Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(16)

Propping myself on my elbows, I look down at Bess. She’s staring right back up at me as if she’s just woken from a dream, her breath fast and warm against my face. We both blink at each other as if we can’t quite believe our luck.

Being here again with Bess? Miraculous. I’m overwhelmed by all the intimate, familiar details of this moment. The texture of her hair against my skin is just the same. She still has freckles on her chest, and I want to kiss each one of them. She still has a strange, round scar on the inside of her arm.

That look on her face is the biggest miracle of all, though. She’s just as stunned as I am. We’re the two craziest, luckiest people in the world right now. And it makes me feel wild.

“Hold on tight,” I grunt like the caveman I’ve become. “Gonna be a rough ride.”

Breathing hard, eyes still locked on mine, Bess reaches up and grips my shoulders. And I finally let myself go. My hips draw back on their own volition, and I begin to move.

This is a moment that deserves to be savored. But there’s no way either one of us could manage to go slow. Within seconds I’m picking up the pace, until I’m thrusting like a stud horse—more power than finesse. Our mouths join and our teeth click and our tongues tangle. It’s rough and graceless, but I’ve never been more alive than I am right now.

The last nine years never happened. There’s only heat and Bess’s knees clamping around my eager hips. She tastes like red wine and sex and everything I ever wanted in my whole goddamn life.

She’s on the same page, straining against me, boobs bouncing, hips lifting to meet mine stroke for stroke. She takes a deep, hungry breath and then gives me exactly what I need—a high, keening moan, followed by the telltale clench of her pussy around my rock-hard cock.

That’s what finishes me—the utter joy of making Bess come. My balls tighten, and I experience a bright, energetic wave of jubilation as I pour myself into her quaking body. Once. Twice. Hell, I need one last hard thrust to wring myself out. And then I collapse like a sweaty dead man, sliding halfway off her body and onto the bed.

“Holy shit,” I gasp. I let out an exhausted chuckle.

“Holy shit,” she echoes, her chest rising and falling like she’s just run the hundred-meter dash.

My brain is full of static. I smile as I close my eyes and stroke Bess’s skin, enjoying the rhythm of her heart beneath my palm.

“Tank,” Bess whispers before I’m ready to talk.

“Hmm?”

“Is this a terrible time to say that I was sorry to hear about your divorce?”

A bark of laughter escapes me. “It’s as good a time as any.” I try to slow down my breathing. I roll my head and glance at her pink-cheeked face. “You’re not feeling guilty right now, right? If you are, don’t.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding unsure.

“Really, don’t,” I repeat. “You have no idea how badly I needed that just now.” I raise my head to look at her. The room is lit only by the city lights outside, but it’s enough to see the uncertainty in her eyes.

“I would never want to make your life more complicated,” she says softly.

“You couldn’t possibly,” I insist. She doesn’t know the magnitude of the gift she just gave me. I haven’t been to bed with a woman who didn’t resent me in years. I’d forgotten how it even felt to use my body for pleasure and nothing more. But I can’t explain all that to her. I won’t ruin the bright, shiny moment we just had. “Please don’t make me talk about my divorce right now.”

“Okay,” she says, smiling. “Sorry.”

I shake my head before settling it on the pillow again, willing to forgive her anything. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. Anything.”

“Why did you ghost me before? When I played for New York. You just dropped me, and I never knew why.”

She’s silent for a moment. And then she asks, “Nine years later, does it even matter?”

“I guess not.” I give her half a shrug, like I don’t care. “I’ve always been curious. But you don’t owe me an explanation.”

She sighs. “I was twenty-one, Tank. I was young and green and afraid to screw up my life.”

“I get it,” I say quickly. “I wasn’t much of a catch back then.” I’d put hockey first.

“No—you don’t understand,” she argues. “Don’t ask a girl for an explanation and then interrupt her.”

“Okay. Sorry. Carry on.”

“This is actually embarrassing,” she whispers. “Nine years later, I still don’t like thinking about it. But something happened at work.”

“Hey.” I put a hand in the center of her smooth tummy. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s okay.” She tucks her head against my shoulder. “Do you remember Jane Pines? She covers golfers and tennis players.”

“Sure.” She’d been Kassman’s partner at the time. “She left the firm, right? But I think she’s still in the business.”

“Yeah. Well, she called me into her office nine years ago.” Bess takes a deep breath. “She told me that there was gossip about you and me.”

I yank my head off the pillow again. “No shit? I never talked about you at all. You asked me not to.”