Page 78 of Hooked
“Oh, no reason,” I lied. I ran my nails up and down his torso, inching ever-closer to his waist. My tease worked: a bulge began to swell in the crotch of his trousers. Hunter sighed as his length thickened and inched down the thigh of his pants.
I kissed the nape of his neck and whispered in his ear, “Oh! Looks like you're getting excited.”
“Damn right I am.” He took my wrist and guided my hand between his legs.
I whispered in his ear again as I caressed his throbbing manhood. “I'm yours, Hunter.”
“That's what I like to hear.”
“So how do you want me?”
He didn't have to think it over. Hunter turned around and tackled me, stapling my backside to the couch. Hungrily, he kissed me. Impatiently, his hands slithered up my shirt and bra. A heat between my thighs began to grow—and Hunter stoked that needy fire with every selfish grab, lick, grope and suck.
Soon his hands were between my legs, too—slipping under my waistband, then slipping under my panties, then his warm fingers were softly thrumming at my already-sopping-wet folds. Hunter toyed with me until he had me helplessly thrusting my hips at his mouth. I begged for his lips, his tongue, his cock.
With my legs spread high above my head, Hunter mounted me and pushed in.
“Hunter!” I moaned as I felt every inch of him—rock-hard and pulsing—part my lips and glide along my wetness.
Chapter 28:
Negotiations
Rockwell
Three months later.
I raised my fist. But before I knocked on the door, I straightened my tie and blew out one last heavy sigh.
Okay. This is it.
I knocked.
“Come in,” a voice on the other side answered—it was the Blizzard's general manager, Jon Walton.
I stepped in and waved. “Morning, Mr. Walton, how are you?”
“Hello there, Hunter! I'm great. Take a seat.”
My agent was already seated and waiting for me. I sat next to him, two of us side by side, and Mr. Walton on the other end of his executive desk. Behind Mr. Walton, floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breath-taking glimpse of the mountains, reveling in the morning sun.
It was a view I'd hate to give up; but then, I guess that decision wasn't really up to me in the first place.
Mr. Walton clasped his hands and stared at me over the desk. “Hunter.”
“Yes?”
“I'll be honest. When we traded for you three years ago, we imagined things would go … differently.”
My agent immediately went on the defensive on my behalf. “Now, Mr. Walton, speaking statistically,Hunter's G/60 and P/60 are only a small regression from the mean, and—”
Mr. Walton held up a hand to silence him. “We don't need to debate the numbers. I'm talking about something more intangible. I'm talking more about Hunter's dedication to the team; the question of his leadership.” Mr. Walton frowned. “Specifically, rumors of the partying, the night life, and so on.”
I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Of course, since then, we've learned what was bothering you. And your play down the stretch, in which you carried the team into the playoffs, and then into thesecondround of the playoffs, was exactly what we'd hoped to get when we traded for you.” Mr. Walton swiveled from side to side in his chair as he stared at me thoughtfully. “Tell me how you feel about your future, and the future in Colorado.”
“Well.” I took a deep breath and anxiously ran my palms on my knees. “First, you're right. When I came here, my life off the ice was a mess. I'm sorry for that. I didn't know how to ask for help. Maybe I didn't even know Ineededhelp. Honor has been such a huge part of my life in helping me turn that around. I feel like I've got my balance back. This off-season is totally dedicated to my training. I'm going to come back faster, stronger, more determined than ever. Partying? Those days are behind me. I don't drink anymore besides the occasional glass with dinner.”
