Page 47 of Blindsided By You

The entire practice session, I keep my head down, work extra hard, anything to keep Robbie Sharpe’s critical eye off me. I’m sure tech-enhanced hearing isn’t his only superpower. Where his daughter’s concerned, I bet he’s got a finely-tuned sixth sense that detects horny guys who are trying to get into her pants seconds before he obliterates them. I try to shove away the nervousness and anticipation battling each other like opposing hookers in a scrum, unsure who’s going to take control of the ball.

Instead, I focus on Connor’s calm instructions, Razor’s barked directions, and focus on the here and now. The brutal pressure of the scrum as Nathan and I attempt to balance the weight of the pack; the shambling tumble of a maul, my brain scrambling to locate the ball under the untidy heap; the bruising tackle when one of the lads from the second division team who we’re practising against nobbles me, arms wrapped around my hips, propelling me into the ground with a painful thud but not before I’ve flicked the ball to Brodie.

Practice goes well. Coach delivers his usual mix of threats and encouragement before Saturday’s pre-season match against Ardnish R.F.C.—not a formidable opponent, but we never take a team for granted. There’s energy in the room, confidence buoyed by the way our combinations are coming together, the set pieces looking steady, and the old Cluanie flair catching fire, ignited by Robbie Sharpe’s belief in us.

The solid forward pack, mostly older experienced guys like Kyle and me, and Nathan too, already works in sync with our lively backs, anchored by the baby of the team, Brandon Smith at fullback. There’s a sense we’re going to annihilate Ardnish, and in the buzz of anticipation, no one notices my extra-quick shower.

First out to my vehicle, no one else is there to observe me leaving the grounds. I turn the van, not right towards the pub where they’re all going to meet for a feed, paying lip service to Razor’s booze ban even though we all know there’ll be one or two pints sunk. Instead, I take the road to the left, in the direction of Jenna’s place and the promise of heaven.

Chapter 24

JENNA

Alittleaftereight,I hear the front door open and Geordie’s footsteps on the stairs. I exhale in relief. There’s no time left for the ridiculous parade of questions that have marched through my brain for the past two hours. I’ve spent too long debating where and how he should find me. Like a teenager on a first date—not a woman who’s already had sex with him two times. Or was it three? No matter, it’s crazy for me to make such a big deal of this.

In the end, I’m in my bedroom, sitting on the small sofa by the window, my book in hand, dressed in a pair of shorts and a singlet top. There’s a tentative knock and Geordie comes in.

His damp hair triggers a memory of him just days ago, in my hotel bathroom—rivers of water cascading over us, and me gazing up to see his head thrown back, his hair soaked, darkened wet curls framing his face, eyes clamped shut in pleasure, while I took his length in my throat. I swallow hard and drag my focus back on the present.

“Hey,” he says, his mouth tipping up in a small smile, dimples still visible beneath the scruff on his face.

He’s let it get a little untidy since the weekend and thoughts of how that might feel with his head between my thighs, his mouth rough and hungry, come rushing in. He slides onto the sofa beside me, taking up the space, so there’s nothing between us, his muscled body warm as he slips an arm around my bare shoulder and presses a kiss to my forehead. I close my eyes a moment, drinking in the smell of his body wash, fresh like a summer breeze off the sea.

Putting my book down, I lean back to survey his face properly, glide a hand across his cheek, and ruffle the beginnings of a beard.

“Quit shaving, huh? Trying to amp up the cowboy vibes?”

“Yeah,” he grins. “Do you like it? I’ll get rid of it if you don’t.”

“Yeah, I like it,” I say, tilting my head up to kiss him.

It suits him, makes him look older, and maybe I like that too. I’m honestly still a little awkward about the age gap. It’s stupid, I know, but thinking of Geordie as more my age, helps me push aside the not insignificant and mildly disturbing fact that he’s my friend’s younger brother. Sure, I’ve been out with a couple of younger guys before, but none where the difference in age is so clearly defined by years of memories like it is with Geordie. It’s why I deflected Rachel away from the topic of Edinburgh and her brother when she phoned this afternoon. I know I should tell her, but I’m uncertain of her reaction.

“You’re still OK with this, sweetheart?” he says, leaning in, his mouth working around my neck and along my bare shoulder, small licks, nips and kisses sending shudders through my already sensitive body.

“A-ha,” I say, lounging back against the arm of the sofa, giving him greater access as a hot tongue skims along my collarbone. Hands, and then mouth, rove across my stomach and breasts.

“Not good enough, Jenna,” he insists, his words a hot breath through the fabric of the singlet, searing my skin. “I need more than an ‘a-ha’. It’s a yes, or we’re not doing this.”

“Yes,” I squeak out as he plucks at a nipple. “Yes.”

“Then be a good girl. Lie back there for me, honey.”

I love all these little endearments, almost as if the western clothes have taken over his speech patterns too. In these intimate moments between us, Geordie might have been plucked straight out of Yellowstone, a gentleman cowboy. Or maybe not such a gentleman once the clothes come off.

One large hand is already busy undoing the zipper of my shorts, while the other flicks open the button. Within seconds, my shorts are around my ankles and my already drenched thong joins them, removed with a little more finesse than last time. He’s learning.

I’m no longer left to imagine what his beard might feel like between my legs as he sinks to his knees, and my breath hitches as his mouth settles deliciously on my centre. Between the attention of his hands and the relentless caress of his lips, Geordie sets to work with determination, within minutes taking me to the edge, then pulling me back again, until I’m begging him not to stop. Who’d have known my kind Geordie was capable of inflicting such exquisite torture?

“I’m going to come,” I gasp as I reach for it once more, and he draws away again.

“You get to come when I say you can come, pretty baby,” he says, scattering kisses along my shuddering thigh, while I lie panting in frustration. “But I’ll let you in on a secret. You only have to ask. Are you ready to ask? Something tells me you might be.”

He drops his mouth to my clit, blue eyes looking up, locked on mine as he watches me climb the heights again until I close my eyes, riding wave after wave of rippling pleasure. This time I’m ready to ask. Beg even. Anything to make him take me that bit further and plunge right off the crest.

“Oh, God, oh God, please,” I gasp, my need overwhelming every thought, as if without release I can’t even breathe…and the bastard pauses once more.

“Last time I checked, my name wasn’t God.” I feel his smile against my centre, even that minute flicker of his lips, a taunting taste of the pleasure they hold.

---