“Yeah, feeling a bit sorry for myself. I’d just found out I had to get surgery.”
“Oh, wow. I bet that was a shock.”
“First of many.”
He meant her, but he didn’t sound annoyed. If anything, his tone was amused. But she wasn’t sure she could let the guilt go just yet. Earlier in the kitchen, he’d gone off on her about the possibility of his wrist never being fully healed. How that might be his life going forward. That was where his head was at, and she needed to acknowledge it.
“It must have been so frustrating. Being out so long.”
“Yeah, of course. I love hockey. It’s what I’m meant to do, so when you’re not doing what you’re built for, you tend to feel … diminished, I guess.”
She understood that. She was supposed to be doing something else.
The thing was she didn’t think she’d ever make it back—and to be honest she wasn’t sure what she was trying to make it back to. That world in Denver, the one where she finished her degree and got a job with little kids? That life seemed so out of reach now. She was lucky to be able to spend a couple days a week with Hatch.
“What would you do if you couldn’t play hockey?”
“I’d be a fucking mess, Pepper.”
She blinked, not expecting such honesty. “This last year has been hard on you. Harder than you’ve let on, I think.”
“It has.” He wiped his eyes, suddenly looking tired. “I haven’t really wanted to admit that.”
“Have you talked to anyone about it? Reid, perhaps.”
“Reid blames himself for the original injury, so it’s hard to bring it up and not make him feel like shit. My dad’s not one for the heart-to-hearts.”
“What about your mom?”
“She’s awesome, but I don’t like to worry her. She’s always been able to trust I can cheer myself up. Reid gives her fits, so understandably she needs to carve out space for him.”
“You shouldn’t have to miss out on her maternal wisdom.”
He smiled. “I’m a self-propelling pump-myself-up machine. It’s been a rough year, but it’s also been good for my relationship with Reid. We haven’t always got on.”
It sounded like there was more there. She turned to say something soothing about how it would all work out and he’d be back on the ice before he knew it, but the sight of his face—that gorgeous, handsome face—dried up her speech. Trying to avoid staring at him directly, her gaze dipped lower. A man’s shoulders shouldn’t be so sexy. They were just joints covered in hard muscle and smooth, golden skin.
There it went again, the telltale throb between her legs.
“You can talk to me. Or get mad at me. Whichever works to help.”
“Thanks. But I’m not really one for grudges, no matter how hard I try.”
“You were pretty mad at me when I offered to reciprocate.” She waved a hand toward the kitchen. “Earlier.”
“I hadn’t intended to let it go so far. I”—he paused—“I didn’t want you to think you owed me because of what happened on the ice.”
She let out a breath. “So it wasn’t because you didn’t think I could.”
He frowned. “Why would I think that?”
Because I’ve never been good enough before. “You didn’t seem interested.”
“Oh, I was interested. But I was pretty annoyed at how much of a jerk I’ve been to you over the last twenty-four hours. And maybe I wanted to make myself suffer.”
“Martyr to your penis?”
He chuckled, but it sounded pained. “The dynamic here is kind of messed up. I’m not used to fighting with the women I want. I’m not used to this much … friction.”
The dynamic might have been messed up, but that could be fixed with a little honesty. She saw no good reason why Bast should have to suffer any more than he already had.
She leaned up on her elbow. “Then let’s not fight.”
Let’s not fight.
It was as simple as that. “So if we’re not going to fight, what should we do?”
Her lips curled, which was the first time he’d seen her smile since the night they met. There they went again, those firecrackers in his chest.
“Maybe you should take care of yourself like you promised. Unless you already did.”
Did she mean …? The saucy smirk on her lips assured him that yes, she meant exactly what he thought. That was unbelievably hot.
“I didn’t. Martyr to my penis, remember?”
“So you really need it, don’t you?” Her eyes dipped to where his cock was covered by the comforter, and that bad boy immediately responded. “Go ahead, Bast. Whatever you need.”
He pushed back the covers. They were impediments to his hand, and frankly, he wanted her to see him. To witness the damage she had wrought.
Her eyes flared in the fire’s glow on seeing him tenting his briefs. He pushed them down, so now he stood proud and ready for her.
“It won’t take long,” he whispered. “Just keep looking at me.”
She swallowed, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, the effect so sexy it had him groaning. Gripping his cock, he started to stroke. Slowly, because even though he’d said it wouldn’t take long, he wanted it to last more than ten seconds. He wanted her to watch him with those gorgeous eyes forever.
“Just look?” she murmured.
“What?”
“‘Just keep looking at me’ is what you said. Is that all you want?”
He’d refused her offer earlier, so she sure as hell shouldn’t be so generous as to propose it again.
Evidently sensing his need, she leaned over and placed a hand on his chest. Just that one, simple touch sent a surge through his cock. Pre-come was leaking over his hand, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last. He stopped for a moment, to let the beast subside.
She ran a hand over his stomach. The muscles bunched, craving her touch. She asked permission with her eyes, and he nodded. Desperately.
Her hand dipped lower. Pushing his legs apart, she traced a finger over one of his balls, which felt heavy and sensitive.
“Tell me what you like,” she whispered.
You. More than I realized. More than is good for me.
“Cup them. Fondle them. And then …” As she did that, she moved a finger along his taint.
“Jesus, that’s amazing.”
“Yeah?” She sounded breathless. “Can I taste you?”
He could barely get the words out. “You-you sure?”
She nodded and inclined her head, but before she could get there, he released his cock and cupped her jaw.
“Pepper, you don’t owe me anything. I mean, for what happened. Don’t ever feel you do. I’ve been a jerk.”
“You’ve a right to be.”
“No. I don’t. I can be angry, but I shouldn’t take it out on you. And you should never feel this is a way to make me feel better.” At her wry smile, he loosed a chuckle. “Of course it will make me feel better, but that’s not your responsibility.”
“So I should leave it to you. Let you be responsible for your own orgasms.”