Sin Bin (Carolina Comets #4)

I’m on fire.

At least I feel like I’m on fire. There’s sweat coating the back of my neck, and I feel like my body is running at least ten degrees hotter than normal.

And it’s all because of Smith.

I’m plastered to his side, my head resting on his chest, and his arm is holding me in place against him. I’ve been lying here for the last thirty minutes running my hand through the hair on his torso, waiting for him to wake up, waiting to see how he feels about last night.

I should feel a crushing weight of guilt right now. I’m sure somewhere buried deep inside the dark crevices of my mind, it’s just sitting there waiting and ready to show its true weight—but in this moment, I don’t feel anything other than pure bliss.

This is everything that’s been missing. Last night, it felt like I was snapped back into reality.

I try not to think about the fact that I put my career in jeopardy last night. If anyone were to find out about this…I’d be toast. Totally screwed. I—

Smith stirs under my palm, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to finally wake up. I’m dying to know what he’s thinking. The rule of no relationships doesn’t just apply to me. It’s on him too.

But nothing happens. He doesn’t move.

I sigh. He laughs.

I gasp, trying to push up, but he tightens his hold, dragging me until I’m all the way on top of him.

“You’re awake!” I glare down at him.

His body rumbles with laughter. “I’ve been awake.”

“For how long?”

“Just a few minutes.” He dances his fingertips over my temple. “Your loud thinking woke me up.”

I nibble on my bottom lip. “Sorry. It’s just…I’m having thoughts.”

“About last night?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“That’s understandable.” He rubs his thumbs into the small of my back, and I hear him swallow. “Do you regret it?”

“No!”

And it’s the truth. I don’t regret last night. It was everything I could have hoped for.

But that doesn’t mean it was right.

“I don’t regret it,” I say. “It’s just…” I blow out a breath. “What the hell are we doing, Smith?”

His dark brows furrow, and I’m not sure if it’s my question that does it or if it’s me calling him Smith again.

I push off his chest, and this time he lets me move. I straddle him, trying hard to ignore the way his dick stirs to life against my ass.

“I have a promotion. You have a contract. We know the rules. We—”

Smith presses his finger against my lips, cutting my words off. I pinch my brows together in question.

“Do you remember that bubble we had before?” I nod, because of course I do. I hated leaving it, but I had to. “Let’s make a new one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, when we’re here together, it’s just us having a good time. That’s it. Nothing else.”

“But—”

He presses his finger harder against my lips, shaking his head, and I roll my lips in. He curls his hand over my waist, sliding it up my back and pulling me down until I’m lying on his chest again, our mouths just inches apart.

“We already know all the reasons it’s wrong, Emilia,” he says, brushing his nose against mine. “So, let’s focus on all the reasons it’s right.”

“Like?”

“Like the way you take my cock, for one.”

“Yes.”

The word slips free, and he chuckles, his laughter vibrating through my whole body.

I don’t know if I’m agreeing with him or asking him for it. Either way, he lifts his hips, and said cock slips between my ass cheeks. I press back, searching—no, yearning—for more.

I’ve never explored anal play before—my ex wasn’t into it—but feeling Smith back there…it feels good, and judging by the way his eyes flare when I press back, he agrees.

I do it again, and his eyes darken.

“Is that what you want, Emilia? For me to play with your ass?”

A blush creeps up my cheeks, and I nod.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

“Yes.” My answer is automatic, and it’s honest. I know he’d never do anything to hurt me.

“Good. Turn around. On your stomach.”

I do as he instructs, lying facedown. He straddles my legs, tracing his hands over my back, then lower. His hands knead my cheeks, spreading me and massaging me slowly, thumbs circling closer and closer to my untouched hole with each pass.

I shiver at the anticipation, and he doesn’t miss it, leaning forward to pepper kisses across my back. His lips never leave me as he makes his way lower, kissing every inch of my ass, continuing to massage me.

“Has anyone ever fucked you back here?” he asks.

“N-No,” I admit. “Nothing.”

He growls his approval, spreading me wider. “Good. Because I want it first.”

I should be completely embarrassed by the pleasure-filled noise that leaves me at the idea of him slipping into me where nobody else has ever been, but I can’t find an iota of a fuck to give.

I want it. I want him to have every part of me.

I let out a loud yelp when I feel something wet against my hole, and then it hits me what it is—his tongue.

Oh god. Smith has his tongue on my asshole, and I love it. He rolls it against me, kissing me in a spot I never in a million years imagined I’d allow someone to go, and it feels incredible.

I have no idea how long he licks at me, but it’s enough to have me squirming and needing more.

“You’re incredible,” he says, pulling away, and I already miss his mouth on me. “Just incredible.”

He continues to massage my ass as he leans away, reaching into his bedside drawer, and I have a feeling I already know what he’s grabbing. There’s a hushed click as he flips open the lid to the lube. I try to calm my racing heart, nervous I’m not going to like it or it’s going to hurt.

I jump a little when I feel the blunt tip of his finger against my hole.

“Relax,” he says, rubbing my cheeks but leaving his finger there. I do my best to listen, sucking in small, steady breaths. “Good girl.”

The two simple words have me melting like a puddle of goo, and I had no idea I needed to hear them as badly as I do. He takes the chance to slip the tip of his finger in. It feels…strange, but good.

“You okay?”

I nod.

“Words, Emilia,” he reminds me.

“Y-Yes. I’m okay. I want…more.”

He obliges, pushing the digit in farther, working it in and out over and over again. The small bite of pain goes away, and before I know it, my hips are moving on their own, seeking more of his touch.

He wraps his arm around my middle, pulling me up to my knees. I cry out when the angle changes, sending him deeper. I need him deeper.

I need… “More.”

He chuckles darkly, then pulls away completely. I’m about to protest, but then I feel more lube drip onto me followed by the obvious intrusion of not one but two fingers pressing against my hole.

“Relax for me, sweetheart. I got you.”

And I do.

Slowly, he works two fingers inside, mimicking the same thing he did before, and it’s not long before I’m pushing back, seeking his thrusts.

“Jesus, you’re killing me,” he mutters. “So damn beautiful.”

I’m killing him?! He’s killing me! Having him in my ass…it’s so good. Almost too good. The noises leaving my mouth…they’re scandalous. I should be mortified at the way I’m arching back into him, begging him for more.

Because I need more. I need something.

I reach a hand between my legs, and just as my fingertips graze my clit, he’s there, grabbing my hand and trapping it behind my back so I can’t touch myself.

“Smith!”

“Not yet.” Another dark laugh fades into a groan. “Fuck. Your ass is going to look so pretty taking my cock.”

I groan. “Y-Yes. Please.”

“Soon. Not today. I need time to stretch you more, and right now, I don’t have that patience.” He withdraws his fingers, and I cry out at the loss. “Don’t move.”

I don’t dare.

I hear him back inside the bedside table, then the telltale sounds of a condom being ripped open and rolled on.

“I need to be in you,” he mutters, and that’s all the warning I get before he’s thrusting into me hard.

“Oh fuck!” I scream out, my pussy clenching around him, pulling him in deep and begging for more.

He gives it to me. He gives it all to me. His hips slam into me so hard I know at this time tomorrow, I’m still going to be able to feel him, and I can’t wait for it.

“Mine,” he grunts, pounding into me. “Your pussy is mine.”

Yours. Yours. Yours.

“And one day, this ass will be mine too.”

He slides his fingers back into my ass, and the sensation of being filled in both holes is almost too much. I feel stuffed and used, but in the best kind of way. There’s sweat dripping down my neck, and my breaths are so sharp my chest is literally aching. My arms hurt from being pinned back, and I just feel so…done.

“Fuck, you take me so good, Emilia. So damn good.”

“Please, Owen. Please,” I beg, but I don’t know what I’m begging for. More? For him to stop? For a release?

Being him, he knows exactly what I need. He lets go of my wrist, and I sigh at the relief.

“Touch yourself.”

I heed his instruction, slipping my hand between my legs, drawing one, two, three short circles on my clit before I cease to exist on this planet. Everything goes blissfully quiet as my orgasm races through me. I feel it everywhere, my pussy, my ass, the pulse of my clit against my fingers.

It’s pure ecstasy.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck,” Smith mutters, feeling it rack my body as I tighten around him.

He pulls out of me, ripping off the condom, and gives himself a few strokes until he’s spilling his orgasm across my back.

Marking me.

Claiming me.

His. His. His.

I collapse into the bed, every single inch of my body numb. Smith falls into a heap beside me, trying to catch his breath. I have no idea how long we lie there, how long there’s no other sound in the apartment except our heavy breaths.

Eventually, Smith pulls himself off the bed and pads into the bathroom. I hear him move around, washing his hands, then gurgling mouthwash. He returns quickly with a wet washcloth, gently wipes away the leftover lube on my ass, and proceeds to clean away the mess he made on my back.

He tosses the cloth back into the bathroom, then scoops me into his arms and wraps us both back under the blanket. He hauls me against his chest, hugging me close, and I snuggle into him. We stay like that for what feels like hours, the threat of sleep always looming just out of reach.

The sun clears the horizon, and the noises of the city begin. Only then do we make an effort to join the rest of the waking world.

Smith peers down at me, and I look up at him.

He grins. “Good morning.”

I chuckle. “Good morning. Breakfast?”

He nods. “Let’s order in.”

It’s a good thing he doesn’t have practice today, because we spend the rest of the morning just like that.

Tori wasn’t too happy when I called and told her I’d be working from home, but I didn’t care. There was no way I would have been able to face her after last night and this morning. All she would have to do is raise one of those perfectly plucked eyebrows of hers, and I’d cave.

Of course, as soon as I got off the phone with her, Blake texted me wondering where the hell I was.

I hated lying to him, but I know I’d have hated having to face him even more.

We finally make our way from the bed to the couch at about two PM. We turn a movie on, but it’s long forgotten when Smith makes me sit on the coffee table and finger myself to completion while he watches, refusing to touch me no matter how much I beg. After I come, he fucks me again.

We sit out on his patio at around four, and he lays me out on the lounger, then buries his face between my legs. He doesn’t make love to me until I come twice.

“Are you hungry?” Smith asks at around seven, his fingers kneading my feet.

My stomach growls in response, and I realize then we haven’t eaten since breakfast.

“Starving apparently,” I say. “Should we order in again?”

“I was thinking of making some pasta. I have some chicken and veggies in the fridge. We can make something with that.”

My brows lift. “You know how to like cook cook? Not just breakfast foods?”

He glares. “Well, breakfast is my specialty, but I’m an almost forty-year-old bachelor, Emilia. I can’t live off takeout forever. Of course I can cook. Can you?”

I lift my shoulder. “Some things. Not many, and not very well, to be honest.”

He shoves my feet off his lap, then rises from the couch, holding his hand out for me. “Come on, then. Today we’re going to learn.”

I tip my head at him. “Can I use this in the profile?”

It’s the first time either of us has mentioned work since our discussion this morning. It feels wrong to ask but also too good a piece of information to pass up.

He nods, and I slide my hand into his, letting him pull me to the kitchen.

He sets me on the counter next to him, talking me through how he preps and cuts the chicken. He throws a few different herbs and spices into the pan with plenty of olive oil, then gets started on making the sauce.

Watching him move through the kitchen in nothing but a pair of black sweats…it’s hypnotizing. He throws together a completely home-cooked meal while carrying on a conversation with me and does it effortlessly all while looking like a GQ model.

It’s ridiculous and unfair.

But damn am I thankful for the show.

When dinner is ready, Smith pulls me onto his lap and proceeds to feed me my entire meal. It feels so…intimate. I’ve never had someone take care of me the way he does, never had someone pay so much attention to me.

It’s almost unnerving but also incredibly hot.

“I can’t,” I tell him as he tries to get me to eat another bite. “I’m stuffed.”

He lifts a brow. “Not yet, but you can be.”

I gape at him, a choked laugh sputtering out of me. “Owen Smith…that’s naughty!”

He pins me with a stare. “Oh, that’s what’s naughty? Not you sucking cum off my cock while I fingered your ass not even two hours ago?”

I blush at his words.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he says, pinching my sides playfully. “I have plans for you later.”

I’ve never been so sexually satisfied yet still so hungry for more in my life. Any time I think there’s no way I could possibly orgasm again, Smith proves me wrong.

“How is your refractory period even this good?”

He narrows his eyes at my obvious reference to his age. “Making up for lost time.”

“Making up for…” I roll my eyes. “Please. Like you’ve lost any time. You’re a damn NHL star—you can get laid whenever.”

A dark look crosses his face, and he grabs my chin, pulling my face to his.

“First, don’t roll your eyes at me. Second”—his grip tightens, not enough to hurt but just enough to be a warning—“I’m making up for lost time.”

I…I don’t understand what he’s saying. Smith is attractive, always making lists of hockey’s hottest eligible bachelors. He has women throwing themselves at him all the time. Hell, it happened in the coffee shop just before Christmas, so I don’t understand what lost time he’s—

I gasp.

“You…haven’t been with anyone since me?”

He shakes his head, releasing my face, his hand falling back to my hip. “No.”

“That’s…over two years.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.”

“But why?” I blurt out. “Why wait that long? That’s…”

He lifts his shoulders. “Nothing ever felt right. What about…you?” He swallows, almost like he hates asking the question. “I’m not going to be upset if you have. I—”

“No,” I cut him off.

His eyes spark. “No?”

I shake my head. “No. I tried. I went on a lot of dates.” His grip on my hip tightens at that, but I keep going. “There was nothing though. Nothing felt as good as…”

You.

I leave it unsaid, but I know he’s aware of what I mean.

This. Us.

He blows out a relieved breath. “I understand.”

The reality of that settles over us, because we both know no matter how good it feels, it can’t last, not while we’re in the positions we’re in.

“I…I should go,” I say, trying to push from his lap.

He doesn’t let me move.

“Smith…”

“Do you want to go?”

I sigh, dropping my forehead to his. “I should. We both know that.”

“There are a lot of things we apparently should do, Emilia, but it doesn’t mean we have to do them.” He squeezes my hip. “Just fun, remember?”

“Just fun.”

“Good. So, let me ask again, do you want to go?”

“No.”

“Then stay.”

And I do.