“Move closer,” she asks, breathlessly, holding out her hand. “I can’t reach you.”
“Anything you say.” I switch sides and lean on my right elbow next to her. I use my left hand to tease her sex. I move my fingers in and out of her and circle my thumb on her pulsating clit.
“Oh, God,” she says, reaching out to wrap her hand around me. “Best therapy session ever.”
My laughter quickly turns to intense carnal need when I feel her soft hand stroking me. She runs her hand up and down methodically, stopping to collect the bead of moisture that seeps out of the tip. She reaches down to cup my balls.
“Jesus, Ry. I’m not going to last long.”
I pull myself away from her so I don’t blow my wad like an adolescent on prom night. I work my way down her body again, taking extra time to outline her tattoo with my tongue. Then I spread her folds and put my mouth on her. She moans and arches her body into me. Her hands grab my head and she threads her fingers through my hair.
My fingers work inside her, searching for the spot that will drive her insane. When I find it, she yells, “Brady, oh God!” Then she tugs on my hair, pulling me away from her. “I need you inside me. Now.”
“Now?” I look up at her. She’s so close. Just another few seconds.
“Please. It’s been so long,” she begs.
How long? I wonder. But now is not the time to ask. And it’s too personal.
I hastily crawl over to the nightstand and fish around until I grab a condom from the box. I roll it on and situate myself over her, putting all my weight on my right arm. I enter her slowly, letting her small body adjust to me. But she grabs my ass and pulls me hard against her. She’s as hungry for this as I am.
She’s so tight. Her walls wrap around me and squeeze me as her arms explore my shoulders, my back, the crack above my ass.
“Jesus, Ry.”
I’m so close I’m afraid I might go before she does. I reach my left hand between us and rub circles on her clit until her insides pulsate around me as she calls out my name.
Fuck. My name has never sounded so good. That’s all I needed. My name coming off her lips like that sends me spiraling down into my own powerful orgasm as I add to her vocal exaltations.
I bury my head in her shoulder as I find recovery. Her arms fall away from me and onto the bed as if she’s lost all her strength.
My body starts shaking as I laugh silently. Hers does the same, and as I roll off her and lie on my back, we dissolve into a fit of laughter, each feeding off the other. We’re unable to stop.
“Stop it,” she says, swatting me. “I can’t stop unless you stop. And my abs are killing me.”
“You’re welcome,” I say.
That makes her laugh harder.
We finally stop and catch our breath. “So that was …” I search for the right word, because there are so many to describe what I just experienced. I settle on the safest one. “… fun.”
“It was.” Then she throws her arm over her head. “Oh, my God, did we really just do that?”
I run a finger along her thigh. “Does it feel like we just did that?”
She quivers at my touch.
“So, how did I score?”
“Score?” she asks.
“Down at the restaurant, you said you were going to grade me on my moves. Well now that you’ve seen them, what’s my score?”
She bites her lip in contemplation. “I’m thinking B-minus.”
“What?” I ask, incredulously. “Why not an A?”
She smiles deviously. “Because I only had one orgasm.”
I lift up onto my elbow. “Woman, you told me to stop. You were right there.”
She’s laughing again.
I roll over and shut her up with my lips. Then I spend the next hour earning an A-fucking-plus.
~ ~ ~
Rylee getting out of bed wakes me. I must have dozed off for a minute after our marathon session.
I get up myself and throw on a pair of sweats.
She walks silently into the bathroom to clean up and then I watch her walk out to the living room to get dressed. This Rylee is different from the one I had in my bed five minutes ago.
She sits down and slips on her shoes. Then she looks up at me. “That shouldn’t have happened, Brady.”
I take the seat across from her. “You don’t have to worry,” I say. “I promise nobody will know and your job will be safe. You have my word.”
She nods. “I believe you mean that. But with who you are, there is always a chance you’re being watched.”
“Going to the zoo with my physical therapist isn’t breaking any rules, Rylee.” I motion to the bedroom. “Nobody has to know about what we do behind closed doors.”
“Still, it’s unprofessional. This can’t happen again. You’re good with that, right? I mean, you are used to one-night-stands.”
“Of course I’m good with it, Ry. If that’s what you want, but it doesn’t have to be a one-time thing, you know.”
“As in you’ll make me your Tampa girl?” She raises an accusing brow.
In all the years I’ve been doing this. I’ve never felt bad about it. So why does that one statement make me feel about an inch tall? “It’s all I’m capable of offering, Rylee. I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry, Brady. I know you. I knew what this was. And like you, I’m not looking for a relationship. But I’m not looking for a good-time guy either. I have responsibilities. I can’t have distractions. I need to toe the line so I can get back to New York.” She stands up and grabs her purse. “You can understand that, right?”
“Yeah.” I pull out my phone to summon Lenny for her.
“So … are we good?” she asks.
“We’re good,” I say opening the door for her. “And Rylee?”
She turns around to look at me.
“That was a lot of fun. Thanks.”
The edges of her mouth raise into a small smile. “I thought so too. So, see you Monday?”
“See you Monday.”
I close the door and go pour myself a strong drink. I stare at myself in the mirror behind the mini-bar as I try to think if that has ever happened before. We had more fun than I can remember having since … well, in a long time. And she walked out. Done. Over. She’s the one who doesn’t want a repeat.
I look at my reflection thinking it looks like a guy who just got dumped. And is sad about it.
“Fuck you, you pussy,” I say to him, right before I down the rest of my drink and head to bed.
Chapter Twelve
I stumble across my bedroom, out to the living room to try to get my phone before the incoming call rolls to voicemail. I miss it but look to see it was Murphy calling. I check the time. It’s almost noon. I grab the remote control and turn on the game. She probably wanted to talk to me before it started.
We talk a lot lately when the Hawks are traveling. She probably likes having someone else to talk to when Caden is away. And Murphy is great for keeping my mind off my issues. I look down at my left hand and reach over to grab the stress ball on the coffee table. I knead it obsessively – something I’ve been doing for the past few weeks. I’ve been told this won’t necessarily change my prognosis, but it’s something to do while I wait to see if I will ever play ball again.
Murphy must be especially lonely this week. Caden has been gone since last weekend and because they come to Tampa tomorrow, they won’t be back in New York until Thursday. It’s not often we have away stretches that long, where we bounce from city to city for three or four days each, but it happens once or twice a season.
I tap her number to return the call.
“Who is she, Brady? Spill.”
“Well, hello to you too, Murphy. And what do you mean?”
“The girl you were eating dinner with in the photo. It’s all over the internet.”
“Hold on.”
I pull out my iPad and Google my name, worried that someone took a compromising picture of us at dinner last night. My mind flashes back to all the flirting we did and I realize there were probably a lot of opportunities for someone to get such a photo. It takes me a minute to weed through the recent pictures on the tabloid sites. “I’m not seeing anything yet. How in the hell did you see something from last night? Are you stalking me?” I tease.
“I follow you and Caden and Sawyer so I get notifications whenever your names pop up in a story.”
“Kind of dangerous, don’t you think?” I ask. “I know how people can misconstrue things. I don’t want you to get hurt unnecessarily when a photo of Caden and some girl shows up.”
She laughs. “That happens so often, it doesn’t even bother me anymore. I know Caden is committed to me.”
“You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, Murphy. I’ve never met anyone who has to worry about cheating less than you. Oh, wait, here it is.”
I stare at the picture of Rylee and me at dinner. The picture of her is blurry because she has her head thrown back and is laughing. It makes me smile, because this picture is the epitome of what our night was like. And before I realize what I’m doing, I screenshot the photo and save it to my phone.
“Who is she?” Murphy asks again. “Who’s the bimbo?”
“She’s not a bimbo,” I bite back at her.
There is a pause. “Oh my God, Brady. You like her. I mean, you like her, like her.”
“I do not.”
“You do too.”
“You don’t know anything,” I say petulantly.
“Humph,” she pouts. “I’ve never seen you look at a woman like that before. What did you say to have her laughing like that?”
“We were playing a game,” I tell her.
“Oh, reeeeally,” she says, curiously. “What kind of game?”
“She wanted to see my moves.”