FOURTEEN
Vadim slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Isobel. The clock on the nightstand said 2:15 a.m. Having lain awake for the past hour, he wanted to ensure that she was sleeping soundly before he took care of business.
Specifically, the business of his painful erection.
A night of firsts. The first time he had made Isobel come and the first time he had slept with a woman and not come himself. There was a cruel symmetry to this.
Not that the night’s events had lacked for opportunity. But from the moment he’d slid her panties off her body, from the moment his fingertips had touched her soaking pussy, he had vowed to make the night about her. After the first time, there were three more times, each more intense than the last. He had much to make up for. His pleasure could wait.
With each new orgasm, she slipped further into a semiconscious dream state, her plaintive cries of, “Let me touch you, Vadim,” fading until she finally fell asleep.
His cock had not followed suit.
He could wake her, but he’d rather take his punishment. The nearest of the two bathrooms in the suite was twenty feet away, but he passed it and headed to the one farther. Let his Girl with the Blazing Skates get her rest. She had earned it.
He would not be playing tonight and he understood that trade-offs needed to be made every day. Protecting Isobel from Shay’s filth was more important than getting ice time. There would be other chances to play, just as there would be other chances to sink inside her.
A groan spilled from his mouth at the thought. Isobel’s thighs falling open to finally embrace him, that shining invitation to line up his cock and push in, in, and home.
Facing the bathroom mirror, he wrapped his hand around this rampant beast that needed to be tamed. The first touch produced an instant leak at the broad head. This wouldn’t take long, just a few strokes to get him there.
Thinking of Isobel, he might need only one.
“Vadim?” he heard outside the door. “Are you okay?”
Chyort voz’mi! He dropped his hand. “Da—yes. Give me a moment.”
But he had left the door ajar, and she walked in, gloriously naked, her eyes wild. “What’s going on, Vadim?”
Well . . . “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Her gaze fell to his cock, which turned harder at the sight of its mistress. It should have been impossible, given how close he was to blowing his stack, but apparently this was his life now.
“You were going to go solo with this?” Amusement tinged her voice. It was no laughing matter!
Irked at her teasing, he foisted the blame back on her. “I had given you all the pleasure you could handle tonight, kroshka.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “I think we’ve determined that I can take anything you dole out, baby.”
Perhaps, but he would not inflict his insatiable demands on her. “You fell asleep in my arms, Bella. It seemed rude to just take you while you were sleeping.”
She stared at him in amazement, then stepped in and placed a hand on his chest.
“You spent hours giving me orgasm after orgasm after—”
“Orgasm?” he offered.
She pressed her body to his, and his cock jutted into her belly, a streak of liquid pleasure marking her warm skin. He inhaled sharply, desperately grasping at the tethers of his slipping control.
“So now you’re here jerking off alone instead of taking what belongs to you?”
His nostrils flared, every masculine sense heightened. Moya. Mine. Yes, she belonged to him. Then. Now. “I was taking the edge off. I planned to fuck you properly when you had rested.”
She brushed his lips with her own, then licked and bit his lower lip. He moaned against her mouth and ground his cock into her stomach.
“Tonight you can have me anytime you want me, Vadim. Please don’t jerk yourself off unless you invite me to watch.”
An animalistic groan tore from his throat, and in a flash, he hitched her so she sat on the bathroom counter. His hands roved her body, not knowing where to start with this feast.
“What can I do, Vadim? Touch you? Suck you? Tell me what you need.”
“You. I need you. I need . . . inside.” He could barely form words. “Now.”
She spread her thighs, her glistening pussy shining like a target, and he could no longer wait. He plunged into her and filled her to the hilt. She screamed her pleasure, clamping down with those strong, athletic muscles. Pure and perfect torture.
He withdrew, dipping his gaze to where their bodies had joined, and realized his error. No condom.
Frustration marred the ecstasy on her face. “Get one on. Now!”
Yes, my sweet. Fumbling with his toiletry bag, he found the packet and ripped it open. His cock was coated with her—she was wet, so wet—and the lubricant of her body ensured a quick roll-on of the rubber. He placed his hands under her ass and dragged her forward.
“Hold on, Bella. Do not let go.”
But before he plunged deep again, he found her mouth with his and kissed her with all he had. She dug her nails into his ass and urged him forward. “Fill me up, Russian.”
“Koldunya!” Witch.
He drove deep, a thick, hard thrust that would have smashed her through the vanity’s mirror if he had not been holding her tightly. His rhythm was unsteady, ragged, every stroke an extension of the jumbled thoughts in his brain.
Harder. Faster. Make it better than before. Better for her.
Realizing that he needed to think of her pleasure, he slowed.
She moaned against his mouth. “Don’t stop. Take what you need, baby. Make it fast. Brutal. Make it everything.”
If only she knew what she asked. If he were to do that, he would consume her.
But his cock had heard her words and didn’t care about the destruction it wanted to wreak. All restraint broke its bounds.
His hips flexed, pounding into her again and again. Taking what belonged to him. What had always belonged to him, though he had been too young to understand.
I will not last. I cannot last.
She heard his thoughts. Perhaps he had spoken them. Still holding on to his shoulder, she dipped the fingers of her free hand between their bodies and touched herself, freeing a lusty moan. He knew her body now. Knew she had to be on fire because that was her torch song.
“Yes, Vad, yes!” He felt the flood of her pleasure, a heat infusion even through the condom, and though he was ready, he stilled. Needing to feel her hold him caged through her orgasm.
Feel what it is like to have your woman come on your cock, you dumb fucking kid.
This time he had given pleasure that was her right. Two more thrusts and he let go, the peak reached, coming for what seemed like minutes. Hours. Forever.
Spent, he lay his forehead against hers, panting his way back to even. Their breaths found a steady tempo, a strange peace after an encounter that had felt like a battle.
Still buried in her, he kissed her softly. “That is why I left your arms.”
“Because I don’t deserve sex this good?”
He smiled at her take on it. “I knew I could not be gentle. It would be an invasion. A conquest.”
“Good thing I have this need to be conquered.” She stroked a line along his jaw. “You’re the one who said we should be honest.”
“Men will say anything to get what they want.”
“So will women.” She pressed her lips to his. “You know, I thought you woke me up. I could’ve sworn I heard you saying, ‘Bella, I am here. Wake up.’ I must have dreamed it. I was so confused that you weren’t there in bed with me.”
“You have a common condition called orgasm brain.”
“Let me guess. The cure is more orgasms?”
“How did you know?” Chuckling, he slipped from her and disposed of the condom. Then he scooped her up into his arms.
“Vadim! I’m too heavy. And you have to watch your knee.”
“Yes, Coach.” Ignoring her protests, he carried her back to bed. She was as light as air, and he felt invincible with her in the cradle of his body.
A satiated and showered Isobel found Dante in the hotel restaurant, fully suited up, perfectly put together, slicing into his eggs Benedict with a strange formality. Evidently the man was incapable of leaving his room without looking like David Gandy’s runway understudy.
He’d had a short but successful career in the NHL until a bum knee—the same injury as Vadim’s—prompted his retirement. Contrary to the image he presented now, he was known then as an enforcer at a time when there had been more violence in the league. She’d seen videos—this guy knew how to fight. Hockey brought out the darker, baser instincts of a person’s personality.
She sat opposite him. His heavy sigh was a smidge over the top.
“If you wanted to eat alone, you should have ordered room service.”
“The eggs are always better in the restaurant.” He placed his knife and fork down. “You’re late to the begging party. I’ve already had St. James and DuPre knocking down my door this morning, not to mention the whole defensive line stopping by to give their opinion before I had my coffee.”
“Then you won’t mind one more. Not a peep on social media, so we’re in the clear. You need to reinstate Vadim for tonight’s game.”
“The decision has already been made. We have a zero-tolerance policy for violence”—he acknowledged her brow lift with one of his own—“off the ice. It would be one thing if no one had witnessed it, but there were other players there. We can’t be seen to favor one team member over another.”
“If it hasn’t made it online by now, then it won’t at all. Reinstate them both. Put it down to bad judgment, crappy alcohol, cabin fever. This game is important, Dante. We have to win twelve of the next fifteen to be in with a chance of qualifying for the play-offs. Petrov needs to be on the ice tonight.”
She’d left him in the early hours, sleeping off a night of use and abuse by hers truly. Hopefully he’d have enough energy left to play if Dante made the right call. And on the subject of use and abuse, she shifted in her seat, her body sensuously sore after the night’s exertions. The Czar of Pleasure had finally lived up to his royal title.
“You know what I said when I came on board, Isobel. I’m not taking orders from the owners.”
“I’m not asking as an owner, Dante. I’m asking as a coach, a team player, and a Rebels fan. We’ve all got something to prove, but let’s not allow what I need to prove to be at cross-purposes with what you need to prove. The team is all that matters.”
He smoldered in her general direction for several seconds. Fortunately her time with Vadim had built up in her a semidecent immunity to hot masculine glaring.
Finally, he muttered, “I’ll take it under advisement.”
“Dante—”
He held up a hand. “My eggs are getting cold, Isobel, and whining only makes them inedible.”
Sensing victory, she hid her smile as she stood before she and her whining left the restaurant, feeling pretty damn optimistic.