Delayed Penalty: A Pilots Hockey Novel (17 page)

We drove the rest of the way to his apartment in silence. Though I was enclosed in the warmth of the car, the winds whipping outside seemed to be slicing through me, carrying away the final bricks of the wall I’d built.

—

The condo Aleksandr rented in downtown Detroit was part of the Westin Book Cadillac, a historic building which had undergone a major reconstruction a few years back. It currently housed a restaurant on the main floor, the Westin hotel, and luxury residential condos on the top eight floors. No doubt numerous other amenities were hidden between the walls of the building, but the restaurant—and the valet service that parked my car—was all I knew.

Luxury
was the ideal word for the condo that Aleksandr shared with Landon Taylor. I’d expected the condo to resemble one of the hotel rooms on the floors below, but the space was huge and gorgeous, an unexpected surprise. The entryway led directly into a kitchen that would make Gordon Ramsay salivate. I could barely scramble eggs, but I was mesmerized by it.

The cabinets were a medium shade of brown, slightly darker than the hardwood floors. The appliances were stainless steel, including a gas range and double oven. A wraparound bar and countertops of glossy black granite were the exclamation point of the gorgeous kitchen. But as impressed as I was, I was practically drooling when I glanced to the left of the entrance, where the space opened to a substantial living room with three large windows along the pristine white wall.

Eager to see what Detroit looked like from the twenty-eighth floor, I rushed past the gourmet kitchen to the living room and peered out of the middle window. Instead of the city, I was rewarded with a stunning view of the illuminated Ambassador Bridge. The lights of the bridge cast a reflection onto the rippling Detroit River, which proved, if studied from the right angle, that Detroit could be beautiful.

“Take a seat.” Aleksandr nodded to the black leather couch I was leaning against. Instead of sitting, I watched him extract a small white bottle from the cabinet above the huge stainless steel sink, shake a few pills into his hand, and throw them into his mouth. He swallowed them before filling up a glass of water and guzzling it. “My head hurts already.”

“This place is amazing. It’s huge,” I said as I turned back to the view of the river. Warmth spread through me, knowing that Canada, the place Aleksandr and I had met, was directly across that body of water.

“Yeah, I guess it used to be two small condos, but someone bought them and tore down the separation walls and renovated it into one large space.”

“That person was a freaking genius,” I said mostly to myself. I tore my gaze away from the window to check out the rest of the condo. The living room was on the left side of a long, narrow room. The middle section held a four-person dining table, and the area to the far right housed a stationary bike, a weight bench, and a rack of dumbbells in various weights on the wall next to it.

“Want anything? Beer? Water?” Aleksandr asked as he filled his glass again.

“I’m good. Thanks.” Since he’d already gotten the ibuprofen himself, it looked like my job here was done, so I took a step back from the window. “I should get going so you can rest.”

“No. You said you would stay.” He moved toward me, stumbling over a pair of black dress shoes on the floor near the bar. Aleksandr stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body next to the draft of the window.

“Sasha, I know what I said, but you should sleep it off.” I took his hand in mine and gave it a light squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“There is no tomorrow.”

Aleksandr bent down, wrapped his arms around my thighs, and hefted me over his shoulder. Though I pounded on his back, he didn’t stop walking until we’d entered a large room with snow white carpet. Being upside down, the carpet was all I could see until he deposited me onto a king-sized bed.
His
king-sized bed.

“Please, Audushka, I need you here with me,” he said as he climbed on top of me, pinning me below him.

I didn’t have to ask why because the answer had slapped me in the face during our conversation in my car. He needed to be held, and I wanted to be the one to hold him.

How many times had I wanted someone to stop talking and just hold me? Hold me until I didn’t need the comfort anymore. Hold me until I was the one ready to step back, rather than being released first.

“I’ll lay with you for a few minutes,” I compromised, snuggling under the protection of his body.

We both lifted and twisted to allow Aleksandr to tug the luxurious silky fabric of his gray paisley duvet over us. Then he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me to his chest. I could feel his stomach expand and contract against my lower back, his thighs molded against my thighs.

Aleksandr’s breathing slowed and soon our chests rose and fell in unison. I rubbed one of his forearms in appreciation. He nuzzled his face into my hair, kissing the back of my head. Then he pressed his pelvis into my backside.

It was not a sleepy move.

I responded by pushing back into his groin.

“Audushka,” he whispered hoarsely, lowering his hands to my hips and grinding himself against me again.

“This isn’t gonna work,” I told him, heart racing as I wiggled out of his grasp and twisted around, so we lay chest to chest. When I lifted my eyes to his, it was immediately clear that I hadn’t chosen the safer option. The heat in his eyes was so intense, if he were to cry, his tears would burn my skin.

Aleksandr rose onto his elbow, never taking his steamy gaze away from mine. He pushed my shoulders against the bed and threw one leg over me while holding himself up on his forearms. His lips were feather light as he lowered them onto mine, but when he invaded my mouth with his expert tongue, I arched my back, and my chest slammed against his.

Goose bumps prickled my arms when his tongue flicked over my neck. He rolled his hips against mine, sliding every hard inch against the sensitive spot between my legs.

I let out a series of soft gasps, but Aleksandr didn’t relent, didn’t give me one second to catch my breath, as he continued to rub himself against me. The intensity of the friction he was creating would put me over the edge.

Though I’d had a few heavy make-out sessions in the past, no one had ever come close to bringing me to orgasm. I hadn’t felt anything but alcohol-induced lust for the guys I’d been with, so I’d definitely never felt comfortable enough to let myself go.

Being comfortable with Aleksandr wasn’t a question. The question was: Would I be able to reel myself in before we went too far?

I realized I was shaking when he rubbed his hands up and down my arms, as if to warm me up.

“I’m not cold,” I told him, trying to calm my breath.

“I know. I’m trying to keep my hands busy,” he said as he drove his hips into mine again, the friction escalating the throbbing sensation throughout my core.

I squeezed his biceps. “Why?”

“Because I want to touch you, Audushka.”

Aleksandr disappeared under the comforter. His warm body slid down my skin before settling between my legs. While pausing to kiss the sensitive skin below my belly button, his deft fingers unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them down my legs. I laced my fingers in his long, dark locks while arching against the mattress to give him a better angle to pull, and ended up thrusting my pelvis at his face.

“Fuck,” he groaned. The rush of cool air from his curse hit me at the same time that his fingers brushed between my legs.

It was then that I realized how different this situation was from anything I’d previously been involved in. I couldn’t get a handle on my desire, which was trumping all common sense at this particular moment. Even though he was wasted, I wanted him to tear my underwear away and push himself into me.

Vision after vision ripped rampant through my mind. “Danger Ahead” signs. A paper heart bearing my name being ripped to shreds by hockey gloves. A feeling of absolute isolation and emptiness vibrated through every bone.

I should ignore the Debbie Downer thoughts and side with my raging and ready hormones. I didn’t care if I woke up alone and used, my dignity like tin cans tied to the car of newlyweds, dented by each jolt against concrete. Being with Aleksandr was worth it, wasn’t it?

No.

Though I was ready as I ever had been, when it came down to reality, I didn’t want my first time to be while he was drunk. I wanted him to have control over what he was doing, rather than a sloppy, painful interaction I would regret later.

Not that there had been anything sloppy about his current actions. He was the most nimble drunk I’d ever encountered.

“Sasha, I don’t want to do this when you’re drunk,” I protested.

“I don’t either,” he said as cold air took the place of the warmth where he’d been holding my thighs. Though we were in a king-sized bed with four humongous pillows, when he emerged from the depths of the comforter he rested his head on the same pillow as I, his face inches from mine. He gripped my hips, his hands slipping under the fabric of my underwear as he pulled me closer.

“Sasha,” I warned when he rolled me to my back, pressing his body weight against me. I could’ve kicked myself for telling him I wanted to wait until he was sober. It wasn’t really true. I wanted him inside me.

“We don’t have to have sex, Audushka,” he whispered, nipping my earlobe with his teeth. “I know you’re close.”

Hearing him verbalize how aware he was of my current state of excitement made me squirm, giving away any poker face I was trying to keep. His mouth lifted into his trademark smirk. I wanted his mouth all over me, and though I was insanely comfortable with him, I wasn’t bold enough to tell him.

“Just say yes.”

Teetering on the edge of the ultimate release I’d only ever accomplished by myself must have swayed me in the direction of extreme selfishness.

“Yes,” I whispered. Then I slipped into oblivion.

The last thing Aleksandr had done before falling asleep was kiss the top of my head and curl his body around mine. Deep breaths and counting sheep, my usual remedies to calm down, weren’t having any soothing effect on my rapid heartbeat. Being wrapped in his arms with nothing but my shirt and underwear between us kept my pulse pumping for completely different reasons than I normally felt with guys.

In my experience, lying in a guy’s bed made me feel trapped like a firefly in a mason jar. I’d lie there, anxiously waiting for the opportunity to slink out as fast as I could. I’d always been able to walk away. I didn’t have any such claustrophobic feelings with Aleksandr, and that freaked me out. He had a hold on me. A hold much stronger than the heavy arm draped over my waist.

I never wanted to let myself slip into thinking I couldn’t live without someone, because I knew it was a lie. When you grow up without the most important people in your life, you know you can—and will—live without anyone.

Chapter 14

Two days after Christmas, I was back in my seat at “The Hangar,” which was Robinson Arena’s nickname. As I waited for the game to begin, I surveyed the crowd. There were the normal jersey-wearing hockey fans—men, women, kids. And then there were the puck bunnies. I’m not talking about normal women who like hockey but don’t want to wear a jersey to the games. I’m talking about the girls wearing tight tank tops, skirts barely covering their butts, and knee-high boots. The girls who were obviously not there for the love of the game but for catching the attention of the players.

As I continued scanning the crowd, I spotted the BFAs. Bunnies for Aleksandr. One girl wore a replica of Aleksandr’s Pilots jersey and Daisy Dukes—I assumed. I could see only legs sticking out from under the jersey; I hoped she’d had some kind of shorts on underneath. Another wore a Pilots T-shirt with Aleksandr’s name and number on the back. The shirt was so tight, I’d bet my car the tag inside would have a capital
Y
denoting a youth size. She’d cut the front into a deep V and used shoelaces to tie it together, creating great cleavage. It was also cut and tied on each side, revealing tight, smooth abs. I was slightly jealous; hers was a killer stomach.

When the announcer introduced Aleksandr, I’d jumped from my seat and clapped like Pavlov’s freaking dog. So when I caught myself staring at him as he stood at the blue line shuffling his skates, I lifted my gaze and scanned the arena again. Unfortunately for my self-esteem, my eyes went straight back to the bunnies, with their big breasts bouncing in their seductive altered T-shirts and their plump, painted lips screaming his name. I lowered myself into my seat, casually inspecting my hands.

The guy next to me leaned over. “Don’t worry about them. Varenkov only has eyes for you.”

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “Whatever.”

“You’ve got his eye right now.” He nodded to the ice.

Aleksandr wasn’t paying attention to the man in military regalia singing the national anthem in a rich baritone. His eyes were on the section of seats where I was sitting. All the bunnies were sitting behind the goal, which was far right of where I was, so he wasn’t looking at them. Turning my head slightly, I stole a glance at the people occupying the seats behind me—a couple of old guys and a kid.

Aleksandr brought his gloved hand to his lips, then pounded his heart twice, before he dropped his arm back to his side. He didn’t smile, which was good. He needed to focus. What the hell was he doing looking up here anyway?

“Are you his girlfriend?” the man next to me asked.

“Uh, no.” I laughed his comment off, though I could feel my cheeks burn. Despite how close we’d grown in the last two weeks, Aleksandr and I hadn’t discussed our relationship status, so I couldn’t just assume he was my boyfriend. “Why would you ask me that?”

“This is where the wives and girlfriends sit.” He thrust his hand at me. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

I shook it. “Auden.”

“The translator. That’s right.” Jason nodded, leaning forward and grabbing his beer from the cup holder.

The translator.
Of course, I was just
the translator.