8. Blakely

CHAPTER 8

BLAKELY

“Some of these rookies are really cute,” Reese says to me and Monroe as we all gather to chug some much-needed water in the kitchen.

“Are they all Badgers?” Monroe asks, scanning the crowd that either mingles around us, or is going in and out of the back door heading toward the pool area or the waterfront down below on the edge of Clay’s property. “I don't know all of them yet,” she continues. “But some of them I don't recognize.”

“Pretty sure a lot of the rookies brought friends of friends,” I say, taking another swig of water.

“That one has been staring at you pretty hard,” Reese says casually, giving us the right line of sight to turn and look at who she's talking about.

It's a blonde guy I don't recognize. Tall, fit. He smiles at me when he catches us looking.

“When you're not dancing with Wolfe, that is,” Reese finishes as we all turn back around, me cringing at getting caught looking.

“He's cute, but he's definitely not a Badger,” I say.

“Is that the new requirement for intimacy interest?” Monroe asks, nothing but playfulness in her eyes.

“No, of course not.”

“Could’ve fooled us,” Reese says. “You've been on the dance floor with Wolfe at least three times tonight.”

A warm flush dances beneath my skin. I try to hide my smile behind my water, but my best friends know better.

“He's fun,” I admit when they give me incredulous looks. “We’re friends.” I eye Monroe. “And you've been dancing with Pax all night too.”

Monroe gapes at me. “I know you're not comparing your very new friendship with my friendship that has lasted since I was a kid.”

She has me there.

“It's okay for you to admit that you like him,” Reese offers.

“I don’t like him like that!” Monroe argues, and Reese laughs.

“I was talking to Blakely.”

“Oh,” Monroe says. “Right.”

“It doesn't have to mean anything serious,” Reese continues. “Nobody expects you to go from one serious albeit toxic relationship to a new one.”

“You deserve to have fun,” Monroe encourages.

“Then why are you guys giving me shit for dancing with him? Have you seen him move? It's like magic. He doesn't give a shit who's watching him either, which as you both know is totally new for me.”

“We've seen you two,” Reese says, smiling at me.

“And we're happy for you,” Monroe adds. “We just don't want your mind to get in the way.”

I purse my lips at my friends. “You two don't know me,” I say sarcastically.

“And can we take the heat off of me for a second?” I ask, eyeing Reese. “You were the one who was having all kinds of flirtation going on with Nash tonight… Reese’s Pieces .”

“Omg, the nickname. He’s so original,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He’s even more arrogant than the media portrays him. And I most certainly was not flirting with Nash Stokehill,” Reese says a little too loudly, and Monroe and I cringe at the same time.

“Could’ve fooled me, sweetheart,” Nash says, having been on his way across the house right past us as she said that.

Reese looks at us with utter betrayal in her eyes before she turns around, catching Nash’s gaze, but he doesn't give her time to say anything before he continues on his way.

She whirls around, accusation in her eyes. “You couldn't have told me he was right behind me?”

“He literally walked in from the back door, manifesting out of the darkness, how was I supposed to know he was there?” Monroe fires back

“Oh my God, I'm mortified,” Reese says, ducking her head into her free hand.

“Don't worry about it,” I say. “He's probably wasted. You know how he is at these parties. There's no way he's going to remember that tomorrow.”

Reese looks up at me with hopeful eyes, and Monroe and I nod enthusiastically to assure her.

Silence falls over our little group for a moment as we continue to hydrate, and my eyes trail across the room locking onto Lawson, who’s talking to Pax near the dance floor where Monroe and I left them.

His eyes find mine easily, and he flashes me a grin before he returns his focus to Pax. And goddamn if my stomach doesn't flip from that look alone.

“I'm ready to call it a night,” Reese says after she finishes her water. “I'll see you two tomorrow?”

“Do you want one of us to go with you?” I ask.

“No, I'm good. I haven't had anything to drink tonight. I'll text you guys when I make it home.”

We give her hugs, then watch as she heads out of sight.

“Lucky for me, I have a DD,” Monroe says, raising her water toward Pax across the room. “Because I had way too many drinks during beer pong.”

I bite back my smile. “Pax is a sweetheart for drinking water during the game to ensure you get home safely.”

“Yeah, he's such a good buddy,” she says, but the way she’s looking at him doesn't indicate anything buddy like to me.

Or maybe it does, because I've been very diligent about calling Lawson my friend and nothing more, and yet my thoughts about him are anything but friendly.

Maybe I've got this whole intimacy thing wrong. It definitely wouldn't come as a shock, seeing as my experience thus far has been anything but explosive.

“I'm ready for more dancing,” Monroe says, dropping her empty water bottle in the recycling bin and winking at me before heading over to Pax. I silently indicate that I'm going to finish my water and then I'll be right behind her.

I take another few sips, draining the contents before tossing the bottle in the recycling bin.

“Hey, you're Blakely, right?” a masculine voice asks, drawing my attention to the right and away from the dance floor.

The blonde guy from earlier is now at my side, looking down at me with hopeful eyes. “That's right?”

“Sorry, my friend Jonas told me about you,” he says, pointing behind him to where I recognize a rookie talking to a few others across the room. “He says you're one hell of a skate coach.”

I nod, and say thank you , not really sure what else to say. I may be at a work morale event, but the last person I want to be right now is Coach Wren. I've been having way too much fun tonight as Blakely.

“I'm a horrible skater,” he says.

“I'm sorry, I don't give private lessons unless you're on my team.”

“Oh no, that wasn't me asking for lessons,” he assures me. “Just stating a fact. But to be frank, I saw you and thought you were the most beautiful woman in this house, and I couldn't resist the urge to come over and ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.”

“That's so sweet of you,” I say. “But I'm...” Holy shit, I’m about to say I’m here with someone. But I’m not. Not in any official capacity. And yet I have no desire to get to know this very attractive guy who is giving me attention.

“Are you here with someone?”

“She is,” Lawson says, coming up behind me and looking over me at the guy.

“My bad,” he says respectfully, and nods at me. “It was nice to meet you, Blakely.” And then he walks off.

I whirl around, giving Lawson a questioning look.

Reality seems to crash over him, and he cringes. “Shit. I just reacted. Fuck me, Blakely. I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. I shouldn't have laid claim to you. You want me to go back and tell the guy?—”

“Hell no,” I cut him off, and his hazel eyes flare.

“You're not pissed?”

I’m really not, and I have no idea what that means, but I’m not exactly in the mood to unpack it.

“I don't know,” I say a little playfully. “Maybe I am.”

Lawson seems to immediately catch on to my tone and mood, as he often does, and steps a little closer to me. “How can I make it up to you, damsel?”

Warmth trickles into my blood, swirling down to my core. My memory flies back to our first encounter when he promised orgasms and ice cream as a make-up method. I’m tempted to ask for that, but instead I say, “Give me another dance?”

His smile widens. “I'll dance with you all night if it means you're not mad at me.”

With the way this man behaves, he’ll be impossible to stay angry with, but I’m not about to tell him that. Instead, I let him take me back to the dance floor, the makeshift space in Kiplin's oversized living room where loads of people are dancing to the music that filters through the speakers both inside and outside of the house.

Lawson and I come together as easily and effortlessly as if we've been doing it for years instead of weeks. Just like during our private lessons, we’re attuned to each other's bodies and movements, which only makes moving on the dance floor that much more electric.

Plus, not being here in a work capacity makes my inhibitions much looser, and my mind is one-tracked when it comes to this man. He’s delivered the most incredible kisses I've ever had in my entire life. And yes I don't have that much to compare it to, but I am quite certain there’s nothing as addicting as Lawson Wolfe’s mouth.

“I'm flattered,” Lawson says as he looks down at me as we move to the music.

My eyes widen and panic creeps in. Did I say that out loud?

“That you'd rather dance with me than chat up a potential new prospect. Who knows, he could have been boyfriend material,” he continues.

Relief barrels through me, and I melt into his embrace just a little more as he sways us back and forth to the melody. God, just him moving innocently against my body like this has me wound tighter than a drum. I've never had this kind of reaction before, and I can't say that I hate it. Even when the anticipation and need feels like it might snap at any moment.

“I’m so done with boyfriends,” I say. “I mean, I only have one to compare the rest to, but in my experience, boyfriends are lacking.”

“Your ex definitely was,” he says. “But who knows, that guy might have been Mr. Right.”

“I'm not looking for Mr. Right,” I explain. “Brian talked about that all the time, and the way he did…it sounded more like a prison sentence than a dream come true. It was unnerving, toward the end.”

“About what?” he asks, shifting his hands on my hips and my back to dip me slightly and bring me back to him.

“About marriage,” I answer. “In the beginning, it’d been innocent enough, just a boyfriend sharing dreams for the future, but just like with everything else, it got more intense at the end. And I began questioning why I wasn't eager to spend the rest of my life with someone that I’d been with for years. I literally used to have panic attacks whenever he’d take me to fancy restaurants because I thought he was going to propose.” I sigh. “After I realized that, I knew I couldn't stay with him. How could I? Not only was he controlling, always commenting on what I wore or ate, but he was selfish in so many other areas. I feel like an idiot for staying as long as I did, but I had nothing else to compare it to. And who would want to spend the rest of their life with someone who never took care of them, in any regard?” I shake my head, flashing Lawson an apologetic look. “Sorry, that was a ramble.”

“Never apologize for saying what's on your mind,” he says. “I love hearing what's going on in that beautiful mind of yours.” He moves us, shifting easily from one song to the next. “I hope this isn't crossing a line,” he says, and my heart rate spikes. “But you mentioned something similar at the event a couple weeks ago. When you say he never took care of you, are you talking about all areas of the relationship?”

My lips part, a gasp rattling past them. I can tell from the way he’s looking at me what exactly he’s asking. I had brought it up at the event but hadn’t been too blunt about it. The shy part of me begs not to answer him, but the independent and hopeful part of me that trusts Lawson is the one that answers. “Yeah, even in the bedroom.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, to be fair, I'm not as experienced as you are. Brian is all I've ever known. So, I guess I can't really say that he didn't take care of me. But when comparing it to the times I’m alone, with myself, there is no comparison.”

A muscle in Lawson's jaw flexes, and he stills on the dance floor for a few seconds before returning to the motions. “That's a fucking shame,” he says. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

“I don't know about that,” I say, shrugging.

Lawson draws me closer, his hands splaying on my lower back as he presses our hips together. “You do,” he says. “You really fucking do.”

“What, you want to be the one to take care of me?” I tease, trying to get us back to that playful ground.

“If you let me,” he says. “I would take care of you right now.”

“Here?” The question bubbles out of me, shock making me almost immobile against him.

There’s no joking anywhere on his features. He's dead serious. “Right now, damsel. You say the word, and I'll take the edge off for you.”

Heat blazes across my skin, and my heart races against my chest. “That wouldn't be fair to you,” I say. “That would make me like all the other girls that use you for your... skills.”

Lawson moves us again on the dance floor, smiling down at me. “You’re nothing like that, Blakely. You wouldn't be using me. You'd be letting me take care of you because I want to.”

“And what would be in it for you? It's not like you want a relationship. And you know I don't either.”

“It would be a male pride thing,” he says. “Being the one to finally show you how amazing letting go can be.”

“I'm your skate coach, we shouldn't?—”

“Shouldn't,” he says. “Not can't . And if you want to go down that line of thinking, we shouldn't really have played that inappropriate game of Cards against Humanity together, either.”

He has me there, and if I’m being quite honest, he has me already.

It’s the logical, worried side of my brain that’s trying to get me to reconsider, but the part of me that desperately wants more of him, even if it’s just kissing, is begging me to comply. To accept his more than generous offer.

And who knows, maybe he’s bluffing. Maybe he’s doing that thing where he wants to make me squirm just because he enjoys the show. And maybe?—

“Relax, damsel,” he says, cutting into my thoughts. “I’m not going to toss you over my shoulder right here and haul you into a private room. Unless you ask me to.” He smirks. “You don't have to overthink my offer. I know there's a huge amount of trust involved, and if you're not there with me yet, that's fine. I'm completely content working to earn your trust.”

His words slice through any logical argument I could ever pose against the situation, and I draw him closer, my heart pounding with anticipation. “Don’t throw me over your shoulder,” I say. “In this skirt, I’d flash everyone.” I reach up on my tiptoes and draw him closer to me so I can reach the shell of his ear. “But…take care of me,” I whisper.

The words are barely out of my mouth before Lawson is shifting me, turning me around and interlacing our fingers as he gently guides me off the dance floor. He walks through Clay’s house, eyes scanning every inch of it as he turns this way and that until finally he finds Clay’s personal office, which is understandably empty with the party going on around it, and guides me into it. He quickly shuts the door and locks it behind us.

“I made sure nobody saw us,” he says before his hands are on my cheeks and he's dipping his mouth down and over mine.

I gasp at the contact, relief and excitement swirling inside me as I part my lips for him.

He walks me backward until my ass hits Clay’s desk, the lamp and pens sitting atop it rattling with the movement.

Lawson doesn't break our kiss as his hands find my hips and he hefts me up onto the desk, parting my thighs to step between them, bringing our bodies flush.

He draws back, one hand gliding behind my neck as he meets my gaze. “Tell me again, damsel,” he demands. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to take care of me,” I repeat, breathless, my chest rising up and down with my increasing adrenaline.

Lawson smirks before his mouth finds mine again, his kiss hungry and electric, sending sparks of need zapping down my spine. I lose myself in the kiss, completely at the mercy of his tongue and his lips and the way his hands roam over my body in a possessive way that makes me feel like I'm floating and on fire at the same time.

His hands slide down my body and reach my knees, slowly gliding up and beneath the hem of my skirt.

My heart jolts at the way his touch feels—powerful and confident and caring.

He kisses me and touches me like he’s starved and I'm the only thing that can feed him, and yet there’s no apprehension blooming in my chest. No worry or wish for this to get over with as quickly as possible.

Quite the opposite. I'm certain we could continue kissing like this for the rest of the night and I wouldn't get tired of it.

Lawson trails his mouth over the line of my jaw and down to my neck. “Fuck, Blakely,” he says. “You're so damn sexy.” He gently sucks on the sensitive part of my neck, sending my pulse skittering beneath his lips.

I shake my head, and he stills, drawing back so he can look me in the eye. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” I say. “I wasn't shaking my head at that. I loved that. I just...” My eyes fall to his chest, unable to finish my sentence, but he tips my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Tell me.”

“I don't think I'm sexy,” I admit, and wonder if I’m doing everything I can to kill this mood. Way to go, Blakely.

Lawson furrows his brow, his hazel eyes churning. “How can you say that?”

“When you get told often enough that you're not, you start to believe it.”

That muscle in Lawson’s jaw ticks again, and he closes his eyes as he lets out a low growl, leaning his forehead against mine, like he needs a moment to collect himself.

After he takes a breath, he leans back, slowly dragging his lips over mine.

“Your mouth is irresistible,” he says, and kisses me again. “It doesn't matter if you're barking drills at me or kissing me, I'm helpless against it.” His hands resume their roaming beneath my skirt, and he grips the globes of my ass, drawing me against him where he rests between my thighs.

I gasp at the contact, at the clear arousal hard beneath his pants brushing against me.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about getting my hands all over your beautiful body since the first time we kissed. It's all I can think about when we’re together,” he continues, each of his declarations doing everything to wind me tighter than I knew was possible.

No one has ever spoken to me like this, or about me like this, and it's making me absolutely dizzy.

“Blakely,” he says, his voice gruff. His hands are on my thighs, teasing just the insides of them. “You are the sexiest thing I've ever seen.”

His mouth crashes down on mine again, just as his right hand glides over my underwear.

I whimper at the contact, even though it's light and explorative right now.

“Fuck me,” he groans against my mouth. “You're wet,” he continues, holding my gaze. “Can I touch you?”

His question has my heart melting. I’m here, kissing him, begging him, and he still allows me a level of control I’ve never been given before.

“Please,” I beg.

His fingers slip beneath the fabric covering me. He brazenly drags his middle finger through my slit, and I gasp, arching slightly off the desk and into his touch.

“ Goddamn ,” he says. “Tell me how long you've been thinking about me, damsel.”

Damn him, how does he know? How can he read the reactions of my body and know that I've been thinking about him for much longer than I should’ve.

I reach for his mouth again, not wanting to answer, wanting to bury myself in his touch and in his kiss and in all things fantasy . He draws away slightly, a confident smirk on those damn impeccable lips of his.

He strokes me again, making me shiver, making my thighs clench around his hips. “How long?” he asks again, keeping his mouth just out of reach of mine, the game only making me want him more. He leans closer, flicking his tongue teasingly over my lips before drawing back, slipping his finger inside me an inch before drawing it back and circling it too lightly around my clit.

“How long, damsel?”

I cling to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I try to get closer. I’m desperate for all the sensations he's creating inside me.

He dips his finger inside me again, dragging it out slower this time, his eyes never leaving my face.

More, I need more.

I arch into his hand, but he pulls it out of reach, that wolfish smirk deepening.

“Since that first night,” I say, my words rushed and breathless. “Since you kissed me.”

His smile widens. “Did you touch yourself after?” he asks, kissing me hard before pulling away. “Did you pretend your hand was mine?”

Lava streaks through my veins as he teases my wetness too lightly again.

“ Yes ,” I breathe the admission.

He bridges the small distance between us, claiming my mouth and sliding his finger inside of me at the same time.

I whimper, my hips instinctively bucking against his hand, wanting more—no, needing more.

“Look at you,” he says, pulling back enough to look down between us. He slides another finger inside of me, filling me, stretching me in the best possible way. Gliding his fingers in and out as he teases my swollen clit with his thumb. “Look at how fucking amazing you are,” he says, his voice rough like it's been scraped over gravel. “So goddamn sexy.”

I look where he indicates, my skirt bunched around my hips, his muscled forearm leading down and flexing every time he curls his fingers inside me. The sight makes me go liquid in his arms, and my entire body trembles as he continues to work me up into white-hot knots.

I've never felt this way before. Never been so completely consumed by somebody before. My grip on him intensifies, and my eyes flash up to his.

“Lawson.” His name breaks free from my lips as everything builds inside of me, like a storm gathering toward an explosive precipice.

Lawson’s free hand snakes around my lower back, and he pulls me closer to him as he brings his mouth down on mine and grinds the heel of his palm against my clit as he pumps into me.

I unravel completely.

An explosion of sparks break free beneath my skin, traveling from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes, making my thighs tremble as I rip my mouth away from his, gasping for air as I throw my head back, my entire being shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

My heart races and my head spins as Lawson’s pumps slow, and he plants languid kisses along my jaw and neck until I'm limp against him.

Gently, he pulls his hand back, bringing his two middle fingers to his mouth and sucking them.

The sight has me whimpering as I watch him lick my flavor off his fingertips.

“I've been wanting to know what your pussy tastes like since the moment I saw you.”

I feel drunk on him despite not having one drink tonight.

I feel lost for him, and I like it.

I reach between us, going for the belt on his pants, but he gently grips my wrists and pulls me away.

Rejection threatens to steal all my blissful feelings, but he kisses me, hard and hungry. “Not tonight, damsel,” he says.

“Why?” I ask, and quite possibly whine .

He grins down at me. “If you unzip my pants right now, I'm going to be inside of you within seconds. And I refuse for my first time with you to be on top of my captain's desk. Regardless of how bad I want you and how fucking hot you look right now.”

A warm shiver travels down my spine, and he cups my cheek. “I want you,” he says. “Don't you fucking doubt that for a second.”

I'm still trying to collect my bearings, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the notorious and confident Lawson Wolfe is restraining himself from fucking me because he wants our first time to be somewhere more intimate.

I can barely wrap my head around what that means, let alone what he just did to my body.

Because I may be able to give myself a good release, much better than my ex ever could, but what Lawson just did?

It was earth shattering.

It was addicting.

And that made it terrifying.

“What do we do now then?” I ask.

Lawson smiles and plants an almost sweet kiss against my lips as he gently helps me off the desk. He draws back, smoothing my hair where his hands tangled it, and gives me a quick look over.

“Now we go back to dancing,” he says, and guides me discreetly out of Clay's office, and back to the dance floor as if we’d never left.

As if he could sense that I was not ready to take that next step, mentally anyway. My body is more than ready to let him in all the way. Somehow, he’s smart enough for the both of us, and it makes me melt for him just a little bit more.