Page 90 of Forecheck
“Brent…” I moaned. He was so much deeper like this, folding my body in half with every single pulse of his hips. I could only hold onto his forearms, corded with muscle and shaking from his efforts.
It was almost too much. Too much pain perfectly balanced with pleasure slowly radiating in waves from deep inside me. Too unrestrained, too reckless. Too fucking perfect for words. All I could offer was my body and whispered pleas tokeep goinganddon’t stopandright there, baby.
He gave me all of it, his hurried strokes the kind of pace only an athlete could manage without collapsing. Only his single-minded focus and intimate knowledge of my body could get me there so quickly, could have me unraveling beneath him. And when I was right on the edge, moments away from going over, Brent dropped his hand between us and rubbed my clit in time with his thrusts. Fast, jerky movements that drove me higher and higher and higher.
“Come,” he growled.
So I did.
My entire body went taut, Brent’s name caught in my throat, before everything released in a rush. My scream echoed around the room as he tore me apart, his own roar of release distant compared to the pleasure wracking my body. Every inch of me from head to toe spasmed, my eyes rolling far enough back in my head that I swear I saw stars. And Brent continued to pump us through it, slow, lazy strokes from both his cock and his fingers, designed to wring my orgasm for all it was worth.
When I finally stopped shaking, when he stilled and pulled free, I opened my eyes.
“My God,” I said, offering him a dazed smile.
“Not God,” he said proudly as he turned onto his side and drew me into the circle of his arms. “Just Brent.”
“Well,Just Brent, you are amazing,” I said, nipping and kissing his jaw. “Feel better?”
His responding chuckle shook both of our bodies. “Much.”
“If you want to talk about it, we can.”
Brent shook his head, his stubble rasping against my cheek. Then he ran his hand down my leg and hooked my thigh over his, reaching between us and lining his cock up with my entrance. I couldn’t fathom how he was already hard again, or how I was ready and willing to take him once more, but when heshifted for a better angle and pushed in on a long, slow stroke, I moaned in response.
“I don’t want to talk.”
We did end up talking, though conversation was stilted, constantly interrupted by Brent’s insatiable need to be buried inside me. I knew he was chasing demons away, but they’d come knocking eventually, and I wasn’t the type of woman to let him bury his head in the sand forever.
Especially not when my own happiness was tied up in these rumors just as much as his was.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” I said finally, gasping out the words as my chest heaved from our most recent joining. “But…we can’t fuck forever and forget the world exists.”
“Why not?” Brent asked, trailing lazy patterns over the skin of my stomach. “I like being in this bubble with you.”
“I love this bubble,” I told him honestly, “but we’ve both got responsibilities.”
“It’s weird to think I might not be here next week.”
Weirddidn’t even begin to cover it. To me, the prospect of him being traded was downright devastating. As a professional athlete—even though he’d spent his entire career in Detroit—on some level, Brent has been emotionally prepared for this kind of thing to happen. He’d given Detroit seven amazing years, leaving his entire body, heart, and soul on the ice every time he played. But player moves and contracts were business decisions. There was nothing personal about it, despite the concrete block that had settled on my chest.
It sure felt personal.
“Have you talked to anyone about it?” I asked.
Brent shook his head. “I was with Mitch when you called, but we didn’t exactly chat after. I just left and came home to you.”
Where we’d spent the better part of the last ten hours alternately sleeping and fucking.
“I just don’t understand,” I said quietly, burying my face in his chest. His arms tightened around me, and I settled against him, trying to fight off the anxiety clawing at me.
“It’s not fair,” he agreed. “But…nothing is set in stone yet.”
“But if you do get—”
“Don’t say it,” he said, pressing a finger against my lips, then replacing it with his mouth. The lingering kiss stole my breath. I could feel his pain, his worry, and his fear. “It’s a bridge we’ll cross if and when we come to it. Not a moment before. Otherwise, the what ifs will kill us.”
I rolled away from him and sat up, grabbing a pillow and clutching it to my chest. “I’ve never been here before,” I reminded him.
