Sin Bin (Carolina Comets), page 4
On my scan of the room, my gaze skates right over a pair of amber eyes I’m all too familiar with, then jumps right back.
Smith.
His gaze is locked on me, and I swear I can feel his stare raking over my body as if he were actually touching me. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am—about the last time we were in this bar together.
About the time we met.
About how I’d just moved to the city and went home with a stranger and spent two days having the most intense sex of my life only to find out he was a player for the team I’d just signed a contract with.
He has to be thinking about it too. There’s no way he’s not.
Not with the way he’s looking at me.
I’m thankful I have my thick hair swept up in a bun because sweat breaks out across the back of my neck as he drags his eyes from my crossed legs, over my simple white blouse, to my face. His stare is so intense it feels like he’s touching every inch of me, which is ridiculous since he’s across the room.
He lifts his drink to his lips, drains the amber liquid, and then rises. Suddenly he’s not safely across the room anymore—he’s stalking across it…and heading for me.
I don’t take my eyes from him as he practically glides through the crowd, his massive six-foot-six frame towering over everybody. His wide shoulders carve a path as he eats up the distance. He’s changed into a pair of jeans that cling to his legs, showing off his strong thighs, and a simple dark blue Comets t-shirt with the number twenty-seven displayed on it. His dark hair is peppered with silver, his beard full but shaped cleanly, and it’s so unfair because he’s frustratingly handsome, the kind that forces you to notice him. It’s intoxicating, and I’m buzzed just being in his presence.
He doesn’t stop until he’s sliding onto the stool next to me.
The moment he sits down, Rod appears. “Another Jim and Coke?” the owner asks.
Smith nods. “And a whiskey sour with a lime wedge instead of lemon.”
He remembers.
Rod looks over at me and squints. I wonder if he remembers too. If he does, he doesn’t comment, just says a quick “Coming right up” before he taps the bar twice and turns to make our drinks. He works fast and is sliding them across the bar top in under two minutes before hurrying off to help other waiting customers.
I sip eagerly at the sour mix, downing nearly half of it in one go before finally turning to Smith. I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to the punch.
“What are you doing here?”
I snap my mouth shut. Is he serious?
My brows slam tightly together. “Last I checked, this is a free country. I’m allowed to be here just as much as you are.”
He sighs. “Of course you’re allowed to be here, but you’re usually not. So, what are you doing here, Emilia?”
The way my name slides past his lips sends a shiver down my spine. I think since I’ve known him, he’s only said it a few times, and never as intimately as he did just now.
When I don’t immediately reply, he scoffs. “Let me guess—this is about the player profile thing?” He takes a sip of his drink, shaking his head. “You’re wasting your time. It’s not going to happen.”
“And why not? The fans voted for you. They want that glimpse into your life. Are you really going to deny them when they give so much to you?”
“Are you guilt-tripping me?”
“Maybe.”
Yeah, okay, so maybe I am laying it on thick right now, but I kind of need to. He has to agree to this because I want that promotion bad. If it means spending more time with Smith—which I really don’t want to do—I’ll do it.
I’m not going to let one weekend that happened over two years ago dictate the rest of my life. We need to move on from it.
“You know I’m right. You owe this to them.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Do I though? I put my body on the line every night for their entertainment. Am I really the one who owes them?”
“Yes, getting paid millions to play a game is such a hardship.” I roll my eyes. “Look, can’t you just agree? It won’t take much time out of your schedule, and if it makes you feel more comfortable, I won’t be the one following you around. I can have Blake cover it all. I don’t think that’ll go over well for the promotion, but we’ll get it figured out in the end.”
“Promotion?” His brows crush together, drawing my eyes to the scar that cuts through his right one. I never did get the chance to ask him how he got it, and I really want to know.
I nod. “Yeah. Tori’s quitting.”
“Oh, good. That lady scares the shit out of me even.”
I laugh at that, considering how big and scary he is. But that just proves my point even more—Tori is terrifying, and she’s not messing around when she says she wants Smith for this series. If I can’t get him on board, I can kiss that promotion goodbye.
“So, this is why you want me so desperately? For a promotion?”
I choose to ignore his phrasing and the way it makes me feel. “Yes. It’s my dream job.”
“Funny, I seem to recall that you weren’t even sure things were going to work out here for you.”
I did tell him that back when we first met, and I meant it. I didn’t know if uprooting my whole life was a good idea at the time, but I had to try it. There was no way I was going to be able to stay in that small town and face my ex and the woman he fathered a child with while we were together.
“A lot can change in two and a half years.”
“Tell me about it,” he mutters quietly.
We sip our drinks in silence for several minutes. Then several more minutes, and several more.
I have no idea how long we sit there, but the silence becomes unbearable, and I can’t go another minute sitting in it.
“Are you really going to make me beg, Smith?”
His head whips my way, and I immediately regret my choice of words. We both know what happened the last time I begged him.
His eyes spark with a darkness I am all too familiar with, a darkness I yearn to awaken in him again, even though I have no business yearning for it at all.
I don’t know how or when it happened, but we’ve inched closer to one another…too close, dangerously so…yet neither of us makes a move to put space back between us even though we both know we should.
His eyes drop to my lips, then he slowly drags them back up, and the fire that’s blazing in his gaze burns hotter.
“Smith…”
I don’t know why I say his name. I’m not exactly sure what it is I even want.
Do I want him to kiss me?
Do I want to kiss him?
Yes.
The word whispers through my mind, even though it shouldn’t, and I inch closer to him, even though I shouldn’t.
“Can I get you another drink?” Rod asks.
We jump apart like we’ve been caught doing something we shouldn’t, and quite frankly, we have. This bar is full of hockey players and other members of the staff—how could we be so careless?
Smith nods, and we don’t speak until Rod slides fresh drinks in front of us.
The hockey player tosses his whiskey back, nearly finishing it in one gulp like he hasn’t had a drink in days.
I don’t touch mine. I’m not a big drinker, and I’m already feeling buzzed. I don’t know if it’s because of the alcohol or Smith. Either way, I should be careful so I can keep my wits about me.
“I’ll do it.”
His words are quiet, but they still cause me to jump, probably because his voice comes out all scratchy like he hasn’t spoken in hours when it’s only been minutes.
“Huh?”
“The player profile…I’ll do it.”
“You will?”
He nods. “But I have one condition.”
Of course he does. “Name it.”
“I want you.”
My breath is stolen from my lungs with those three words, and my thighs clench together of their own accord. “E-Excuse me?”
“I want it to be you,” he amends. “I don’t want to have to answer questions, play silly games, and make ridiculous content and whatever else with some random person. I want it to be you.”
“Smith…” I say quietly, and that’s all I say because he knows what I mean.
It’s a bad idea. Horrible, really. The worst damn idea he’s ever had.
But he seems determined. I can see it in his soulful golden eyes.
“Okay,” I relent. “Okay.”
“Good.” He nods. “Good.” He clears his throat. “When do we start?”
I can’t help but laugh at how pained the question comes out. “Well, we won’t start filming anything yet, but I’d like to talk about what to expect with the series since it will last for the rest of the season. Perhaps we can meet after your morning skate tomorrow?”
He winces but nods again. “That’s fine.”
I know I’m asking a lot of him. Smith is a private guy.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “It means a lot to me.”
He glances down, and only then do I realize I’ve placed my hand on his arm. I yank it back quickly, like touching him is suddenly burning my skin.
Slowly, he drags his eyes back to mine. “For the fans.”
I swallow. “For the fans.”
Except it doesn’t feel like it’s for them at all.
This feels like it’s for us…when we both know it can’t be.
6
EMILIA
Two & a half years ago
* * *
We ride the elevator up to his apartment in silence, much like most of our drive here was spent.
We don’t need to talk. We both know what this is—one night together.
When we reach his floor, his hand falls to the small of my back as he steers us down the hallway. He doesn’t stop touching me, not even when he slips his key into the door and pushes it open. When we cross the threshold, I take my first breath in what feels like hours.
I’ve never gone home with a strange man before. When I met The Dick, it was through a mutual friend, and we went on five dates before we went back to his place. Before him, I’d only dated two guys, and neither was serious.
This…this feels different than anything ever before.
“How old are you?” I blurt out.
“Thirty-six.”
Holy…
“How old are you?”
I wring my hands. “Twenty-six.”
“Christ,” he mutters, and I’m sure he’s thinking the same things I am.
He’s ten years my senior.
He’s too old for me, much more experienced.
And yet, I don’t care.
I step toward him, reaching out and fitting my hands around his massive biceps. “I want this.”
He screws his eyes shut tight like he’s warring with himself over this new revelation.
Just when I think he’s about to shove me away and call me a ride, his hands find my hips, and I hear him mutter, “Screw it.”
Then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is searing, and I swear I feel it down to my toes. His mouth ravages me, taking control and kissing me hard. Our tongues tangle together, and it’s wet and hot and everything I could have hoped for.
Before I know it, my back is pressed against a wall, and Smith is right there, shoving a knee between my legs. One hand cradles my head, the other digging into my waist, fingers beginning to dip into the waistband of my jeans.
He trails his lips down my chin, over my neck, nibbling and sucking at me until he reaches the swell of my breasts. When he realizes my shirt is in the way, he wastes no time peeling it off before placing me right back where I was. He buries his face in my chest, kissing at all the exposed skin before pulling a cup of my bra down.
He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t hesitate. Just covers my nipple with his mouth and sucks hard.
He uses his teeth and his tongue to tease until I’m pulling at his hair, needing him to move or do something else because I need something else. He catches my drift…and moves directly to my other nipple. He teases me just the same, pulling me to the edge of frustration before finally popping free.
With one hand, his eyes on mine, he undoes the button of my jeans, then slowly peels the zipper down. Just like before, he’s touching me without any preamble.
His hand slides into my jeans and inside my panties. He grazes over my clit, causing me to moan in pleasure, but he doesn’t stop. No—of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t quit until he has one finger pumping in and out of my drenched pussy.
He’s not inside me long before he pulls his finger free.
“Oh god,” I cry out. I can’t tell if it’s from pleasure or the pain of being so close to the edge and getting backed away yet again.
Then he’s pulling my jeans down my legs, only stopping to slide my shoes from my feet.
I’m standing before him in nothing but my underwear. My tits, swollen and wet, are hanging out of my bra, and there’s an obvious wet spot on my panties.
“Almost there,” he mutters, stepping into me.
He reaches up and pulls the ponytail holder from my hair, letting my long, red waves cascade around me. He steps back to admire his work, palming his hardened length through his jeans.
“Fucking perfect.”
His eyes slowly rake over me, taking in every single inch until I’m squirming beneath his heated gaze. There’s a fire in his eyes burning so hot I’m certain I’m going down in flames as I stand here.
“Do you like sucking cock, Emilia?” he asks quietly.
I swear my mouth waters at just the thought of it.
I nod, licking my lips.
“On your knees, then.”
I don’t argue. I drop to my knees, already knowing I’m going to love the sting I’ll feel on them tomorrow, and watch as he strips his shirt over his head, then undoes the button on his pants. He drags the zipper down, frees his cock, and waits.
When I reach forward for him, he shakes his head.
“Put them behind your back.”
I do.
“Good. Now come here.”
I scoot closer, the roughness of the tile edges digging into my skin.
“Open up, Emilia.”
I drop my jaw.
“Good girl.”
He guides his long, thick cock to my mouth, running the head of it back and forth along my tongue. I can already taste the saltiness of his pre-cum—and I already want more.
He gathers my hair up with one hand, pulling it tight and tipping my head back.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth. If at any point you want to stop, just grab my leg. Understand?”
I nod.
“Use your words, Emilia. I need confirmation.”
“I understand.”
“Good girl,” he says again, and I love the words just as much as before.
He makes good on his promise. He pumps his cock in and out of my mouth, slowly at first. Then, his movements get bolder…deeper. So deep he prompts my gag reflex a few times. When I react, he backs off, waiting for me to tap out.
I never do.
He pushes to the back of my throat over and over again, sometimes holding himself there, seeing how much I can take. I have no idea how long we do this for, how long he fucks my mouth, but I love every single second of it. I just wish I could touch myself; I’m aching so badly, need the release more than I’ve ever needed one in my entire life.
Like he can sense it, he pulls off, and we’re both gasping for air.
“Need to fuck you,” he says, pulling at my hair, tugging me off the floor.
He presses me face-first against the wall, pushing my hands flat and pulling my ass out.
“Don’t move.”
I wouldn’t dare.
I listen as he rustles around in his jeans, then wait as he rips open the condom. He grunts as he slides it down his length. I can’t see him, but I hear him move his hand over his cock a few times before I feel the blunt tip against my entrance.
He leans over me, his lips at my ear. “By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to forget all about him.”
I’m almost embarrassed by the whimper that leaves my lips as he presses into me slowly.
“Oh shit. You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers, sliding into me inch by sweet inch.
When he’s to the hilt, he pauses, letting me adjust to his size, then he gently begins rocking into me.
So…damn…slowly.
He pulls out until just the tip of him is inside me, and then he slams back in. I gasp at the pain that’s quickly overtaken by pleasure burning through my veins.
Smith chuckles, then does it again. And again. He wraps one hand around my hair, tugging at me until my head falls back and his lips are on my ear.
“I’m really going to fuck you now, Emilia. Are you ready?”
I nod because it’s all I can manage.
He pounds into me again and again and again, so hard and so fast I’m up on my tiptoes, clawing at the wall, needing a reprieve. I’m torn between wanting to run away from him and wanting to push back and meet his thrusts. Something tells me all I need to do is stand right here, letting him use me.
And fuck, does it feel good to be used like this.
Out of nowhere, my orgasm hits me. It’s so hard and intense as stars explode behind my eyes, and I think I might even stop breathing for a moment.
Suddenly I’m being spun around, my legs wrapping around his waist, and I’m thankful for it because I’m not sure I’d be able to stand much longer. Smith carries me down a dark hall into what I assume is his bedroom. He drops me onto the bed, then crawls between my legs, wraps one around his waist, and slides home again.
“Oh!” I cry out when he hits that spot that drives me wild.
He slams into me again, and another whimper leaves me. His thumb finds my clit and he rubs at it in short, rough circles.
“I can’t,” I tell him.
There’s no way he’s going to make me come again. I have literally never orgasmed twice during sex.
