Body Checked (Center Ice Book 1) (3 page)

But is Sergei Drakonov really the meathead he plays for the tabloids? Meatheads don’t go around quoting Pushkin, after all. Meathead or not, though, he’s definitely an incorrigible horndog. It’s clear that a few pretty words aren’t nearly enough to dissuade him from the siren call of the glammed-up puck bunnies.

“Hey. Brazil.”

I glance toward the corridor’s entrance. Sergei ducks through the red velvet curtains and lopes toward me, his eyes glittering in the darkened corridor.

“It’s Jael.” Shit. Why did I tell him that? But it doesn’t matter. He won’t remember anyway.

“Jael.” He says it slowly, teasing, testing out the way it shapes on his tongue. I know this because I’m staring at his mouth as he says it, that ripe, boyish mouth, his lips just a little pink from drinking. His tongue grazes along the edge of his teeth as he speaks. And then I’m imagining how that tongue might feel on my earlobe and running between my legs and—oh, god. I have
got
to stop.

“I promise you,” Sergei says in Russian, “I’m not what you think.” He props one hand against the wall behind me and leans in close. He’s got half a foot on me, and at least a hundred pounds of muscle, but he’s left me an escape if I want it.

If.
 

I tilt my head up toward him and keep the scowl firmly fixed on my face. “And how do you know what I think?”

“It’s what everyone with half a brain thinks about me. That I’m some overly talented, privileged asshole with no discipline and no concern for anyone but myself. That I’ll screw over my teammates, cheat on my partners, and burn through all my money.”

His voice is so low. It hums inside of me, steady as a drumbeat, igniting my every nerve ending.

“They think I’m just skating through on raw talent alone, and sooner or later, all my mistakes and all my callousness are going to catch up with me.” He sighs. His breath is so warm against my throat. “Is that what you think?”

“You really think I care enough about you to think all of that?” I ask. “That anyone does?”

Sergei’s hand curls into a fist and he closes his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well, that’s how it sounds. That none of us have our own lives, our own problems, and all your adoring masses live and die by the attention bestowed on them by Saint Sergei.” I’m whipping out Russian vocabulary I didn’t even know I knew, but it’s flowing effortlessly. Maybe I am still a little drunk. “That all those women over there fawning over you only exist in whatever moment you choose to acknowledge their existence. That other teams only exist for you to defeat them. That your teammates only exist to make
you
look good.”

He runs his tongue across his upper teeth, quick enough that I don’t think it’s intentional, but oh, god, does it turn me on. Only the white fury of anger is keeping me from grabbing him by his belt buckle right now. Like I so badly want to do, despite how much I hate him right now. Despite how much I hate self-centered boys like him.

But I hate boys like Todd Beckwith, too, trying to dress up their baser instincts in their elaborate plans and career goals and trust funds. In the end, all it took was a pair of good legs attached to an MBA candidate to lure him away from me. At least Sergei is honest about what he’s after.

“So that’s what you think of me.” Sergei straightens up, his face no longer looming before mine. “I guess it’s fair.”

“It’s not what I was thinking right now,” I admit.

Shit.

Slowly, he raises one eyebrow, the blue of his eyes practically glowing in the dark corridor. His hand at the side of my head comes away from the wall and he tucks my curls back behind my ear. “Tell me.”

“It’s—it’s really not important.”

He lets go of my curls, and trails the back of one finger down the side of my neck. “It’s important to me.”

Now or never, Jael. Do I want to go home alone and angry? Or do I tell Sergei Drakonov—
Sergei Fucking Drakonov
—just what I’d like him to do to me? At best, I’ll get one really phenomenal lay out of him, and I’ll have to think about it every time I see him on the ice. Every time the latest tabloid shot comes out of him with a budding Russian movie star.

Well, maybe one night is just what I need to get my head right. Besides, it’s not like he could
actually
be into me.

I raise one hand and graze my palm against his abdomen, feeling the firm ridge of his muscles. My knees start to give out on me.
Bozhe moi
, as the Russians say. “I was thinking . . .” I force myself to meet his gaze. “About that wayward tongue of yours.”

Sergei laughs to himself, a low rumble, and leans in closer.

“That I’d love to see you put it to work.”

He hovers over me. I close my eyes, daring to hope for a kiss, but his mouth brushes past my cheek and lands on my ear and oh,
fuck
, he sucks at my earlobe and I am on goddamned fire. My hips tilt toward his, but he’s pinned me in place. His teeth graze over my earlobe and I moan, biting my lower lip.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” he whispers, right against my ear. “You seem like the kind of girl who likes to take things slow.”

“Guess we were both wrong about each other,” I breathe.

His mouth crushes down on mine, hot and desperate. I’m pressed up against the wall, both his hands blocking me in, as he kisses me with crazy intensity. I grip his jeans by the waistband and drag him closer toward me. I want to feel every inch of that brutal, carved-granite body.

And that rock-hard cock, pressing against the zipper of his jeans. I trace its outline, and he shudders and bites my lower lip.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sergei whispers. “Before the entourage catches up to me.”

“Gladly.”

I toss one last glance over my shoulder, toward the main hall of Red Star. The sleazy guy in aviators is facing our way, but surely he can’t see us in the darkened hallway as Sergei pushes open the back exit door and leads me into the crisp October night.

Sergei’s corner lot townhouse is only three blocks from Red Star. It’s massive—five stories of Victorian excess, with a carved stone façade, gas lamps framing the entrance, and even a turret looming over the street. “Best I could find on short notice,” he says, with that crooked grin. I nudge him in the ribs and he leads me in the front door.

The wooden floors gleam in the moonlight. Sergei guides me into the great room, with its ten-foot ceilings and massive chandelier dangling down over us with dozens and dozens of crystals tossing rainbows of light in every direction. But the room is almost empty—just a few boxes stacked up in a corner, and a single too-small rug tossed halfheartedly across the middle of the floor. Sergei tugs the velvet curtains closed over the front window and sidles toward me with a huge grin on his face.

“Um, where’s all the furniture?” I ask.

“I haven’t really moved in yet,” he says. “Too busy with team practice.”

I stare at him. “You can’t hire someone to do that for you?”

“I’m very particular.” He wraps his arms around my waist. “Like you.”

He guides my mouth toward his, and prods my lips gently with his tongue. He tastes so sweet and a little bit sharp, like there’s still some vodka on his lips. I run my tongue over his mouth and nibble at him. He shudders, and pulls me closer in response.

His every move is intense, bristling with muscular potential as he presses me against him. I want to feel him in me, on me, surrounding me with his heat. As we kiss, he grips the backs of my thighs, and hoists me up onto his hips. The brush of fabric between my legs is driving me crazy with lust. I want to savor this moment while it lasts, but I’m so aroused right now I can’t stand it. I’m dying for him to fuck me. My nerves are screaming for release.

Sergei backs me toward a wall and sets me on top of a stack of boxes. His hands knead at my thighs, coaxing the long fabric of my maxi dress up toward my hips. The cool rush of air on my bared thighs makes me shiver, and suck in my breath. With our kiss broken, he lowers his chin and and bites at my shoulder.
Hard.
 

“Do you want me?” he whispers, the words caressing my skin.

“Yes,” I gasp. His mouth hovers right over my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut, anticipating his touch.

“Do you want me
right fucking now
?” he snarls, fingers digging into my thighs.

“Oh,
fuck
,” I cry, as his teeth sink into my neck. “
Yes.
” I’m using all sorts of interesting Russian vocabulary tonight I’ve never gotten to say out loud before, and it’s turning me on all the more.

He jerks his hand back. “Too bad,” Sergei says. And steps back. “You’re going to have to wait.”

“What?!”

Sergei drops down to his knees, so his face is level with my waist. My dress is tangled up around my torso; it’s just my thin cotton panties now, and I can tell they’re already soaked. My pussy is throbbing. I swear to god, if he doesn’t do something soon, I’ll have to take care of it myself.

Sergei braces himself on my thighs and traces his tongue along the line between the edge of my panties and my thigh. Pleasure courses through me, and I suck in my breath. He looks up at me with the filthiest  smirk on his face. “Because I want to taste you first.”

“Shit.” A shudder tears through me. I need him inside me
now.
My whole body is burning up with want for this dirty boy. I hook my thumbs through the waistband of my panties and try to tug them down—

“
Nyet, nyet.
Not just yet,” he scolds me, and gently swats my hands away. “You must have patience.”

I clench my teeth together and grip the edge of the box I’m sitting on. God, I hope it’s not anything breakable. Sergei slide the edge of his finger beneath the thigh opening of my underwear, and his tongue darts in again, just beneath the fabric, gliding against the edge of my inner lips. I gasp again. This boy is too much. He’s trying to kill me. I try to wrap my legs around his head, but he plants one hand firmly on one thigh, forcing my legs apart.

Sergei’s tongue darts in again and traces a long, slow circle just outside of my clit. “Fuck fuck fuck.” My fingernails dig in deeper into the edge of the box. He laughs, and repeats the motion, tracing much slower this time. Then he backs away, letting my panties snap back into place.

“Tell me something about yourself, Jael.” He grips the waistband, preparing to slide them down over my hips. “Something most people don’t know about you.”

I’m panting for air. “Oh, no.” I shake my head. “Now that’s a whole different kind of dangerous.”

Sergei shakes his head. “Well, I know you taste delicious. And I know you have the best real tits I’ve seen since I came to America.” He pushes my panties down; I lift up off the box so he can slide them all the way to my ankles. “There must be something more.”

“Okay, well, um . . . I’m scared of graduating.” God. Why was that the first thing that popped into my head? How unsexy can I be? It doesn’t seem to dissuade Sergei, though. He starts sucking at the tender skin just above my knee, then works his way up my inner thigh. “I’m scared all the plans I’ve made for myself won’t mean shit.”

“It’s useless to plan. Much easier to go with the flow.”

And then my hot Russian philosopher athlete presses his lips to my clit and sucks.

“Oh, my fucking god.” I grip his hair tight. My every muscle is locking up, ecstasy rolling through me like a wave. “Oh, god, I swear, I’m gonna—”

He pulls away with a snarl. “I told you. Not. Yet.”

I’m gasping for breath, looking down at him and his lips glistening with my juice. “You’re not exactly making it easy.”

He presses his fingers to my folds, and then glides one finger inside of me. I tense around him, pulling him into me, hungry for more. His thumb grazes the edge of my clit, but he builds me toward a steady rhythm, my hips rocking against his hand. “That better?” he asks. I nod, swallowing down another moan. He slips in a second finger, less easily, but we work together. “I want you to enjoy this. I want to take it nice and slow for you.”

“I can come more than once,” I tell him. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” He pulls his hand free and drags his tongue up his finger toward the tip, eyes never leaving mine.
Shit,
that’s hot. “But it’s much more fun to make you wait.”

“Jerk.” I tug at his hair. He laughs, then leans forward to trace his tongue against my clit again. Sucking. Licking. Teasing me slowly, then adding one finger again. I rock back and forth, desperate now. I’m not going to be able to hold it back much longer, but I no longer care, I just want to come for Sergei again and again—

“Now,” he growls, then sucks me so hard I can feel his teeth.

It’s like an explosion between my thighs, white and blinding, crackling through me as I come. He keeps sucking, so hard it’s painful as the numbing waves wash over me. I slump back against the wall. The cardboard box sags beneath me, and slowly, Sergei backs away and laps at my juices all over his mouth.