Hockey Halloween, page 35
That gets everyone’s attention.
“I clipped a person’s wings once,” he states.
“Oh my god, you mean it’s a metaphor?” Toby exclaims with his hand on his heart.
I’m drawn to Tristan’s steady gaze as he observes my reaction. I’m the first to look away, flustered.
After a beat, Tristan clears his throat and rasps, “Yeah. Something like that.”
Tristan
An hour and a half into the party and I have yet to get Ligaya to myself. When a guy named Kai asks if he can try the wings on, just as Ligaya takes a tray to the kitchen, I use the excuse to follow her.
“Need help?” I ask.
She looks over her shoulder. Her wavy dark hair grazes her back, drawing my eye to the creamy expanse of her skin. And lower.
The tattoo has to be a joke, right? Seas instead of seize the day? I mean, she’s a freaking English teacher.
As if she can mind read, Ligaya explains, “The writing isn’t permanent. The seashell is.”
“Thank god,” I exhale in relief.
We both chuckle.
“What’s a trip with girlfriends without a tramp stamp, after all.”
The term irks me. “It’s not a tramp stamp. It’s beautiful.”
Her eyes widen. “That was a softball pitch to make fun of me, Tristan. I’m surprised you didn’t swing.”
“I’m serious. In fact, I’d like to check it out a little more. The design is rather… interesting.”
By interesting, I mean hot as fuck because it’s on her skin.
Ligaya does the last thing I expect. Of course, she does.
She turns around and leans her forearms on the counter. The pose makes her curvy backside stick out and the light shine on the tattoo.
“Go ahead.” She sounds as breathless as I feel. “Give it a look.”
Fuck, yeah.
She’s a feast on that kitchen counter. My eyes track the elegant line of her spine and the subtle way her shoulder blades undulate under her skin. The tattoo sits on her lower back, right above the waistband. I trace a finger over the curve that dips ever so slightly. That subtle, perfect hollow is the sexiest sliver of skin I’ve ever seen. I follow the intricate lines of the seashell and hear her sharp intake of breath.
“Goddamn, your skin is silk.”
She glances over her shoulder with hooded eyes. I wrap my fingers around her waist and she closes her eyes and moans. Confident that my grip is welcome, I run my thumb over the tattoo in firm circles.
“Tristan?”
“Yes, Ligaya?” I splay my fingers over her lower belly.
“Don’t stop.”
“I don’t plan to,” I answer, doubling my effort so both thumbs frame her spine with massaging motions. The movement positions me behind her. I keep my hips back but Ligaya leans further, grazing her ass cheeks against my steel cock.
“Goddamn, Ligaya,” I mumble, amazed by how well our bodies fit. My cock pushes angrily against my zipper.
“I’ve been meaning to get a massage,” she quips.
I run my hand to the front of her body and urge her up so her back is pressed against my chest and I can pin her hips between me and the kitchen cabinet.
“Lucky for you, I’ve been dying to give you one.”
She gasps at the press of my full arousal.
“Liar. You’re far from dying,” she says with a playful movement of her ass.
“Glad you noticed,” I whisper against her ear.
She moans and throws her head back to give me access to her delicious neck.
“You’re hard to miss,” she mumbles. “Like a warning label.”
The words make us both pause. We are entering uncharted territory. I don’t want to stop, but does she?
Ligaya turns around to face me. Her brown eyes are blown into dark circles.
“Why did you leave the other day?” she asks.
“I would have stayed too long.” My answer is instant and honest.
“What’s wrong with staying longer?”
“I just moved back into town.”
“What does that have to do with me?” she asks, her brows pinching in what looks like genuine confusion.
She waits for my response, casual and infuriatingly unbothered. Then her eyes narrow like she’s putting two and two together.
“Wait a minute. When you mentioned ‘staying longer,’ did you think I was going to ask you to, what, be my boyfriend? Maybe move in?”
“No,” I answer too quickly, the word snapping out of me.
Her lips curl at the corners. “You sure about that? Did you think I had a fridge magnet ready for our vacation pictures, Tristan? Or maybe a Pinterest board of our beach wedding?”
She’s practically chortling now, her hand flicking in the air like the idea is too ridiculous to even land.
The truth is, when she describes the scenario that way, my hesitation does seem a little ridiculous. Maybe I am overreacting.
I shift my weight, my fingers twitching to grab her again. I study her smiling yet perfectly unreadable face and decide to go for it.
“What are you proposing, Ligaya?”
She leans back to assess me, as if she’s choosing from a menu of bad decisions.
“One night. Scratch the itch. Then we go back to being acquaintances who pretend it never happened.”
“What a romantic.”
“Do you want candles?” She arches a brow. “I’ve got a Glade plug-in at home.”
She says it with a smirk, but her gaze doesn’t waver. There’s heat behind the joke, a glimmer of challenge.
“You’re serious,” I utter, incredulously.
“Why not? Aren’t you curious what it would be like to be ruined by your high school nemesis?”
My throat dries up, making me sound like the thirsty man that I am.
“So, you have been wanting me to ruin you.” My teasing tone hides the relief flooding my chest. She’s not shutting me down. She’s here, sharp-tongued and direct, and I can handle this version of her. Especially if it leads to more of her.
“You’ve got it the other way around, Tristan. I’m the one doing the ruining, thank you very much.”
“How sweet that you think you could.”
“I know I could.”
She’s not wrong. It’s quite possible she’s halfway there.
Ligaya
The heat of his words against my neck, the ridge of his cock behind me, the firmness of his hand against my stomach—everything about our bodies touching is somehow both too much and not enough.
“You guys—oh shit, sorry!” A shrill voice makes us jump away from each other.
Sydney giggles through her apology. “On my way home! Thanks for everything, Ligaya. Nice meeting you, Tristan. Resume your, um, cooking!”
Tristan gives her a wave, but his eyes are glued to my face. My hand flies to my cheeks. Then, he does the weirdest thing. He grazes my forehead to move my hair. Twice.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he admits.
“Pin me over a counter full of appetizers?”
He shakes his head. “This,” Tristan says, repeating the brush of fingers on my forehead. “You do it all the time.”
“That’s either the sweetest thing anyone has noticed about me, or the precursor to a stalker movie.”
“The night is young. Things could go either way,” he teases.
Continuing to flirt with Tristan is a bad idea, but I’ve come to realize that I’m a collector of bad ideas when it comes to this man. I am never as reckless as when Tristan’s around. He has always been the one person who can send me out of my comfort zone and into the unexpected, the uncertain.
My life is built on certainty, working where I went to school and buying a home minutes from the one in which I grew up. It’s not just a matter of familiarity that keeps me close. I love this town. I adore my family and friends. Helping students is my passion. I’ve built something solid here. Something good.
But Tristan is different.
He took the most devastating thing that could happen to a kid—losing his sister and being left with parents who couldn’t help navigate the grief—and soldiered on. He lived every day without losing the energy and creativity of his mischievous nature. He battled through a career that few could even dream of.
He took risks.
I never thought of myself as someone who settled, but with Tristan in front of me, I wonder if I have.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about our kiss,” I admit before I can convince myself to shut up.
His brows lift, but he doesn’t look smug. “Is that so?”
I swallow. “Have you?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I want you to come over tonight.”
My directness takes us both by surprise. Although a one-night stand is out of character for me, there’s no regret.
Tristan’s eyes darken. “I want that, too.”
My face flushes and my body tingles at the way he looks at me. Before I can talk myself out of taking the leap, I whisper conspiratorially, “You leave first. Meet me at my place in ten minutes?”
He doesn’t even answer. Tristan goes to the living room and makes some vague reference to an early morning practice.
“Thanks for tonight, Toby. Nice meeting everyone,” Tristan says casually. “See you around, Ligaya.”
I mumble something while gathering plates.
“Now that your special guest is gone, are you joining us?” Toby asks me. My friends are in the middle of a charades competition.
“I’m good,” I state nonchalantly. “I’ll refill the punch.”
“We’ve moved on to bourbon,” Toby says. “Pour yourself one.”
“I’m actually exhausted,” I say with a half-smile, fluffing a couch pillow that definitely didn’t need fluffing. “I’ll tidy up and get going.”
“Do you have an early morning practice too?” Anna teases, wiggling her brows.
“What? No, of course not.”
“I’m glad you’re a director, Ligaya, because you are seriously the worst actor,” Kai says with a chuckle.
I slump down onto the couch, my arms crossed over my chest as I sink into the cushion. They’re right. I’m about as subtle as a flashing Las Vegas sign.
“He’s really into you,” Toby states, looking at me over the rim of his glass.
“For a one-night stand, I guess. I’m not mad about it,” I confirm, tracing a loose thread on the arm of the couch. My voice is calm, but inside, my mind sprints in circles.
“What are you waiting for?” Toby asks.
He doesn't wait for a response. He jumps off his seat, grabs my coat, and pulls me to my feet. “Get out of here,” he urges while steering me toward the door.
Ligaya
While alone in my car, I think about all the ways this could go wrong. Tristan is coming over. To my place. To hang out. To have a drink. Possibly to sleep with me. Possibly to see my messy sock drawer and my conditioner graveyard in the shower.
Oh, god, did I clean up the kitchen before I left?
I haven’t had a man spend the night in over a year. Not since John and I broke up. And even that relationship, which technically lasted two years, had a fraction of the passion Tristan and I have shared in a costume closet or against a kitchen counter.
What if the chemistry fizzles once our clothes come off and he realizes I’m not exactly a sex goddess? What if I get a leg cramp? What if I do something stupid or make an embarrassing sound?
The old Tristan would never miss the chance to make fun of me.
I know I’m spiraling. I talk a big game, but I’ve never had a one-night stand.
He’s standing by my door when I pull into my driveway. On autopilot, I walk on the porch to let us in, willing my hands to stop shaking. By the time we enter the house, I’m both dazed and nervous. It’s an awkward combination, resulting in my ramblings about pouring him a drink. Isn’t that what good hosts do?
I open a bottle of red and immediately slosh it onto the counter.
“Your hands are shaking.”
“No, they’re—” I pause to assess my mess. “Yeah. They are.”
Tristan doesn’t make a joke or flash a cocky grin. He simply grabs a paper towel to clean up the wine.
“We don’t have to do anything, Ligaya.”
I love the way my name sounds breathy when he says it. But the message wakes me up. I put the wine down and turn to him.
“If you don’t at least kiss me, I’ll be pissed,” I blurt honestly.
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he jests while stepping closer and offering a brilliant smile.
Now that he’s in front of me, my ability to take risks resurfaces. The doubts that made me spiral on the ride here vanish. I pull him down. Tristan’s mouth parts in invitation and his hands cradle my head. We crush our lips without restraint and sweep our tongues without thought. We might still have our clothes on, but every stroke of his tongue and the solid hardness of his body feels incredible.
Without warning, I’m lifted and carried to the couch. I straddle his hips, pressing my aching center against his hard bulge.
He pulls back just long enough to whisper, “Been wanting to do this all night long.” His fingers pull at the ties that hold my top, releasing them one at a time till everything gapes and I’m bare. Tristan’s palms cup my breasts from the sides and plump them together. His thumbs tease each nipple. My back arches at the surge of pleasure.
“Your tits are so fucking sweet,” he mutters, while taking one into his mouth, and then the other.
“Oh god, just like that,” I whimper.
“This?” He grazes his teeth at my pulse point. “Or maybe you like this,” he mumbles while his rough tongue circles a nipple and his hands grab my ass.
“You’re such a showoff,” I say between moans.
He leans back and pushes his pelvis up against my soaked pussy and grabs my hips. With tight, erotic circles, Tristan rubs his hardness against my clit. My eyes cross in pleasure.
“Want me to stop?”
“No. I never want you to stop,” the words spill out with no filter. Lust takes over my mouth, compelling me to remove Tristan’s shirt. Rippling muscles undulate under his smooth skin. My palms glide over his sculpted torso. When my finger traces down the trench of his abdominals and past his jeans to graze his cock, Tristan hisses.
“Can I?” I ask, my hand tugging at his pants to release his erection.
“No need to ask, Ligaya. You can do anything your like with me, sweetheart.”
“Anything? Really? So, you’d be OK if I painted your nails or—”
He kisses me and sucks all the teasing from my lips.
When we come up for air, our mouths are so close our lips graze as he speaks.
“Take it out, Ligaya. Now.”
Tristan
I’m not sure what I expected when Ligaya and I started making out, but the passionate woman grinding against my cock and kissing me hard exceeds my imagination.
My crude instruction for her to release my cock is taken as a challenge.
“Of course you’re commando,” she says when my cock is freed from the zipper’s restrictions.
“For some reason, I’m not into boxers. Grew out of them at some point,” I say with a wide grin, thoroughly enjoying how the sight of my cock leaves her slack jawed.
Her hands wrap around my cock and twist. The motion erases my grin and feels so damn good, my head falls back. I let myself feel her twisting grip for half a minute but don’t dare look down. The one thing I want more than my own orgasm is hers.
I encircle her wrist and tilt my head lower so our gazes lock. There’s a determined gleam in her eyes that intensifies her beauty and heightens my desire. Maybe too much.
“Stop. You feel too good. Take your pants off. I’m gonna make you come first.”
“You are so arrogant.”
“It isn’t arrogance if it’s true.”
I guide her to her feet and pull her closer so I can lick that cute bellybutton as I undo her pants. The rich, delicious heat of her arousal hits me, making my mouth water.
“Fucking knew it,” I mumble, my finger strumming the back of the G-string and feasting at the sight of the line of tight curls over her pussy, dark underneath the white lace.
“You knew what?” she squeaks.
My knuckle grazes the soaked lace. “That you’d be the sexiest goddamn woman. A G-string, Ligaya? Not even a thong? Fuck, is this what you wear every day? Under your professional black dress and strict teacher vibe, you’re dressed to get fucked.”
“I don’t wear this every—”
“Shh, let me live my fantasy. Now where were we?”
My fingers draw the fabric aside and glide across her silky entrance.
“More, Tristan,” she moans, bending her knees to lower herself against my hand.
“Need to eat my fill first. Do you want to ride my face here or in your bedroom?”
Her mouth gapes open like she’s scandalized by my dirty talk.
“Here, then,” I say, grabbing her ass as I lean back.
“I’ve not. I mean, I don’t usually, well, you know.”
“I don’t know,” I prompt gently.
“I’ve never.”
“You’ve never received oral sex?”
“I have, but I don’t really like it. I’ve never, umm . . .”
“Had an orgasm?”
“Not that way.”
“Do you want to try, Ligaya? Do you trust me enough to try it?”
“I think so,” she says. Her unexpected vulnerability tugs at me. She’s not a woman whose trust and pleasure are easily earned.
I lie back and guide her body so her legs straddle my head. I look up at her quivering breasts and get a whiff of her arousal. Christ, I might come before she does.
She won’t fully sit down. I tilt my head up and give her a series of licks along the sides of her cunt, along the creases but not quite at her center.
“Oh, that’s . . . that’s . . .” She doesn’t get to finish her thought, because when her knees weaken and she drops down, my mouth traps her clit. She gasps in pleasure. I use my tongue, my lips, my cheekbones to caress and stimulate her sensitive folds.
