I see her and it’s all over for me.
At least for tonight, anyway.
“I’ll be back,” I mutter to Dax as I push away from the bar, snagging my beer at the last second.
Shouldering my way through the crowd filled with twenty-something yuppies here to take advantage of the last few minutes of happy hour, I keep my eyes locked on her. How could I not, when those full, wet lips wrap around a straw sticking out of her fruity-looking cocktail, prompting wild images of those same lips wrapping around my cock.
Before I can reach her, another man—who I’m sure is having the same lewd thoughts as I am—steps up to her and blocks my view. An involuntary growl rolls up out of my chest and I grip my beer bottle harder than necessary. More images swamp my brain and I can see myself cracking the bottle over the fucker’s head. I figure at that point I’ll just drag her off to my lair like a caveman.
“No, thank you,” I hear her say as I pass behind her.
“You’re going to turn down a free drink?” the man asks incredulously.
Stepping to her other side, I set my beer on the bar and lean an elbow right beside it. Her neck twists and her gaze locks with mine. Fuck me but those eyes are incredible—a golden color that I’d noticed earlier from across the bar. Even in the soft light provided mostly by neon beer signs, they almost glowed. I noticed that along with her gloriously long chocolate-colored hair as it flowed down her bare back revealed by her sexy halter top. Long-ass legs and curves everywhere. Tits, hips, ass—all fucking spectacular.
The original plan had been to buy her a drink too, but that’s clearly not the way to this woman’s heart.
“What can I offer you besides a drink that would get you to talk to me?” I ask her.
Well, fuck. I’m not much of a reader.
I shake my head with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Not my thing.”
“I just finished a reread of The Count of Monte Crisco,” the other guy says, moving in closer to her. I’m gratified by the humor that flashes in her eyes before she twists her neck the other way to give him her attention.
I see an opening and make my move. Staring over the back of her head at him, I correct his slip of words. “It’s The Count of Monte Cristo.”
The gorgeous woman whom I am bound and determined to take home tonight turns right back my way. My eyes drop and I grin at her. “I read it in high school. I have a good memory, so we could talk about that if you want.”
“I meant Monte Cristo,” the man blurts out almost frantically, but she doesn’t look back his way.
Instead, she holds out a perfectly manicured hand to me. “I’m Brooke.”
“Bishop,” I return as I shake her hand. I have an inherent sense that she would not be charmed if I kissed it.
Motioning to the stool beside her, I ask, “Mind if I join you?”
“Be my guest,” she says sweetly, swiveling slightly to face me. She uncrosses her legs and recrosses them, not even bothering to pull down her scandalously high-riding skirt. It’s black with shiny silver threaded through, and the silvery top she’s wearing displays a set of fantastic tits. I noticed them when I first saw her, but since coming to stand beside her, I’ve kept my eyes meticulously locked on her face. She knows they look phenomenal and that I’ve already looked.
“Are you here by yourself?” I ask her, because while not totally unusual, most women dressed like that come out in packs for a night of fun on the town.
That works for me.
“Gotcha,” I say as I pick up my beer and hold it up to her. “Then hopefully I can keep you well entertained in her absence. So what did you think about The Count of Monte Cristo?”
The fashion thing I get right away. I’ve dated enough women and paid for enough designer bags and shoes to know that Brooke is very much into high-quality retail. However, her refusal to let a man buy her a drink tells me she’s also independent, so she may not be into a man buying her those things.
Honestly, I wasn’t into it either—buying someone I was dating something expensive. I did it, I guess, as sort of a thank-you, and it was something they’d wanted. I did it knowing exactly what it meant to them. The women I date—and that most professional athletes date—are in it for the lavish lifestyle I can provide, with even grander hopes it could be a permanent thing one day.
It’s just the way it is.
“So what does this fashion magazine kind of girl do for a living?” I ask her, getting settled into the type of conversation that I hope will spark enough of a connection that I’ll be fucking her later.
Her smile is neither coy nor flirty, but as direct as her gaze. “I do event planning. What about you?”
“Sounds exciting,” I say, having no goddamn clue what that even means.
Funny. So did I.
Now would be a good time for me to wow and amaze this woman with the fact that I’m a professional hockey player and I just moved here to join the newly franchised team, the Arizona Vengeance. And you know, if it puts her in my bed all the more quicker, so fucking be it.
I shoot a quick glance down the bar where I’d left Dax, my teammate who joined me here in Phoenix direct from our positions with the New York Vipers. The Vengeance is the first team that’s been added to the league in eighteen years and I’m not overly thrilled to be here. This year the Vipers are poised to give the Carolina Cold Fury a solid run for their money for the championship, and now suddenly to be moved out west to an expansion team has not made me happy. It’s why a night fucking my brains out with this gorgeous creature would be a great way to end my summer vacation before training camp starts tomorrow.
Dax is talking to a woman—leaning intimately close—and I’m guessing he’s going to be getting lucky tonight. My eyes come back to Brooke, and I decide to leverage my star status to move things along. If my gut is right about this sexy-as-fuck lady, it’s going to be a long night.
Before I can even tell her about how I’m a hot-as-shit right winger, she leans into me and places a hand on my thigh. “Bishop?”
I swallow hard, frozen by the softly suggestive tone in her voice and because her eyes seem to glow golden as she stares at me. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to be honest,” she murmurs from way down deep in her throat. “I came out tonight looking to have some fun. I’m homesick and out of sorts, and don’t know anyone around here other than a coworker I met today and who stood me up. I’ve had three of these daiquiris and I’m feeling frisky. Do you have any interest in getting out of here?”
Jesus fucking Christ. I just scored the jackpot of all jackpots. The absolute most gorgeous, hottest woman in this place tonight and I didn’t even put forth an ounce of effort other than to remember The Count of Monte Cristo. My eyes cut to her drink glass. “Three of those?”
“I’m not drunk,” she says as she starts to pull her hand away.
My hand clamps down on to hers, holding it tight to my thigh. My muscles leap under her touch. “Didn’t say you were, and I figure I’ll know soon enough when you get off that stool and start to walk. Just want to make sure you don’t wake up with regrets.”
She appears to be fine. Her speech is clear and our conversation was quick and natural. Some women would be blitzed on three drinks. Others wouldn’t be affected that much.
“I never have regrets,” she tells me while lifting her chin.
I stare at her a moment, gauging the truth in her words and the way she holds my gaze without blinking. There is nothing I want more in this moment than to go home with this woman and make her come over and over again.
But more than that, for some reason I just don’t want her to regret it.
Finally, I give her hand a short squeeze as I stand up from my stool. I help her alight from hers. “Let’s get out of here. Just need to let my buddy know I’m leaving and then I’m all yours for the rest of the night.”
“Perfect,” she says, flashing me a blinding grin in return. Christ, those teeth are as perfect as the rest of her. Can’t wait to feel them scrape down my cock, because I sure as hell plan on using my teeth on her.
I have to admit, I was genuinely confused as to what type of lover Brooke would be. She propositioned me in the bar and didn’t bat an eye when I suggested her place rather than mine since Dax is my roommate and he called dibs on our apartment when I told him I was leaving.
But in my car, she shyly said she didn’t have any condoms and we’d have to make a stop. I wasn’t chagrined when I told her I was covered, because what self-respecting single dude doesn’t go out prepared?
Turns out, her boldness in seeking a one-night stand didn’t strictly translate into the bedroom. She was borderline timid at first when we first started making out, but by the time we were naked, she was grinding down onto my fingers as she came for the first time. Brooke yanked hard on my hair as she groaned out a primal release and demanded, “I want that again.”
So I attacked her clit, this time with my mouth, while my fingers worked at her slippery pussy. She fucking tasted amazing, and the sounds I pulled out of her were even better.
And as much as I know it’s going to feel spectacular when I blow my load, I don’t want it to come—no pun intended—from her efforts.
Not this time, anyway.
I want to be the one to make her come a second time, and the way she’s bouncing on my dick with her fingers furiously rubbing herself between her legs, while hot as fuck, takes away my power and control.
The muscles in my arms, chest, and back contract hard as I lift her off me. I ignore her hollow cry of surprise, followed by a whine because I took that orgasm away from her, and flip her onto her stomach. My hand dives between her legs and I give her two fingers.
Christ, she’s so fucking wet and responsive.
Moving into place and covering her from behind, I pull her up to her hands and knees before thrusting back inside of her. Brooke screams at the invasion, my cock burrowing in deep as fuck. She arches her back, tossing her head, and that soft hair I’ve been itching to fist floats across her back.
She moves slightly and one shoulder drops. Brooke gasps and I lean slightly to the left, not for one second forsaking the pounding I’m giving her.
She groans and drops her hand so it flattens out on the mattress. Her immediate submission to my demand causes my balls to tighten, and I wonder what else I can get away with. Bringing my hands to her hips, I start riding her rough. She throws an arm out, palm now splayed on her headboard as she braces against me.
“I’m so close,” she pants.
“Give it to me, Brooke,” I mutter as I lean over her, bringing a hand to the headboard. I grip it tight and use the leverage to throw myself into her. Sweat drips down my temple, lands on a perfect ass cheek still red with my handprint.
“Oh God,” she moans. “Oh God.”
“Come on, baby,” I urge her, resisting the call of her clit. I could give it a slight pinch to get her to shatter, but I’ve never been about the easy way.
“Bishop,” she groans as I pound into her so fast my balls start to hurt from the motion. “Bishop.”
My finger is still wet from her juices, so I press my index finger to the sweet rim of her ass. Brooke sucks in air and lets out a keening cry as I push my finger in deep.
She fucking explodes, both her pussy and her ass rippling and contracting all around me.
Sweet, motherfucking waves of pleasure rage through my body, so powerful I feel dizzy.
I have a goddamn full-body orgasm that rips me apart.
Brooke continues to moan, rotating her hips as her orgasm seems to go on and on and on.
“Jesus,” I groan in both repletion and stunned surprise over whatever the fuck that just was. Her body starts to sag under mine, and I let my weight come down onto her slowly. I leave my cock tucked in place but gently slide my finger out of her, rolling us both to our sides. My arms wrap around her stomach and we lie in silence as we start to come back down to earth.
That was fucking incredible.