Sin Bin (Carolina Comets #4)

Two & a half years ago

I’m usually not one for sleepovers.

Sex is just sex. I get off and I move on. There are no attachments to it. There are no feelings. It’s just an act, a release. Every person I’m with knows the score.

But last night when Emilia was about to sneak away, I had this sudden urge to keep her here.

It was alarming at first because it’s a sensation I’ve never experienced before. I tried to ignore it, but as she slipped to the edge of the bed to leave, it grew, and I realized it was because something about her leaving just didn’t feel right.

So, I asked her to stay, and she did.

Waking up next to her this morning, I know I made the right call. She’s still fast asleep with her head on my chest, and part of me wants to wake her up so I can devour her all over again, slower this time, but I’m also enjoying watching her sleep way too much.

God, I can’t believe I brought somebody home from Slapshots. It’s like my number one hookup rule—no Slapshots. It’s a hockey bar, and a well-known one at that, which means the people in there know hockey and who the players are, which means the women are there on the prowl. As a good rule of thumb, I avoid puck bunnies at all costs. Nothing good comes from a puck bunny.

But there was no hint of recognition on Emilia’s face last night. She didn’t look at me any differently than if I were just some random guy. I knew she had no clue who I am, and as shitty as it sounds, I kind of want to keep it that way for as long as possible.

We didn’t exchange any info last night aside from our names, though technically I wasn’t even truthful about that since I gave her my last name. But it was a test, and she passed.

I like that she passed.

I peer down at her as she sleeps soundly against me. Her lips are slightly parted as she breathes a steady rhythm. Her red hair is a mess and all over the bed. She has one hand clutched to my chest like she’s holding on to me.

I don’t know anything about this girl other than that she’s ten years younger than me, but there’s something about her that makes me want to know everything she has to tell me.

I don’t get that feeling very often. Hell, I’m not sure I’ve ever gotten that feeling before, and that’s exactly why I asked her to stay.

She wiggles against me, and I can tell she’s stirring awake. Her legs stretch out and she does this cute little fluttering kick, and I know the exact moment she realizes she’s not alone and is attached to a stranger.

I watch as her eyes open and she takes in her surroundings. She seems uncertain at first, but then last night hits her, and she seems calmer.

It takes another few moments for her to actually look at me. When she does, there’s a small, tentative smile on her lips. I kind of love that she’s nervous about this because deep, deep down, I’m nervous about this too.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi,” I repeat back.

The softest giggle leaves her lips, and I’d do anything to hear that sound again.

“Last night was…nice.”

I lift a brow. “Nice?”

Another giggle. “Okay, maybe a little more than nice.”

“Maybe a little more…” I shake my head, then grab her by the waist and pull her until she’s lying on top of me.

She gasps, laughing. “Smith! What are you—”

I tug her down, pressing my mouth to hers, not giving a shit about morning breath as I kiss her hard. Her laughter turns to moans and soon she’s writhing against me, the evidence of what my kiss is doing to her obvious as her wet pussy slides against my stomach. She moves her hips, seeking the friction I’m offering.

I wrap one hand in her hair and the other gently around her throat, applying just enough pressure to both spots. I pull her back, watching as she rubs her pussy against me.

“Is this a little more than nice, Emilia?”

She nods, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” I mutter, dragging her to me for another hard kiss.

She doesn’t slow her movements, using me to get herself off.

I love it, but I want more.

“Do you want to come, Emilia?” I ask against her lips.

She moans at my words. “Please, please, please.”

Laughing at her begging, I drop my hands from her throat and her hair, and she slows her ministrations, her eyes flickering open at the loss of my touch.

“Up,” I instruct.

“Up?”

I nod. “Stand up.”

She does, and I scoot until my back is resting against the headboard and her cunt is right there, ready for me.

“Fuck,” I curse when I see how wet she really is. Her pussy is glistening, and I know she was close just from rubbing herself against me. I need to taste her. I didn’t get to last night, and something tells me she’s going to be sweet.

“Use my tongue.”

“W-What?” she sputters.

I don’t answer her. I just simply open my mouth and flatten my tongue. Her eyes spark with understanding, and slowly, she bends her knees, pressing her cunt against it. She sighs the moment we collide, and I was fucking right. She’s sweet, perfect.

And mine.

She fucks herself against my tongue, one hand on the wall, the other on my head, holding me to her as if I could possibly want to be anywhere else.

I don’t. I could stay here forever and never get tired of the way she tastes.

She’s close, but I can tell she’s holding herself back. I want to make her come so I can bury myself inside of her and then do it again. I slide my hands up her legs, using one to steady her and the other to slip two fingers inside of her without warning. She cries out, her knees nearly buckling when I hook them, rubbing that spot I know she loves.

“Oh shit,” she screams.

Then she’s falling over the edge, her pussy clenching around my fingers, drawing them deeper as she works her clit against me still. I watch her fall apart, her head thrown back, and it’s beautiful.

She’s beautiful.

I don’t even give her a chance to let the quakes subside before I’m tossing her onto the bed, pulling a condom from the nightstand, and covering myself. I don’t give her any warning before I sink inside of her.

“Holy shit,” I murmur, dropping my forehead to hers. “You’re so fucking tight, Emilia. I fit inside you perfectly.”

She hums a pleasured noise as I pump into her. “So perfect.”

I try—like really fucking try—to take it slow, but I can’t. She feels too fucking good. I fit my hand around her throat, loving the whimper that escapes her as she wears my hand like a necklace, and I break.

I pump into her hard and fast. There’s no real rhythm, no finesse. It’s pure, raw fucking.

And it is so damn good.

“Touch yourself,” I command.

Her eyes find mine as she slides her hand between us and starts rubbing slow circles on her clit.

“God, you’re perfect. You’re doing so good,” I say, and her eyes spark at my praise, spurring her to rub faster.

Her pants grow louder, her breaths coming sharper and sharper, and I know she’s close. I tighten my hold on her throat and she falls apart, her tight cunt squeezing my release out of me as I fill the condom, pretending it’s her.

I drop to my elbows, cradling her head and kissing her slowly and softly, a stark contrast to how I just used her. When I finally pull away, she’s grinning up at me, looking spent and satisfied.

“So, uh, what’s for breakfast?”

Laughing, I slide off her and drop the condom in the trash can by my bed, then turn back around. “Do you want to order in?”

She nods, and we spend the rest of the day in bed.

It’s late Sunday night, nearly midnight, and though I’ve asked Emilia several times if I can drive her home, she refuses. Which is why I’m standing outside my apartment building on the sidewalk, waiting for an Uber to show up and take her home. I clutch her closer to me, keeping my arms locked around her, and she squeezes me back just as fiercely.

I feel so stupid for wanting her to stay.

All we’ve done over the last two days is stay hidden inside my apartment. We’ve ordered in for every meal, watched my favorite movie, Point Break, and hers, The Princess Bride, and have fucked on just about every square inch of every surface in this apartment.

More than that, we talked. A lot.

We talked about her douchebag ex and everything that happened with them, and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to hop in my car and drive across the state and beat his skull in for hurting her.

I told her about my secret love of puzzles and showed her my collection. After laughing at me and calling me an old man for it, she forced me to start one with her. We didn’t get far before our clothes wound up on the floor again.

She told me about how she wants to vacation in Europe for two weeks and gave me a very detailed plan of everything she’d go see and do and how this new job of hers came with a big pay raise, so she might actually be able to afford it soon. I had to fight the urge to get on my phone and book her dream vacation right then and there because that trip is nothing but a drop in the bucket for me.

We talked about so much but still left out so many simple details. It’s the lightest I’ve felt in years, and not just because of the sex.

The sad part is, we both know when she leaves, whatever magical bubble we’ve been living inside for the past two days will burst.

I can ask her to stay. I can ask to see her again. I know that.

I also know if she wanted to stay, she would. She’s been using this weekend to escape reality just as much as I have, but tomorrow’s Monday, and we have to go back to that reality at some point.

My heart climbs into my throat as the Uber pulls up to the curb.

This is it.

And for some reason, I don’t want this to be it.

I think if we were in different places in our lives, if she hadn’t just gotten out of a bad relationship and if I didn’t have hockey front and center in my life, we could make something work.

But we do have those things, so this is it for us.

“Thank you for this, Smith,” she says quietly.

Owen. My name is Owen.

I want to scream it at her.

But I don’t.

“Thank you, Emilia.”

She swallows thickly, then pushes to her toes, and our mouths collide for the last time.

It’s not a rushed kiss. It’s sweet and slow, and I take my time remembering every single moment of it.

“Uh, not to like interrupt or anything, but I’m here for Emilia?” the Uber driver says, definitely interrupting.

Emilia laughs against me, and the moment is broken. I place one last soft kiss against her lips before taking a step away from her, tucking my hands into my pockets so I don’t reach out for her and steal her away back upstairs to our little haven.

A smile pulls at her lips, and she tips her head, studying me. She opens her mouth to say something but thinks better of it.

I pull open the car door for her, and I’m hit with panic.

“Wait! Your number. Give me your number.”

Her face falls. “Smith, I—”

“I want to make sure you get home okay, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

She contemplates it and I know she wants to say no, but I’m praying she doesn’t.

“Okay,” she agrees quietly.

She picks her phone up and taps open the keypad so I can punch my number in. When I hand the device back over to her, I don’t let her take it immediately.

Instead, I tug her back in.

“Smith…” She breathes out against me. “I have to go.”

“I know.” I nod, swallowing down my pleas for her to stay. “I know.”

With one final kiss, I let her walk away.

The Uber pulls onto the street, and I have no idea how long I stand there watching. It’s long enough that the taillights have been gone for what feels like hours before I finally force myself back into my building. I don’t even bother with the elevator. I take the stairs, deserving the punishment for letting her go like a fool.

As I reach the final step, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I scramble to check it.

Unknown: Safe at home.

Unknown: Thank you again for this weekend. Thank you for giving me a safe place to hide. You’ll never know how much it meant to me.

Unknown: Good night, Smith.

Her last two words are final, and I can read between the lines enough to know that our bubble? It burst.

And because I know I shouldn’t, I don’t text her back.