host her friends. This was her home for as long as she needed it. But he didn’t like parties—and he especially didn’t like parties in his house when he wasn’t there.

The garage was blocked by a car. Irritation made him itchy. He parked in a small space on the grassy verge of the driveway, then headed into his house. Not as busy as he expected, probably because the size of the great room made it look more spread out than the last party Georgia hosted. A couple of people nodded at him as he walked through. He ignored them, his wife his singular focus.

A girl about Georgia’s age—and damn, he had never felt older—grabbed his arm.

“You’re Banks!” She cast an excited look about the room. “Hey everyone, it’s?—”

He cut her off. “Where’s Georgia?”

“Around here somewhere. I think I saw her heading upstairs.” Her eyes glittered, a mix of inebriation and mischief.

He was tall enough to make a quick scan of the room. No sign of a blonde sprite, so he took the stairs two at a time. It was quieter up here and the doors were locked when he checked, so that was something.

He was about ten feet out from his bedroom when the door opened and Georgia emerged, looking flushed. A hand followed and grasped her arm.

“Georgia, let’s talk about this.” It was her friend. Oliver.

Rage reared up in him. “ Get your hands off her .”

Georgia’s gaze snapped to Banks’s. She was upset, but not with him. Within a nanosecond, that spark in her eyes had turned to something closer to relief.

He closed the distance between them faster than any move he’d made on the ice last night. She pulled away from Oliver’s grip.

“What did you do to her?” His move toward the asshole who had just laid hands on his wife was blocked by five feet and change of gale-force blonde.

That petite hand on his chest was supposed to pacify. Instead, it agitated him even more.

“What happened?”

“It’s okay, Big Guy. I’ve got this.”

Got what? He shot a glare over her head at Oliver, all while his pulse rate ratcheted higher and higher. This guy had taken advantage of his wife’s hospitality and Banks would love nothing more than to tear the silver spoon from his aristocratic mouth.

Georgia’s hand rubbed circles on his pec. Calm down. It’s okay.

Banks placed a possessive hand on her hip, then moved it around to the rise of her ass, where he let it linger. This fucker needed to recognize what he could never, ever have, in this lifetime or the next.

“Party’s over, asshole.”

Oliver blinked and turned an ugly shade of red. Walking by, he tried to look at Georgia, but she wasn’t having it. She kept her focus on Banks until her friend reached the stairs and descended. He was tempted to help him along, the over-the-rail route.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Just a misunderstanding.” She still looked upset. “I’m sorry about all this. I invited a couple of people over to watch your game and word got out about an after-party. I’ve been trying to shut it down for hours.”

“They don’t look like hockey fans.”

She sighed, probably relieved that he wasn’t making a fuss. “No, they’re not. I’m so glad to see you, but I didn’t want it to be in a crowd. I don’t want this.” She waved in the general direction of the party.

“Let me handle it.”

Easy enough to do once Banks had cut the music and glared at people long enough for them to get the message. Years in the hotel bar trenches chaperoning his teammates had prepared him well for quick sobriety testing and the summoning of taxis for anyone who didn’t pass muster. Not enjoying the idea that any of the revelers might be a danger to themselves or others, he called the local cops to ask them to keep an eye out for anyone he might have missed.

If Oliver got pulled over, he wouldn’t be sorry.

Alone at last, they surveyed the post-party rubble. Georgia started picking up bottles, but he took them from her and set them down.

“Tomorrow.”

She inhaled a breath. “None of this appeals to me anymore.”

She might be saying that to put him at ease. He wouldn’t expect her to change her personality to make him feel better.

“What happened with Oliver?”

“He was under the misapprehension that I owed him for his friendship.” She frowned. “That I owed him … me .”

The fucking nerve. In his house! He should have hit him.

“I handled it, Banks.” She splayed her fingers over his chest again, and this time it worked better to placate him. His heart steadied.

“How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore. Not that it would stop me.”

She peered at him from beneath hooded eyes. “From playing?”

“From this.” He palmed her ass and cleaved her to his body and all the parts that ached. The motion lifted her a couple of inches off the ground, bringing her lips close to his. If she wanted this, she’d have to close the gap herself.

She did.

Fuck. Her mouth, the feel of her lips on his … the heat of her tits against his chest … the curve of her ass in his palm … it was all too much, sensory overload that did a perfect job of numbing the ache in his shoulder and sending all that blood and adrenaline to his groin. He kissed her like a starving man, and she took it, every nip, suck, and sloppy kiss he had to give her.

He charged up the stairs with this perfect woman in his arms. Once in the bedroom, he kicked the door shut. Cheddar was probably locked away, but old habits. He needed a cocoon, a space no one else could enter. This was their time.

With a quick pivot, he lay her on the bed, then peeled off his sweatshirt and threw it on the floor. He placed a hand on the waistband of his sweats. Georgia sat up and covered his hand with hers.

“Let me.”

He removed his hand, though really, he wanted to strip quickly. To lie over her, skin to skin. But if this was what she wanted, he’d obey every command she gave.

Tentatively she pulled his sweats down a couple of inches, then moved soft fingertips over one side of his V-cut. Then the other. Almost reverent.

Another few inches south with the sweats, and his cock showed up, ready for a shift.

“Oh, there you are, gorgeous.” Wrapping one soft hand around him, she stroked gently. He pulsed in her hand and let out a moan.

“Hold on. Back in a sec.” She hopped up quickly and left the room. What the fuck?

Twenty seconds later, she was back, the shadows unable to steal her light. In her hand was an ice pack.

“I got this ready before the game. I had a feeling you might need it.”

Jesus, this girl. “Yeah, I do.”

Smiling, she placed it over his shoulder. He pressed down on it with his right hand.

“Fuck!”

She dropped the hand that had returned to his dick. “Sorry! I forgot they were cold.”

A rough laugh escaped him. “Just surprised me.”

You’re constantly doing that.

She rubbed her hands together. “Might be better if you hold while I …” She licked the crown of his cock, and he forgot all about her cold hands and his aching shoulder and the two games they’d just lost. All he could focus on was Georgia’s pink lips and cat’s tongue and what she was about to do to him.

With his free hand he pumped his dick while she placed both hands on either side of his body.

“You gonna suck me, Peaches?”

“I might lick you first. All over.” She applied her tongue to the underside of his cock, flat against the pulsing vein, then worked it over from base to tip. Pearls of pre-come leaked from the slit and his good little kitty lapped it up before taking his cock head and sucking it into the wet warmth of her luscious mouth.

He lay back, reveling in the glory of his gorgeous wife sucking him off, taking him inside her sweet mouth, inch by hard inch. Watching her pleasure him was the hottest thing he’d ever experienced.

The pressure was building, his balls filling and needing release. Any second now …

“Gonna come, baby.”

She didn’t pull off. Just kept that perfect suction, her lovely mouth giving it her all, until he exploded and unloaded down her throat.

So good. So tired. But she needed him …

He pulled her up to lay by his side and yanked at her yoga pants. His hand between her thighs was like coming home.

“Banks, your shoulder.”

“Fuck my shoulder. My wife needs to come.” She was already so wet and on the edge of going off. He could tell from those needy little sounds, the way her body curled around his hand. He could tell from the way her eyes hazed over with desire yet still managed to lock onto his and give him everything he needed.

This connection. This moment.

This is why I have no regrets.

Her body tensed and the feel of her muscles tightening around his fingers got him half-hard again. She came with a cry and collapsed against his side.

He didn’t remember the rest as exhaustion finally claimed him.