The Season: Rush (Austin Arrows #1) (20 page)

Kingston

I’m having a hard time breathing.

It all started when I noticed Ellie unbuttoning her shirt, slowly revealing smooth skin and a black lace bra. Although I could stand here and watch the striptease without feeling an ounce of guilt, I know I shouldn’t. I definitely
want
to, but that doesn’t make it right.

Ellie has been drinking and she isn’t thinking straight. Still, the only thing I can think about is how fucking much I want this woman.

When I insisted on taking her home to ensure she arrived safely, I didn’t think much past opening her front door and watching her go inside, maybe depositing her on the couch. Leading her in and helping her to her bedroom wasn’t on my original agenda. I know from experience that her couch is comfortable. She could’ve slept right there, and I would’ve done my good deed for the day and wouldn’t be torn between giving in to the overwhelming desire I have to strip her naked and slowly slide deep into her welcoming body or…

I’m not even sure there is another choice at the moment. Not with the way she’s looking at me.

“Kingston.” The whispered word sounds more like a plea, and I’m hard-pressed to fight my need for her.

“We can’t do this, Ellie,” I say, wanting to rip out my voice box so my subconscious can’t speak for me anymore.

We
could
do this.

God, I want to do this so bad it fucking hurts.

“Spencer won’t find out.”

That is the least of my worries, to be honest. I’m fairly certain that I will be able to recover from any physical pain Spencer puts me in for fucking his sister, but I won’t be able to recover if Ellie wakes up tomorrow and regrets what we did.

And she will regret it.

I’ve been around through all of the dates she’s had in the past decade—of which there really haven’t been many—and I recall her swearing off that particular man she’d gone out with after the encounter. Every time.

I’m not going to allow her to push me away. Not when I haven’t yet had the chance to pull her closer.

“Let’s get your boots off,” I tell her, placing my hand on her chest and gently urging her back.

Her skin is soft and warm against my palm, so much so that I’m distracted by my body’s ridiculous physical response to her. So when Ellie grabs my wrist and shifts my hand so that I’m cupping her breast, I damn near pass the fuck out.

“Ellie, no. We can’t,” I urge, my hand gently kneading her breast as though I’ve said just the opposite.

“Touch me, Kingston,” she pleads. “Please.”

Fucking hell. Resisting this woman when she isn’t begging is hard enough. When she is…

She’s drunk.

Right. She’s been drinking, and I shouldn’t do this.

My hand isn’t listening, continuing to caress her, my fingers dipping beneath the edge of her bra, the backs of my fingers sliding over soft, smooth flesh, teasing her nipple. Ellie’s back arches, her hand still holding my wrist as I fondle her gently.

“We can’t do this, Ellie,” I tell her again, wondering who the fuck is speaking out of my mouth as I rest one knee on the mattress between her thighs and lean over her. Apparently my body is detached from my common sense, because the words spilling out of my mouth are the right ones, but my actions are proof that no one is listening to me. Not even
me
.

I just want a little taste. Just enough to sate me until tomorrow when she’s sober and I can convince her that this thing between us is too strong to ignore.

Dropping my head, I press my lips to her collarbone, kissing her softly. When she moans, her other hand sliding behind my neck and pulling me closer, I feel my control slip. With the fingers I’ve been caressing her with, I tug her bra down, revealing her nipple.

Pink.

Her nipples are a dusky pink, just as I imagined.

And hard.

Perfectly puckered, begging for my mouth.

“Lick me,” she urges.

My control slips another notch, my tongue sliding over her skin, moving lower as I curl it around the hardened point.

Ellie sucks in a breath, her hips shifting, her denim-covered pussy grinding against my thigh, which is pressing intimately against her. “Please, Kingston. I need to come.”

I suck her into my mouth, lashing her nipple with the tip of my tongue while she rides my thigh, her hands tugging my shirt until it’s freed from my jeans. I inhale sharply when her soft hands slide along my back, her fingernails dragging lightly over my skin.

“Don’t stop,” she encourages. “I need more.”

This is so wrong. I know it, and I figure, even in her alcohol-induced stupor, she knows it. Only she has tequila to blame her lack of inhibitions on. Me … I’m stone-cold sober because I resisted the urge to do shots with my teammates when I noticed Ellie had opted to join them. Which means I have no excuse. I’m driven by pure and simple lust.

I’m also walking a very fine line that could ultimately backfire on me.

Still, I can’t stop.

I continue to lave her breast, nipping and sucking her smooth, warm skin while Ellie moans, her hands pulling me closer. I’m so caught up in the moment I don’t stop when her hands disappear and I feel them move between our bodies.

In the back of my mind, I know she’s unbuttoning her jeans.

I know that this is going to go further than I intended.

I know that watching her reveal herself to me is going to be the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever witnessed.

Hell, I know a lot of things, but the only thing I can focus on is making her moan my name again and again.

“More,” she begs.

I shift to her other breast, pushing her bra up this time, freeing both luscious tits to my hungry gaze. She shivers, goose bumps breaking out along her skin as I once again suck the hardened peak between my lips.

“Oh, fu-u-uck…” A throaty moan follows her words.

Ellie shifts beneath me, and a thud follows, which means she has managed to remove one of her boots. A couple of seconds later, the other falls to the floor.

I don’t think anything could possibly pull my focus off her tits, but then I feel her hand moving between our bodies, and I realize what she’s doing. Releasing her breast from my mouth, I fall to my side in time to see her hand dipping below the open zipper of her jeans, beneath her black lace panties as she works herself into a frenzy.

Okay, so
that’s
the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

She pauses to shove her jeans lower. “It’s so hot in here.”

Yeah, well … the more clothing she removes, the hotter it gets. For me, anyway.

I watch in awe as she manages to shove her jeans down her hips, then shimmy out of them without ever getting up from the bed. I damn near bite my tongue off when she once again dips her hand inside her panties.

God, help me now, because I’m damn sure not strong enough to help myself.

“Need more, Kingston,” Ellie cries out. “Make me come. Fuck. I need to come.”

The line between right and wrong blurs and then disappears completely as I cover her hand with mine, then guide her back down, our fingers sliding beneath her panties once more. I gently press her finger against her clit, applying enough pressure to make her cry out, the sound so sweet I want to swallow it, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the sight. I can’t see where our fingers brush her sensitive flesh, but I can feel the slickness, the warmth.

Fuck, she’s so wet.

“That’s it, little girl,” I urge, my voice laced with gravel. “I wanna watch you come.” I look down at her face and realize she’s watching me.

“Inside. Put your finger inside me,” she implores in a rough whisper.

I push my hand lower, finding the slick opening to her body with my middle finger. I tease her, pushing only the tip inside as she bucks her hips, attempting to force my finger in deeper.

I’m going to hell for this, I know that, but I can’t resist. Her pussy is tight, gripping my finger as I fuck her slowly, pushing in deep, then withdrawing. I wish it were my dick sliding inside her.

Her soft growl of frustration is followed by a satisfied moan as I push in again. Slow and deep. I fuck her with one finger, then add another. She continues to fondle her clit while I finger her and I watch, alternating between the sexy scene taking place between her thighs and observing her face as she succumbs to the pleasure.

“Make me come,” she groans.

My hand stills. “Under one condition.”

Her eyes widen as though she can’t believe I stopped. I don’t blame her.
I
can’t believe I stopped.

“Are you serious right now?”

I smile. I push two fingers inside, then slowly pull back. I resume the slow pace as I watch her face.

“Fine,” she huffs, her hips lifting off the bed as though that will help her get where she wants to be. “What’s your condition?”

Leaning down, I allow my lips to brush hers lightly, but I don’t kiss her. I want to, but that will only be another distraction that will take me off course.

“I’ll make you come tonight, Ellie. And tomorrow, when you’re sober, I’m going to do it again. Only this time, I’ll be the one making the demands. Understood?”

I suck her bottom lip into my mouth at the same time I drive my fingers deep into her pussy.

“God, yes!” she cries out as she explodes, her orgasm cresting, the tight walls of her cunt gripping my fingers as she comes undone.

“So fucking beautiful,” I whisper as she rides out her climax, my fingers still buried in her warmth. When her breathing returns to normal and her body relaxes, I lift my head and stare down at her. “I was serious,” I tell her, locking my gaze with hers. “I’ve dreamed about this, Ellie. A million times. But not once did those dreams ever result in only one night.”

“What about Spencer?” Her tone is hesitant. She still seems bothered by the fact that Spencer warned me away from her.

Personally, I don’t give a shit about that anymore.

“Let’s just worry about us for now.”

“Us?” Her eyes widen as though I just started quoting scripture or something. “There can be no
us
, Kingston. Whatever happens, it’s only temporary. I’ve got a daughter to raise and a restaurant to run. Not to mention—”

I put a finger from my free hand against her lips to quiet her. I’m not going to argue. I know Ellie. She’s strong-willed and as hardheaded as they come. When she sets her mind to something, there is no changing it.

I smile down at her. “No matter how many plays you have, you can’t predict the outcome.”

“This isn’t hockey,” she says with a snort.

“No, it’s not.”

I pull my fingers from the tight clasp of her pussy, then lift them to my mouth, slowly licking her juices from them. Her eyes widen and her breath hitches.

“What were you saying?” she rasps.

“Don’t assume the score,” I tell her, my voice low, “until the final buzzer sounds.”

23

Ellie

I’m woken by the scent of my favorite food wafting into my bedroom.

Mmm, bacon.

When it comes to bacon, I’m like one of those dogs on the dog treat commercials, salivating uncontrollably. I’m not ashamed to admit it, either.

It takes me a minute to convince my eyes to open, remembering quite vividly what happened last night. Yes, I had a few too many tequila shots—which, for the record, I’m convinced were created by the devil himself—but I’m not sure there is enough liquor in the world to keep the memory of last night from invading my brain.

Kingston made me come.

With his fingers.

I squeeze my thighs together as my body experiences the aftereffects from what was quite possibly the most incredible orgasm I’ve ever had.

I’m not sure whether that’s as good as it sounds. It actually seems rather pathetic. At thirty-four, I’ve had plenty of orgasms in my life, so for one intoxicated encounter with Kingston’s fingers to be in the spotlight…

Yep. Pathetic.

The sound of voices drifts down the hall, and I realize Kingston is in the kitchen with Bianca. Knowing I will never win a mother-of-the-year award if I stay in bed on a school day, I force my legs over the edge of the mattress and sit up.

Fully expecting my head to start pounding, I sit for a moment, but the pain never comes. Then I recall Kingston tossing me a T-shirt from my dresser, giving me a couple of aspirin, along with something to drink—a concoction he said would ensure I didn’t have a hangover—before he insisted that I get some sleep.

After
the orgasm.

The question is, did the medicine do the trick? Or was it whatever he’d mixed for me to drink? Or … (I seriously doubt this, but I may never know) was it the orgasm?

Rolling my eyes, I laugh-snort, then push to my feet.

“It couldn’t have been
that
good,” I mumble to myself. “Tequila is the devil, and everyone knows the devil likes to fuck with your head.”

I make a quick pit stop in the bathroom to pee, pull on a pair of pajama shorts, then take the time to comb my hair and brush my teeth while I’m in there, before joining my daughter and the goalie god in the kitchen.

Kingston.

Not the goalie god.

“Morning, Mommy,” Bianca greets, holding a piece of bacon between her fingers as she leans on her elbow. “Kingston came over to make breakfast.”

I look up at Kingston, our gazes colliding. I’m fairly certain he didn’t go home last night, but for the life of me, I’m not positive. After he medicated me with an orgasm, I passed out cold, my body sated.

Whether he stayed or not, he had the decency not to let Bianca know, for which I’m grateful.

“Morning,” he greets, that deep rumble once again stirring things up in my belly.

“Hey.” Pushing a lock of hair behind my ear, I turn my attention to Bianca, pretending it isn’t incredibly awkward for Kingston to be cooking breakfast in my kitchen. I glance at the clock on the wall. “Why are you ready so early?”

I plant my ass on the barstool next to Bianca and watch her eat. I notice the pink hair is now gone and in its place, a purple strand. I flick it with my finger and Bianca grins at me.

“Gabby’s mom is picking me up. We have to present our science fair project idea to my teacher this morning, remember?” she says around a mouthful of bacon.

When I don’t answer—because honestly I’m trying to remember—Bianca cocks her head and frowns. “She’ll also be picking us up today so we can go to her house to work on it.”

Sometimes it is hard to believe my little girl is so grown up. Seems like it was yesterday when Bianca was a toddler running around the house screaming at the top of her lungs. And good Lord did that girl have a good set of lungs on her.

“And then this weekend I’m gonna spend the night with her so we can finish the project.”

Right. This weekend. Four days from now.

I don’t look at Kingston, managing to mumble a thank you when he pushes a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. Why don’t my eggs and bacon ever look like something that should be on the cover of a magazine? And how in the world does a hockey player manage to accomplish that feat?

“What’re y’all gonna do today?” Bianca asks, seemingly oblivious to the tension that is sucking the oxygen from the room.

“I need to work on the bathroom,” I blurt before Kingston has a chance to speak. “And I have to be at the bar by four. I’ve got a delivery.”

“Yes, Mom,” Bianca huffs. “You have
got
to do something with that bathroom. It’s a pain to always have to go upstairs to pee.”

The half bathroom has been out of commission for a while, and rather than take the time to fix it, I’ve been putting it off. It’s easier to make Bianca go to her own bathroom and for me to use mine, but I have to admit, it is a little weird when guests come over.

“When’s your next home game?” Bianca asks Kingston, clearly not wanting details regarding the bathroom renovation.

“Thursday night,” he tells her. “Why, you wanna come watch me play?”

Bianca loves watching Kingston and Spencer play hockey almost as much as I do. I guess it runs in the family. Clearly Kingston’s family are hockey fanatics, too, since all three of the Rush brothers have gone pro.

“Can we, Mom?”

“We’ll see. Depends on how much of your science project you get completed.” I’m not sure how I feel about taking Bianca to another game just yet. The last one was without incident, but that doesn’t mean it’ll always be that way. Considering the publicity my pretend relationship with Kingston is getting, I don’t want my daughter to get caught in the crossfire.

“Her mom’s helping us. We’re doing one of the experiments today and the other one on Saturday.”

I’m tempted to ask Bianca if she could stay home this weekend and the two of us could go see a movie, but I know that is a cop-out. Bianca always looks forward to going to Gabby’s, and well, I’m simply going to have to suck it up and deal with the big goalie in the room. Maybe I really should start working on that bathroom.

Whatever I decide to do, it will need to keep my mind off Mount Rushmore and his magical fingers.

Don’t assume the score until the final buzzer sounds.

His words echo in my mind, reminding me once again of what happened between us last night.

I guess, technically, nothing happened
between
us; it was a little more one-sided than that. Okay, totally one-sided, as in what
he
did to
me
, thanks to my repeated begging, but still. Hell, he didn’t even kiss me, and I remember desperately wishing that he would.

“Earth to mom,” Bianca calls.

I blink the room into focus, realizing I’m staring at Kingston’s luscious mouth as he stands across from me on the opposite side of the breakfast bar.

“Sorry.”

“Gabby’s mom is here. I’m gonna go, ’kay?”

“All right.” I get to my feet. “Hug.”

Bianca wraps her arms around me and squeezes me tight. God, I love this kid.

“Love you, Mommy.”

“Love you, too, kiddo. If you need anything while you’re at Gabby’s, call my cell phone.”

“I will. Y’all behave yourselves.”

My face heats even though I know the words were innocent on Bianca’s part.

Unfortunately, at the moment, there is nothing innocent about my thoughts. Not when it comes to the goalie god gracing my kitchen.