The scribbler—Jim Krugman from the Trib—remained unfazed. “There’s been some talk about your unusual training regimen. Its” … checks notes … “restrictiveness. Have you considered if you should be doing something different?”
“Such as heading to a bar and picking up someone to suck my—”
“I think that’s all the questions we have for Reid tonight!” The Rebels PR woman whisked him away before he could say something that got the team or Reid fined.
Or throw a punch that got him prosecuted.
24
The front door opened and Bucky ran to it.
A handsome but defeated hockey player stepped inside. Still dressed in his game day suit, Reid immediately fell to his knees to greet his canine friend. Kennedy leaned by the hallway wall and watched the reunion.
Reid kept his gaze on Bucky. “Was he okay tonight?”
“Uh-huh. I think he even recognized you on TV. Sorry about the game.”
The Rebels had lost 4-2 at home to the Montreal Royals. Reid had been playing at a different position than usual—though Kennedy didn’t know enough about the game to be able to say if that was a good or bad thing. He didn’t seem to get much on-ice time.
Now she was wondering if the Kitchen Sex Diaries this morning had thrown him off his groove. It had certainly thrown her off hers. All day, she’d been out of step, stumbling around in a lust-induced haze. Missing a street turn here, blanking out on conversations there.
Reid still hadn’t looked at her. Oh, God, he must be furious. “Has he been out?”
“Yeah, I took him out about half an hour ago.”
He stood and slipped off his jacket.
Let it fall.
This was not the typical neat-freak Reid. His gaze met hers and … oh.
Her body went on high alert. Something about the way his eyes burned into her got her blood pumping to all points south.
She took a chance. “Did what happened this morning affect your play?”
“Yes.”
He moved forward, pulling at his tie. Tore it off. Dropped it. Started on the buttons of his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
Still he came, Terminator Reid. “Are you?”
That she got an amazing orgasm? Not really. That he had chosen to continue with this ridiculous self-denial? Yes, she was sorry about that. Suffering this much for your art—or sport—should not be allowed.
He halted inches away, his shirt open, that chest of glory on display, and she couldn’t help herself.
She reached out to touch him.
He shuddered under her fingertips and she went a little weak. To have this impact on him …
“Please,” she whispered.
Lightning fast, his mouth met hers in a clash of fire and need, only for him to break off to utter, “Say you want this.” His voice sounded wretched, torn from somewhere deep.
“I want this.” The kiss resumed, ratcheting up in heat and intensity.
I want this. I want this. I want this.
She had never wanted anything so much in her life.
With a strength that shouldn’t have surprised her, he scooped her off the ground. Her legs naturally settled on his hips as she found another angle of pleasure, her mouth against his, her core already pulsing with need against his hard-on.
He walked this new Reid-Kennedy combo back to his bedroom and pushed the door open. The landing on the bed was soft, which was good, because what was coming would likely be hard.
“Lift your arms.” Dazed and lust-struck, she did as she was told. He peeled off her tee and spent a moment gazing at her breasts, still cupped by her bra. “Beautiful.”
He placed a big hand flat in the center of her chest, his eyes burning midnight suns. “Tell me this is okay.”
“Yes. It’s more than okay. Please just do it.”
“Do what?”
“Touch me, Reid!”
He chuckled, the sound dark and chocolatey and rare, an epic turn-on. Carefully and far too slowly, he peeled her yoga pants down over her hips.
Then past her ass, taking her panties with them.
Then clean off so she was exposed to his hot, thunderstorm gaze.
Lying over her body, he inhaled at her neck, licked it, nuzzled some more, then sucked on her ear. Riotous sensations moved through her with a shocking speed. Yet it was also happening too slowly, perhaps a hangover from the build-up of weeks for them to get here. She needed this now.
He still wore his clothes though his bare chest was accessible. She took advantage, moving her hands over all that unexplored territory.
“Naked. Need to see you naked.”
He knelt up and pulled at his shirt, so much slower than the situation called for.
“Reeeid …”
His lips curved in a half-smile. She was starting to live for those brief flashes, so different from his usual gravity.
A flutter of doubt assailed her, as she remembered that look when he first got home. The crushing pain of defeat after a bad game. She needed to know there was more to this than Kennedy as consolation prize. “Are you here because you lost?”
“I’m here because you’ve won.”
“But nothing’s changed. If anything, what happened this morning and tonight proves that sex does indeed throw you off your game. My orgasm made you lose!”
He scowled. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Uh, this is your crackpot theory. I’m only the messenger.”
“Kennedy, neither you nor your orgasm made me lose. I just had a bad night.” He cupped her jaw and gave her the Reid sex stare. “I want this. I’ve wanted you forever. I’ll never not want you. D’accord?”
“D’accord,” she whispered. Okay. Only Reid could make casual sex sound like the end of the world.
Because it’s not casual …
She shouldn’t go there. Better instead to go here … She went to unbutton his pants.
Zipper scrape, pants down, cock freed.
Oh my.
She squirmed on the bed, trying to enjoy the hot slickness between her thighs but knowing it would be better when it coated all of that Reid girth. The man was packing.
Hurry, hurry.
Standing, he removed the rest and now he was back, a condom on the nightstand, his beautiful body stretched out over her.
They spent a moment drinking each other in. She was short and curvy, he was tall and built. The admiration on both sides was clear. Even the scar tissue on her torso, the brand of the worst night of her life, couldn’t detract from the moment. Sealed in a special bubble, it was too important to let the bad memories in.
His hand moved over her body, down, down, his middle finger parting the cleft between her thighs to the soft, wet flesh within. The tingle of the hair on his arms added another layer of thrilling sensation.
“Look how wet and pink you are,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe.
She looked.
She was.
And she had never been so aroused in her life.
This was not how Reid imagined his evening going. Play like shit. Lose a game. Suffer through the rollicking his father had dealt him on the phone call after.
“What the fuck was that? You’re not strong enough for that position,” Henri had said on the message when Reid didn’t answer the call. “That’s not your lane at all. You need to stick to what you’re good at. That dump in the lake has made you soft.”