Page 29 of The Groupie

“Before we do anything else, let’s get you some ice for your ankle.” He guides me to the kitchen, holding onto my hand. His hand is large and strong and without softness, but not without remarkable talent as I recall.

“And there you go again, being kind and gentlemanly. Just when I thought you were going to eat me alive…” I catch up to him and reach a hand up to touch his mouth for no other reason than it’s there, and it’s irresistible. He sucks my finger in and nips it.

He ducks his head down to my ear and whispers, “I am going to eat you alive, Buttercup.”

I shiver, and my nerves scream that they can’t wait. My pussy begs me to forget about the ankle, but he opens the freezer door and retrieves an icepack. I notice he has a stack of them inside.

“Do you need an icepack?” I ask. “Any injuries? How about your hip from that time you slammed into the boards?”

He laughs. “I’m always slamming into the boards. That’s what they make hockey pants and pads for—to minimize the damage.” He stops talking, standing in front of me with the icepack in one hand and the other holding my hand as he pulls me in, releasing my hand and cupping my ass snug against him so I can feel every big of his intention, big and hard and grinding where I want it.

Then he kisses my eyes after staring hard, first one then the other. The gesture surprises me, stirs something that makes me feel uncomfortable like he’s crossed some line, gone too far on the intimacy scale, and I pull back.

“Your eyes are so…” He says and shakes his head. “Don’t mind me. I’m hooked on your eyes.” He takes a deep breath. “They take my breath away.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I grab the icepack from his hand and turn away. I don’t get far.

“Let me help you with that.”

He lifts me onto the kitchen island, takes the ice pack from me and retrieves an ace bandage from a drawer.

I laugh. “Your kitchen is like a nurse’s station.”

“Gotta be prepared in my business.” He unlaces my boots and takes them off. “Fancy shoes. You a fan of winter sports?”

“Like hockey?” I try to deter him from talking about me. For as long as possible. Though I’m not sure I’ll ever trust him no matter how illogical or irrational I’m being.

“Sure. You a fan?” He looks eager, like he wants my approval, like it matters.

I laugh. “Duh. You think I’m going to tell you I’m not?”

“Anyone else, that’s an easy answer. But you? You’re a puzzle, a mystery lady with a twisted ankle, fancy boots, and the sweetest pussy I ever—” I smack him on the shoulder as he laughs. “Sensitive about your—”

“Where’s your gentlemanly sense of decorum now? Besides, I thought it was my eyes that you adored.”

“True. There’s so much to like. You have a lot of gifts, Rylee.”

I smile. Those are the words Mamma Cass said to me nearly every day of my life growing up. “You are a very nice man, Zak Tomas.”

“I’ll remind you of that sometime in the future when you’re having doubts.”

Future? “Oh no, there won’t be some future time. I’m here in Boston for two weeks—or rather a week and six days. Then I’m off.”

“Off to where?”

“How about if we’re off to the bedroom. Right now. Are you up to carrying me?”

His face lights up, and he scoops me from the island countertop, ice pack ace-bandaged in place, and carries me through the dining room and great room and down the hallway, same as I remember from last night, to his bedroom. He gently places me on his bed and sits next to me.

“You rest while I get out of these clothes.” He’s dressed in a suit and tie but has no trouble getting it all off and strewn into an orderly pile on a chair until all he has left are his boxers. Boxers with a giant tent protruding from the front and aimed my way.

“Nice show, though you might want to slow it down next time.”

“Next time, I’ll let you do the honors since you think I didn’t do it right.” He sits on the bed again and leans over me, pinning me with his broad chest and those arms sculpted to perfection. I’m afraid I’m staring too long, but really, I don’t give a crap as I caress the hard bulges of his torso. I plan to work my way down to the bulging temptation in his boxers when he lowers his face to mine.

“How about if I take your clothes off in the meantime?” He nibbles my lips and makes his way down my jaw to my earlobe, and I shudder with pure pleasure. He has so many ways of turning me on.

“You’re so sensual, so fucking good at this,” I say.