Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Cam

I know by the smile on her face that I'm in way over my head.

And I can't give a fuck.

So, I don't fight her as she pushes me back onto the rug, don't argue when she climbs on top of me, when the slick, swollen folds of her pussy brush at my cock.

"Condom?" she asks, slowly lowering herself, rubbing against me, driving me crazy with the wet heat I'm desperate to fuck.

I want to tell her to forget it, that I'm clean, that I can't get her pregnant.

But that isn't a conversation for now, isn't something to decide in the heat of the moment. So, I make a herculean effort to reach up onto the narrow row of shelves, snag my wallet, and pull out the condom that I keep inside.

"Jackpot," she whispers, tearing the packet open with her teeth and holding it up like it's the best prize ever.

And then she's rolling it down the length of my cock, making me see stars. I bite back my groan, the urge to flip her and drive deep and fast into that tight, wet cunt. I'm sweating and my hands are shaking, and my control is razor thin by the time she sits back on her heels and smiles at me.

Fuck.

That self-satisfied smirk isn't helping.

Not when she's so fucking beautiful, so confident, so ready to take exactly what she wants.

"Teasing?" I rasp when she circles the base of my cock, her cool fingers stroking the bare skin beneath the edge of the condom.

"Appreciating," she says. "Knowing that I need to get my mouth on this gorgeous dick again. Knowing that I need to feel you coming down my throat."

Fuck.

"Cupcake," I warn.

Her smirk grows and she leans in, brushing her nose against mine. "I'll get you to explain that nickname." A press of her lips against mine. "But later. Right now"—she straddles my waist again, rests her palms by my shoulders—"I need you inside."

I open my mouth, but I don't get anything out except for a groan because she's notching the head of my cock at her entrance, shifting her hips, and?—

" Fuck ," I groan.

But she's right there with me, hissing out a breath as she takes me to the hilt, her moan filling the air, her pussy clamping tightly around me.

It's intoxicating and dangerous, and I'm desperate to buck up into her, to grasp her waist, to take over.

It would be great.

But this is better, watching her face change as she takes me deep, watching her eyes glaze with pleasure, watching her tits bounce as she rides me faster, rides me harder.

"That's it, baby," I coax. "Rock those hips. Take me deep. Fuck me hard."

"Cam," she whispers. "I?—"

I hear it in her voice, know exactly what she needs now that I've tasted her and touched her and been inside her.

She needs more .

I reach down and slip my hand between us, locating that sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her cunt, stroking my thumb over her clit with no quarter?—

" Cam!"

Yeah, that's it.

She moves faster, grinding down onto me, her pussy clamping tight, so tight that I can feel my orgasm hovering, knowing that I need to get her there before I fucking blow.

I circle her clit, press more firmly, can't resist gripping one hip and grinding up into her as she strokes down.

"Oh," she whispers, her head falling back, her rhythm faltering.

So, I do it again. And then again.

And then?—

"Fuck," she moans.

I feel it, the flutters of her pussy, the orgasm rippling through her, and the taut rhythmic squeezing of my cock fractures the last bit of my control.

I come apart, thrusting up into her, knowing I'm groaning way too loud, but not giving a fuck as I come harder than I've ever come before.

My vision hazes. My nerves are on fire. I grind deep once, twice, maybe a hundred times more before I go limp, every part of my body lax and heavy.

"Jesus Christ," she mutters what might have been minutes or hours later.

"Seriously," I manage to say, though the words sound slurred, like I'm drunk. "That was insane."

She's slumped against my chest, her face pressed into my shoulder. "Yes. That." She lifts up enough to meet my eyes. "We can just stay right here for the next ten hours right?"

Then she's dropping her head back down, her cheek against my chest, her breath teasing my skin, her arms and legs limp—though there is one thing that's still tense.

That pussy of hers is still holding tightly onto my dick.

Which is why I don't care about the storm outside.

Nor the bridge destroyed by the river.

Or the possibility that the generator might not do its job.

Or what will happen when we get out of here.

I just wrap my arms around her and hold her close.

"Yeah, cupcake. We can stay right here."

"Jesus Christ," I hear as I stand next to the river bank, trying to figure out if there's a way to get across without drowning.

I turn and see Athena has picked her way across the mud pit that was my yard. She pauses at my side, staring out at the water.

"I don't think I've ever seen water move that fast."

I shift a little closer, needing to touch her even though it's been barely ten minutes since I peeled myself away from her gorgeous body. When my shoulder brushes hers, she glances away from the roaring river and up at me, eyes soft in a way that makes me want to claim her forever.

"Snow melt plus storm," I say, giving into the urge to slip my arm around her shoulders and draw her a little closer. I hold my breath, half expecting her to pull away, but relief pours through me when she stays close.

Though that's probably because she's shivering.

Speaking of which, I turn us, start guiding her back to the house.

"Should we try to find a way out of here?" she asks quietly. "If the river keeps rising?—"

"It's expected to crest in the next hour," I say, pushing the door open and drawing us inside. "We have power and cell service. Yeah, we'll keep an eye on the water height, but the safest place right now is staying put until we get the all clear."

"Hmm." She scowls.

"What?"

Her nose wrinkles and it's fucking adorable. "Why are you being reasonable?"

"Are you that much of a workaholic that you can't take the weekend off?" I counter. "It's Saturday. Hopefully tomorrow the roads will be clear enough that we can make a plan."

"And come Monday?" she asks, not addressing the fact that we both know is true—she is a workaholic and would happily be in the office all weekend, even if she wasn't doubly focused because of what happened with Tommy.

"You have your laptop?" I ask.

She just shoots me a droll look, as though to say, Do I have my head?

"You have your laptop," I say dryly. "Work the weekend if you need to. Kill some orcs with me and eat junk food if you don't. And come Monday, hopefully we'll be able to get out of here?—"

"Hopefully?" An arch question.

"At the very least, we should be able to get across the river, hitch a ride to town, and rent a car to drive home, yeah? As soon as I get the bridge fixed"—or more likely, buy a prefab replacement bridge and have to pay more than this cabin cost to get it installed, but…that's life being lifey, especially after this season ended like it did—"I'll get your car back to you."

Her expression sobers. "What?"

I frown. "What do you mean what? I'll get you back to the Bay, cupcake."

"I know you will." She shifts to fully face me. "But all of a sudden you've got shadows in your eyes, Cam. Is this about"—her eyes flick down—"because injury or not, DNA-contributing-ability or not, you were incredible."

Not gonna lie, that feels good.

Also…not gonna lie, I can't pretend I don't know what she's hinting at.

"I'm…" I sigh. "It's not that I can't have kids biologically." Then add as she opens her mouth, protest in those big brown eyes, "I feel that deeply," I whisper. "And I know I'm just starting to deal with it. But…" I sigh again. "What's hard to let go of is Coach's bullshit and how the end of the season went. I didn't have my head in the game, and it wasn't pretty. And I know I'm going to have to start training soon, so it won't be long before I'm on the ice and dealing with him and Pat and the other assholes again. I need to do better, need to make sure I'm pulling my weight, need to make sure there's nothing that can rattle me."

Her brows drag together. "Didn't you have, like, the most points last season of your entire career?"

I still, something like hope in my veins before I shove it down. "Yeah, but it doesn't really matter."

Now her eyebrows flick up. "Gonna clue me in why?"

"We lost in the first round of the playoffs, Ats. And I know I directly caused at least one goal and thus one loss. It's just fact."

"And what were the other twenty-odd dudes on the team doing?"

I still.

"Exactly," she says triumphantly.

I scowl.

"You're not alone on the ice," she presses. "And even if you were, sometimes shit happens and things go wrong, and you can't blame…"

She trails off, probably realizing that this advice should apply to the both of us.

"Damn," she whispers a moment later.

"It's good advice," I say. "But easy to give and hard to accept."

Her nose wrinkles. "Ugh."

Grinning, I snag one of the bags of junk food she brought in. "Car Snack?"

" Now you're getting it," she says reaching inside and pulling out a bag of gummy bears. She tears open the top, starts shoving them by the handful into her mouth.

"Gonna run out of Car Snacks you keep going like that," I point out.

A shrug. "I'll call into the office."

I lift my brows in question.

"Request some drones to deliver us better snacks."

" Better than Car Snacks?"

"Well, these would be Trapped by a Flooded River Snacks, so they'd clearly be superior."

I snort. "And the full cupboards and bags of food you brought in aren't enough?"

"One," she ticks off on her fingers, "those full cupboards are packed with healthy crap?—"

I chuckle.

"And two, I was anticipating a four hour drive, not being trapped with a ravenous hockey player with an affection for Snickers?—"

I had, in fact, devoured the king-sized Snickers from the bag. But still, there are four full bags of snacks. The thought of going through that much junk food in the next two days is…

Well, not impossible because we can both eat .

But certainly improbable.

"—if I had anticipated having to fill your hollow Jackson leg, I would have brought twice as much."

I laugh and shake my head. "I'm scared to think what you'd bring on a road trip."

Her eyes dance. "Why's that?"

"Because you wouldn't have room for clothes."

" I happen to think"—she slides her gaze down my body and I feel heat flicker in my stomach, feel that flicker grow into a full-on inferno when she steps close and drags her hand across my chest, down my torso, slips it under the waistband of my sweats to grasp my cock—"that clothes are highly overrated."