“Lola,” I choke out, my hips starting to piston out of control, my grunts filling the bathroom as surely as the steam from the still-running shower. “Fuck. I’m sorry, baby.”
I flatten her to the ground, my drives turning brutal. Almost violent. I use my knees to pry her thighs wider and I wet hump her cunt, my teeth clenched, my eyes seeing nothing. There’s a part of me that’s well aware I’m fucking her too hard, but with years’ worth of celibacy bearing down on me, I find my palm slapping down on her little ass cheeks, leaving hand prints behind. I find myself burying my teeth into the flesh of her shoulders and calling her filthy names that I’ll be ashamed of saying out loud later.
Despite all that, she climaxes around my pumping dick, the added lubrication from her body making me wild. “Aiden!” she wails, her pussy pulsing rhythmically, her fingers clawing at the bathroom floor.
Indescribable pleasure tears down my spine and twists, loosening something in my belly and my balls erupt, shooting semen up my fatness. Just when I think I can’t get any more animalistic, I ram my cock as far as it will go into Lola’s cunt and hold myself there, marveling over the way I jerk and sputter inside of her.
“Who’s going to have a pretty round tummy in nine months, huh?” I growl against her ear, righteous tension still draining out of me. “Who’s going to be walking around with proof she got down on all fours for Aiden and took his big dick, huh, baby?”
“Me,” she slurs, her body shaking. “Me.”
I have to start thrusting again because the come won’t stop. It’s being pulled from some reserve deep inside of me, and the more I let it go inside Lola, the more contentment settles over me. Finally, I collapse beside her, my jaw slack with awe. For once in my life, I am totally void of any of the frustration I usually carry around. It’s gone. I’m lighter than a feather.
At least that’s how I feel.
I’m still a giant motherfucker and I’ve just banged this sweet, eighteen-year-old innocent into the ground. With a weight in my chest, I pull Lola into my arms and wrap myself around her, laying kisses everywhere I can reach. Her face, her hair, her shoulder.
“Baby,” I say thickly. “Are you all right? I was…I was…” Rough. Mean.
“Perfect.” She turns slightly, so I can see her smile. “Just don’t ask me to walk, mkay?”
Relief and affection melt together in my middle and I vow to treat Lola like a princess as often as possible, so she’ll put up with my nasty side. Hell, she seems to kind of love my nasty side. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I was the luckiest son of a bitch alive, was I?
Not at all.
I’m keeping this girl forever.
I’m panicked at the thought of being apart from her, even for a few minutes.
Possessiveness rouses inside of me and I pick Lola up, standing, carrying her limp body into the bedroom and laying her down gently on the bed.
She winces a little and I want to claw my heart out. She’s sore because of me.
Afraid I’ll only make things worse if my cock gets hard again, I kiss Lola’s forehead and tell her I’ll be right back. On the way out of the bedroom, I retrieve my cell phone out of my pants, tapping it on my palm while pacing in front of the fireplace.
This lightness Lola put inside me is still moving, reaching every corner—and it’s making me desperate to be a better man for her. She suggested I make a public apology to the opponent who I mixed it up with on the ice. That idea would have been laughable to me this morning, before I met the girl of my dreams, but now? I only hesitate a few seconds before opening my rarely used Twitter account and making the statement. The kind a man would make if he were worthy of the gorgeous redhead waiting for me back in bed.
Eager to return to her, I toss aside my cell phone on the couch and stride for the bedroom, my knees weakening at the beautiful picture she makes nestled in the sheets.
“You cured me,” I rasp, moving to the end of the bed and kneeling, walking forward until I’m between her splayed thighs. “Now let me cure you.”
I dip my mouth to her pussy and lick her clit until she forgets the meaning of the word pain, her voice chanting my name into the wee hours of the morning.
6
Lola
I wake up with a start, just as dawn is breaking the sky.
Aiden is behind me, snoring like a bear, and I smile into the pillow. Of course he snores like a hibernating creature. If anything, the trait makes my heart expand for him more.
I’m in love with this man.
After last night, there isn’t a single doubt.
He’s fierce in all things. His care of me, how much passion he possesses for his profession, his sexual energy. Aiden Tulane is huge and consuming and…I want to be overwhelmed by him. I think I even need it.
Last night, when I finally convinced him I didn’t need any more orgasms, he kissed my womanhood a final time, then snuggled me close in bed. There in the dark, he told me stories about growing up with his brothers, tales from the rowdy hockey locker room and he asked about me, too. Asked for my favorite food, movie, color, song. I could feel him memorizing and cataloguing every answer I gave him, for future use. A warm appreciation spread and spread in my chest until I realized what it was. I felt treasured.
In the interest of making Aiden feel the same way, I decide to get up and order some breakfast. It’s barely six o’clock in the morning. I’m an early riser, but I don’t want to wake up Aiden if he needs sleep—and Lord, did he ever earn some rest last night.
As quietly as possible, I slide out of bed. Finding Aiden’s shirt on the floor, I pick it up and drop it over my head, chuckling under my breath when the hem reaches the middle of my shins. On the way out of the bedroom, I pause, looking down at my dress where it lies in a heap on the floor. Hesitant to let reality intrude, I nonetheless stoop down and root my cell out of the side pocket, color draining from my face when I see the missed calls.
Forty-seven of them.
Nineteen voicemails.
My heart picks up speed and I propel myself out into the living room, biting down hard on my lower lip and pacing a moment, before pressing the button to play my messages. With the device pressed to my ear, my euphoric feeling from the night with Aiden dissipates.
It’s my boss and he’s more pissed than I’ve ever heard him, which is saying something.
You ungrateful bitch. I don’t know what you think you’re doing running off like this. You need me. You don’t have a dime to your fucking name and I can blacklist you with a few phone calls. Understand? You’ll never work again. You get your ass back to the hotel where you belong, or I’ll book the next flight to New York from Vegas and drag you back myself.
Nausea rolls into my stomach. The time stamp on that message is eight o’clock p.m.
Last night.
He could be in New York right now.
My shaking legs force me to sit cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor, the voicemails playing back to back in my ear. There are a few more ranting ones from my boss, followed by some from my fellow dancers.
Lola, where the hell are you? Denny is flying out here. As in, now. He’s blaming us for not keeping a close enough eye on you—thanks a lot. You know how he gets when he’s angry. You better shake the hockey player and get back here before Denny shows up and takes his anger out on us. How dare you.