Game Changer (9 page)

He ignored her excellent point. “And here you are again, cancelling on me and running away the moment that the going gets a little rough in your life.”

“A little rough? I might have the same cancer that my mother died of when she was only two years older than I am now. That's more than a little rough. That's life changing. Maybe life ending. Why would I want to waste a minute of the time I have left on a man who would never want anything more from me than my body?”

“I'm attracted to the rest of you, too. There's a lot of space on the spectrum between a one-night stand and being married. Why does it have to be so black and white to you? So I don't want to get married? Big deal. I've never wanted to get married, even before I was injured. I don't want to settle down in some suffocating little town. I'm not interested in turning into that guy. I want to travel everywhere. I want to spin the globe and pick a random place to live every year. I want to do it all. I survived that IED explosion for a reason and it wasn't to be shackled to some ball and chain for the rest of my life.”

She skated back in his direction at center ice. “Better not let the
Meet the Groom
producers hear you say that.”

“Don't turn this into a joke. You keep trying to change me, which sucks. It sucks because I want you exactly the way you are, but you only want me if you can mold me into your perfect mate. At the risk of repeating myself from earlier this week, that's fucked up, Harper.”

“If it's so fucked up, then why do you want me still? If the way I am and the security I want in my life are so unappealing to you, then why bother with all of this? Why bother with me?”

Why on Earth had she asked that when she already knew? He wanted her because he loved the game, the chase. The more she turned him down, the more he persisted. She didn't want to hear him say it.

His shoulders rose and fell with the efforts of breathing. “So that's it, huh? You need to know why I want you.”

“No, I really don't care about that. I was making a rhetorical point. Go to Miami. See the world. Seize the day. Meet your TV bride. We have a game to finish.”

In the drop circle, Brandon's eyes were on the ice where the puck would fall. “I want you because when you're pouring beers at Locks you always hum “Ode to Joy,” and when you're nervous, you finger your earrings.”

Harper stood, the face-off all but forgotten. What was he trying to accomplish?

“I want you because you're better at darts than anyone I've ever met, but you can't hustle worth a damn because you're a terrible liar.”

“Stop it,” she whispered.

“You make a killer beef stew, but you can't bake a cake that rises,” he said, absentmindedly pushing the puck back and forth, his eyes on her. “You help every stray animal who comes to the alley behind Locks, and you take every bet someone offers you. You're generous and beautiful and sexy as hell.”

Teeth clenched, she charged at him again, giving it everything she had to get the puck away from him, but the moment she got close enough, he threw down his stick, dropped his gloves, and lassoed her around the waist.

“Game over,” he said.

“What are you—” Harper started to ask.

His hands cradled her cheeks. “Harper, I want you because when I kiss you, it's never enough.” He took her mouth, bending her back, demanding her surrender.

She dropped her stick and kissed him, pouring five years of desperate longing into her lips and tongue, into her hands. He was right. Game over. It was time to call his bluff and end the chase. Let him take from her what he thought he wanted.

She broke the kiss and clamped her hands on his cheeks, wrenching his face up until their gazes locked. In her eyes, she let her fear and anger show, her pain and her arousal. “Then take what you want from me until it's enough.”

In a tangle of limbs and kisses, Brandon and Harper somehow got their skates off and moved, kissing and touching, into the darkness of the hall that led to the men's locker room. Brandon pushed her against the wall much like he'd checked her against the boards on the ice and kissed his way along her neck.

So this was it? The hallowed location of their one and only screw. A quickie up against a wall in a public place was romantic and daring, right? It was certainly something she'd never done before. Maybe she should suggest they go somewhere else. Except where? Back to her place, where Kayla was? Back to his place, where they would have to chat with Gabe on their way into Brandon's room?

Stop it, Harper. Stop thinking and just live. Just fucking go for it for once in your life.

This was her chance to experience a trifecta of things she'd never done before. A quickie. In public. With Brandon. If she got the surgery, she wouldn't have many opportunities like this. She wouldn't be seen as a sexual being anymore. No other man would want her the way Brandon always had.

As if he'd read her mind, he worked his hand under her shirt and cupped her breast through her bra. His thumb and finger found her nipple and tugged. She dropped her head back as a ripple of pleasure caught her off-guard.

Then she caught a whiff of the men's locker room.

No, Harper. You are not sabotaging this. You are not getting yourself all freaked out and ruining everything.
She'd wanted him for too long to spoil this one, single night by overthinking it.

But no pressure.
Right.

All she needed to do was block out how angry she was at him and how far this night was from her fantasizes. This one-off was a mind game now and she was failing it miserably.

Desperate to keep the spell alive, she pushed her pants and underwear to the ground and kicked them away.

He gave her body a quick perusal, then hooked his arm under her knee and brought her leg up, opening her body for him. Their kisses grew sloppy and desperate as he ground into her. Even through his pants, she could tell he had a great dick, thick and long like she knew it would be. He was too self-assured with women to not be endowed with a better-than-average package.

She was getting into the grind when she found herself wondering if grinding her pussy against his pants was wasting the negligible moisture her body produced, a maddening effect of having her ovaries removed.

Her hormonal imbalance meant she had trouble getting wet, even when she was excited. She had a condom and lubricant in her purse, but that was sitting on the team bench. It would break the mood too much to have to backtrack and retrieve it, so she hoped he had protection in his pocket. If it wasn't pre-lubricated, then spit would have to do.

And that's enough thinking, Harper. Stop it.

She licked her hand, then snaked it between them to rub her clit and test her wetness. It came as a surprise that she was a bit damp. All that foreplay on the ice must have helped.

He brushed her hand out of the way and touched her lightly. She shivered and, on a whimper, closed her eyes. This was Brandon touching her down there, a longtime fantasy she'd used to get herself off. His fingers felt as good as she'd imagined. He grunted his pleasure at her response, his touch growing bolder. He captured her lips in another kiss as he stroked her, inside and outside, all over until two fingertips settled on her clit.

Yes. This.

Their tongues slid along each other. Time slowed.

She focused all her attention on the sensations his fingers and lips evoked, though her thoughts never strayed far from awareness of who was doing this to her, who had her pinned against the wall. Who would be fucking her soon.

She flattened her back and her head against the wall, the better to memorize every moment of this so she could replay it in her mind for the rest of her life, what it was like to be with him. One last good-bye. Not only to him, but to this body of hers. She lifted her shirt and tugged the cups of her bra down. This was quite possibly a good-bye to her breasts and to life as she knew it. This sex was going to be great—as long as she could forget about how tired her standing leg was growing and the pressure of this being her first and only time with the man of her dreams.

Come on, Harper. Relax already.

***

The Iceplex was cold.

That had to be the reason Brandon was having trouble staying hard. It was cold and he was pissed at Harper for reneging on their bet. And his prosthesis was rubbing on his skin, as it did sometimes after a long day, distracting him.

While he rubbed Harper's clit with one hand, he palmed his shaft and jerked it with vigorous strokes to get hard enough for a condom. All the while, his other hand and his mouth kept busy with Harper's body. She was so sexy. So goddamn sexy. Her body was more gorgeous than in his fantasies. Her pussy was so hot and sweet. He could just make out her scent above the overpowering smells of the Iceplex, and she made his mouth water.

So why wasn't his body cooperating?

Damn, how he wished he could lay her out and feast on her body the right way. After they got past this first time, past their nerves and expectations and—apparently—his performance anxiety, he'd take her back to his place and do her right, all night long.

Years ago, the first night he'd met her, he'd planned out what his big performance with Harper would be. Then he'd honed his plan during innumerable jerk-off sessions over the years. He had it down to her every sigh, his every thrust.

He kissed her lips again, capturing her whimper as he pushed two fingers up inside her damp heat. His dick surged, harder. Good. About friggin' time.

He continued to thrust his fingers into her as he rolled on the condom. Then he went right back to her clit, rubbing her until she dropped her head back and moaned. So damn sexy.

He jerked his condomed dick again, even as he felt it go soft.
Don't lose it now, man.

It had to be the cold. The cold and the performance pressure. This was it. This was his one time with her. She wasn't coming to Miami. There was no way, not when she might have cancer.

The moment he thought the word
cancer
, his dick went even softer.
Shit.

Maybe she sensed his trouble because she pulled her top up higher, her bra lower, and gave him the best vision of his life. Her perfect tits. Large and luscious and ripe for him to take into his mouth.

He did just that, kissing his way to her right nipple. He swirled his tongue around it. Man, he loved big breasts. He gave another decisive suck to her nipple, drawing it into his mouth. She whimpered that time, loud enough to echo in the narrow confines of the hall, which his dick loved.

“Make that sound again. Tell me how much you like it, baby.”

He sucked harder, and this time, he lined his dick up with her pussy and rocked his hips forward, entering her, which felt absolutely fucking fantastic. It didn't matter anymore that his prosthesis was rubbing him the wrong way or that this wasn't the way he'd wanted her in his fantasy. Didn't matter how pissed he was at her for giving him the runaround about Miami. This was it. This was their night, and he was going to make the most of it.

Angling his head, he kissed her again as he thrust. He loved kissing Harper. With his free hand, he cupped her left breast, tugging on the hard, strawberry-colored flesh of her nipple. He hadn't gotten around to suckling her right one before entering her, so he'd have to make a point to do that later.

What if she had cancer? What if it was in this breast? Was she going to lose them? Was he the last man to touch this nipple? Her body was hot and her pussy's grip on his dick was even hotter, but his arousal was no match for his train of thought.

He felt the condom dragging funny with his next thrust. After that, it was a downward spiral of awfulness. Worry begetting softening begetting performance anxiety begetting more softening. And now he had to worry about the condom staying on while he fought to regain his arousal. This had never happened to him before. Ever. Not even when he'd had to relearn everything about his body after the explosion that took off his foot. But the thought of his Harper having cancer, her life hanging in the balance and him thousands of miles away from her in Miami, was paralyzing.

Swallowing the curse on the tip of his tongue, he withdrew from her and released her leg to the floor. Her eyes opened, questioning, as he replaced his dick with his fingers, but he couldn't look her in the eyes. How humiliating. Hopefully she'd think he'd had to pull out because he'd gotten aroused too fast.

He worked her body's center with his fingers, thrusting inside her and swirling her clit. In no time, he had her whimpering again, her eyes closed. All her sweet sounds of abandonment and bliss should have gotten his blood pumping again, because he'd always loved fantasizing about what she sounded like when she was in the throes of arousal. Except that now he was worried about her. Worried and pissed at the horrible timing of
Meet the Groom.
He was leaving town right when Harper's life was on the verge of disaster—perhaps on the verge of ending.

He closed his eyes and took her right nipple in his mouth, drinking in the taste of her flesh and concentrating on the way her body felt against his fingers. He might be the last man to ever taste this nipple.

“Come like this,” he commanded, his voice rough with emotion. There was going to be no release for him tonight, not with all the different directions his mind was going in, not with the paralyzing fear.

A few minutes later, with a cry, her body tensed. Her pussy gave a series of weak pulses around his fingers. She pushed his fingers away as though the sensations were too overwhelming to her now-tender body. That was fine. They'd both had to work hard for that one.

At least he'd been able to do right by her in some small way.

“Your turn,” she said, reaching for him. But he was already flaccid and not crazy about her discovering him that way.

“That's all right. Making you come was enough.” Then he added lamely, “For now.”

Because what if she did want to try that again, somewhere more romantic? He had to leave the possibility open. He pulled off the condom and dropped it into his pocket, because what the hell else was he going to do in a vacant hallway? Then he stuffed himself back into his pants.

The sound of sobs had him whipping his gaze up to her face, his heart dropping until he saw that she wasn't crying, but laughing, though she did have tears in her eyes. Her laughter filled the hallway as she dressed.

He flattened against the wall next to her, taking some pressure off his legs, and laughed. It felt artificial and wrong at first, but it evolved into a genuine belly laugh the longer he listened to hers. It was cathartic to laugh with her. Never in a million years would he have thought they'd have had a disastrous sexual experience.

“I'm sorry,” she said, covering her face. “I've never laughed after sex before, but I can't help it.”

“That means I'm your first time for something, right? That's a plus.”

She laughed harder at that and held up three fingers. “Three firsts. Public, standing, and laughing.”

Cringing, he tipped his head back and followed a crack from the wall across from them to the ceiling. “That wasn't very good sex, was it?”

“That was terrible.”

All right. So much for her going gentle on him and stroking his ego. “Yeah, it was. I was just so damn mad at you for reneging on the bet. So pissed off. All this tension was killing us. I thought if we just got past this first time, get it over with, then maybe we could let it happen the way I want later tonight. But that sucked.”

She rolled her head along the wall to look at him. “We had bad sex.”

“We had really bad sex,” he said. “At least you came.”

She shook her head and bit her lip as though holding back a laugh. “I faked it.”

Holy shit.
“You what?”

She clapped both hands over her face and groaned. “I'm so sorry. I was angry at you and overthinking everything too much to relax enough to orgasm. I thought, well, at least Brandon can come. But then you pulled out, and I was getting dry and I thought, that's enough of that. But I didn't want you to feel bad. I'm so sorry.”

He gaped at her. “You faked it?”

She lowered one hand enough to peek an eyeball at him. “With all those coeds you screw, I'm sure some of them fake it, too.”

“No way. I'm a great lay. I'm an expert.”

Harper lowered her hands the rest of the way and chuckled quietly. “A sexpert, I know.”

“Damn right. I'm a maestro with the female body.”

She found his hand between their bodies and squeezed it. “Sorry to break it to you, Romeo. Haven't you ever seen the fake orgasm scene in
When Harry Met Sally
?”

His facial muscles were getting tired of all this cringing, but he couldn't help it. “We're not characters in a romantic comedy.”

“No. Clearly. Because, unlike Harry and Sally, we're not meant to be.”

No, they weren't. Brandon wasn't meant to be shackled to anyone, and he didn't want to devote a single thought to the man Harper would end up with someday. “Well, this changes things. I think that's the worst sex I've ever had, including my first time,” he said.

Her mouth scrunched up as though she was giving the idea some serious consideration. “No, my first time was still worse.”

He chuckled. “That's comforting, somehow. I'm not the worst lay you've ever had.”

“Yeah, but you just said that I'm the worst lay you've ever had, so how am I supposed to feel?”

“You'll get over it. Plus, the worst ranking has more to do with me than you. I couldn't even stay hard.”

Her eyes went wide. “That's why you pulled out? I thought you did that because you were too excited.”