Chapter 8: Breakaway: Chapter 8

THE MOMENT the words leave my mouth, I steel myself for the rebuff.

Cooper is staring. I force myself to keep meeting his gaze. I have enough self-respect for that. Just not enough to keep from propositioning one of my dad’s players because something about him makes my insides twist, apparently. As soon as he said he was hard-up, I felt a twinge of sympathy. Having an itch that you can’t scratch seriously sucks. I know that all too well.

It’s not like I arrived at the rink knowing I was going to ask. The entire bus ride from campus to Moorbridge Skating Center, I replayed the conversation with Mia in my mind. What she suggested made a twisted amount of sense, but there’s a big difference between agreeing with something in theory and wanting to put it into practice.

Yet the moment I saw Cooper, the wheels began to turn. Throughout the lesson, I couldn’t stop looking at him. Every cut he made across the ice, every word of encouragement or bit of advice he gave one of the students, every time I realized he was looking at me—it drew out the ache I usually keep tamped down with success.

I knew what he looked like before today, of course, but up close and in person, he’s even more handsome, with deep blue eyes and thick, almost wild, dark hair. His beard is a touch too long, but I still have a weird urge to feel it under my palm. He’s an athlete, so of course he’s built, but his broad shoulders matched with his trim waist—especially when he was in motion on the ice earlier—have turned my insides to a warm, bubbly liquid. There’s a scar underneath his ear, a ragged half-moon, and even though I don’t know him, I want to ask him how he got it. When one kid made a joke as he said goodbye, he threw back his head and laughed, and it was like the sound took on a physical form, scraping over my skin.

Cooper Callahan is everything I’m not—confident, cocky, and unafraid of intimacy. Mia’s right. If there’s anyone to jumpstart The List with, it’s him. The fact he’s one of my father’s players—and a hockey player at all, ugh—is less than ideal, but from everything I’ve heard about him, it won’t make him hesitate. Maybe if I cross one item off the list, the rest will come easier.

He’s still staring at me like I spoke in Klingon instead of English. I cross my arms over my chest. I’m not the shortest girl ever, but he towers over me. I can feel the blush coloring my cheeks, but I hold my ground. My words are out in the open, and it’s not like I can take them back now. Especially not when they had a kiss attached to them.

“Hook up?” he repeats finally. He scratches at his beard.

My stomach tightens at the thought of that beard rubbing against my sensitive skin. Even that kiss on the cheek made my heart rate spike. I’ve imagined it, but I’ve never truly experienced it before. If the stories are to be believed and he really is generous in bed, not a hotshot player who takes his own pleasure and leaves the woman hanging, that already gives him a leg up on half the guys I was considering on Tinder last night. “Sounds like you need it.”

His mouth twists. “I don’t need a pity fuck.”

“It’s been way too long for me too.” Several years long, but I don’t mention that last part. “I noticed you looking at me.”

“And I noticed you noticing me.” He looks me over, from my skates all the way to my frizzy hair. Under normal circumstances, this level of attention from a guy would send me running, but even though my heart is pounding like it’s an entire freakin’ drumline, I don’t hate it. I’m not sure why he’s acting like he doesn’t know I’m his coach’s daughter, but if he wants to pretend, I’m content to let him. It makes things easier.

I skate backwards, biting my lip to keep from grinning when he follows me. I could still bail, pretend I was joking, and maybe that would be the smarter thing to do, but the thought of going back to my dorm room and trying to get off again on my own is depressing as fuck, and I’m turned on by the way he’s looking at me, and even though it’s hard to remember, I know I deserve this.

He catches up to me easily. His hand splays out on my waist, drawing me closer. He has a bright look in his eyes, almost boyish with excitement. He probably thinks I’m a total vixen who does this all the time. The truth couldn’t be further from that, but what’s the harm in pretending? He just said that he never gets with the same girl twice. He’d never talk about it because I’m his coach’s daughter. This is as safe as a hookup can get.

“Your place or mine?” he asks.

“Now.” I gesture across the ice; we’re alone, with no one to interrupt us. “There’s a supply closet down the hall.”

I’ve surprised him; I can tell. He blinks, a smile growing on his face.

“Didn’t take you for a rule breaker, Red.”

The nickname makes warmth bloom in my chest. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

He glances around to check we’re alone before leaning in, his mouth a mere inch from mine. So close to a kiss, yet so far. “Come on, sweetheart. Show me.”

WHEN WE REACH the supply closet, I ease the door open and flick on the light. It’s not exactly a prime location, but it is private. I check my gut one more time, but despite my nerves, I don’t feel any hesitation. I know I could be smarter about this than choosing a guy on my dad’s team for my first hookup, but it’s not like he’s ever going to find out. And well… hockey players have always been my type.

Cooper shuts the door behind us. He looks bigger in an enclosed space like this; his chest is deliciously broad, his arms thick with muscle. There’s a tattoo on his arm, some sort of sword, but I’m too busy looking him over to make out the details. I know that if he took off his shirt, I’d see the hard lines of his abs. He’s staring at me with languid interest, like a panther lounging in a tree branch, observing prey. I reach out and drag my nails down his shirt.

He catches my palm in his, squeezing. “This is your show, Red,” he says. “What do you want to do?”

I gather all my courage and lean up to press a kiss to his lips.

For half a second, he doesn’t respond, but then he wraps his arms around me, dragging me closer, his mouth hungrily exploring mine. I gasp at the scratch of his beard against my skin. He bites my lower lip, sucking gently. When I need air, I barely take in a full breath before kissing him again. It’s been years since someone has kissed me, and I knew I missed it, but not quite how much, until now. I like having a guy pressed up against me, his big hands on my waist, feeling him breathe.

When we break away, he puts his chin on the top of my head. “Come on,” he coaxes. “There’s something you want, I can tell. But I’m not a mind reader.”

I laugh, squeezing his arm. Being so near him is already making my body burn with want. He’s right, I do have something on my mind—the first item on The List. Something I’ve wanted for ages but haven’t had the courage to seek until now. I adore kissing him, so I can’t even imagine what it would be like to feel his beard against my sensitive inner thighs.

He gives me a moment, not pushing or getting impatient, but continuing to touch me, his fingers teasingly tracing down my back, his lips brushing against mine from time to time. Something about him puts me at ease. Maybe it’s that he hasn’t laughed at me about any of this, even if I am doing something slightly ridiculous. Maybe it’s his reputation for being a player; I can’t be the first girl to proposition him with an agenda in mind. Whatever it is, I know, instinctively, that he’s going to give me a good time, and I hope I can do the same for him.

I look up. His eyes are blue like mine, but so much deeper. The sky instead of a sheet of pale ice. I swallow down the rush of anxiety and say, “I want you to go down on me.”

He grins crookedly, brushing my hair behind my ear. “You want me on my knees?”

“I’ve heard you’re generous.”

He strokes my cheek with his thumb, then presses it right against my lips. I bite down gently, pleased to see the heat in his gaze. “So I’ve been told.”

Keeping his eyes on me, he sinks down to the floor. His hands settle low on my waist, gripping tightly enough I feel it. That self-assured smile is still on his face, and I’m sure it’s because the moment he switched our positions, I started shivering with anticipation.

“Show me your panties, Red,” he says.

I do as he says, inching my leggings down. My breath catches in my throat as he rubs his thumbs against my bare skin. He licks his lips, sending a spike of heat straight to my core, and tugs my leggings to my ankles. He glances at my panties—and then presses a kiss to the bow at the top.

“Cute,” he says. “Blue looks good on you.”

I swallow down a whimper. “You can take them off.”

He doesn’t, though, instead running his finger down the middle, parting my folds through the fabric. My toes curl in my boots against the dirty floor. Part of me wants to pull up my pants and flee before he sees me, but the larger part wants to stay rooted to the spot just like this, allowing Cooper Callahan to explore my body. Eventually, he inches down my panties bit by bit, like he’s unwrapping a gift he knows is going to be good. I can feel my wetness, know he’ll be able to see it the moment my panties are off all the way. When they join my leggings around my ankles, he kisses me again, this time against my bare skin. I dig my nails into his shoulder, surprised to feel his beard against such a sensitive place.

His gaze flicks upward. “Are you going to be a good girl and give yourself to me?”

A strangled whimper escapes my mouth.

“Because I can tell,” he continues. “You need it bad. I need it bad too, sweetheart. My cock is fucking aching just looking at your gorgeous pussy. But I work best when I know my girl trusts me to take care of her.”

As he talks, he strokes my thighs. He’s close enough I can feel his breath against my skin, and it makes my belly tighten with want. I find his hair, gripping a handful and tugging; I wish he’d just press right up against my folds and suck my clit until the slick coats my thighs.

Do I trust him? Not with my life, but right here, like this? Maybe I shouldn’t, maybe it’s stupid, but I do. He doesn’t even know how much I’m trusting him right now. I’m on the edge of a cliff, balancing as best I can, while rock crumbles beneath me.

He presses a kiss to my belly button. “Freckles here too,” he murmurs. “Adorable.”

“Cooper.”

“Yes?”

“I want…” My voice fades before I can force out the words.

“Go on,” he prompts. “Tell me you want to be my good girl. Let me give you what you asked for.”

My face burns as red as my hair. I’ve fantasized for years about someone calling me their good girl, and now it’s finally happening. He has no idea what he’s giving me right now. How much this moment means to me.

I tug on his hair harder. “Yes. I want… I want to be your good girl.”

He spreads my legs wide, his hands stroking my inner thighs, where my skin is softest. “Atta girl.”

He starts at the top of my folds, pressing light kisses to my skin, dragging his beard against it. I’m moaning softly all the while; even that relatively innocent touch is winding me up. He drags his mouth down, exploratory, trading off kisses and small licks. But then he winds his arms around my legs and spreads me even wider, licking right over my hole, and he drags a gasp out of me. He finds my clit next, lapping at it before sucking it, sending a wave of pleasure through me. He clearly knows what he’s doing, teasing the little bud until I’m moving against his face, desperate for more contact. He breaks away, laughing, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh.

“You taste delicious,” he says. “Fuck, I could stay just like this for hours.”

That must be a line he uses on every girl, but it works. I grind against him, aching for more contact.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper.

“’Course not,” he says. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

He fucks into me with his tongue, no doubt getting his mouth and beard messy with slick, and uses a finger on my clit instead, making me rock my hips forward, hoping for more friction. His other hand goes to my ass, squeezing firmly, drawing out a moan that has me throwing my head back against the wall. Each lick, each touch, brings me closer to the peak of pleasure, but even moving against him, I’m not there. I need something more. I grip his hair so tightly it must hurt, pressing his face against my folds.

“That’s it,” he says right against me. The vibrations of his voice have me gasping. “Ride my face, needy girl.”

Needy girl.

Is that me? In this moment, yes. I haven’t allowed myself to do anything like this since I was sixteen, hoping for a deeper connection and leaving my life in ruins instead. Cooper has coaxed out the side of me that I keep locked down tight. Maybe I was more desperate for a change than I realized. Needier than I thought.

The thought just makes me press against him more firmly, tugging his hair to move his head where I want it. He goes along, licking and sucking everywhere he can reach. My stomach tightens like it’s caught in a vise. I moan aloud, the sounds pouring from me without a thought as he pays attention to my clit again. His nails dig into my bottom hard enough to hurt, and I gasp, almost losing my balance. He runs his hand down my leg—and then props it up on his shoulder, spreading me out so wide I feel the cool air on my pussy. I feel ridiculous for half a second, with my tangled leggings stretched almost to the point of tearing, but then I see the look on his face.

Maybe he’s got a thing for stick-thin girls with hair the color of carrots. Maybe he just really likes eating pussy. Maybe he’d be looking at any girl like this, worshipful, almost gentle in the way he blinks his storm-blue eyes.

“Cooper,” I whimper, curling and uncurling my toes. I dig my shoe into his shoulder. He steadies me with his firm hands, rubbing down my sides.

“You’re almost there,” he says; his mouth is wet with my slick, his beard soaking. He licks his lips. “Be good and let me finish my meal.”

He doesn’t stop, or tease, or even come up for air; he breathes right against my cunt, letting his nose bump my clit as he laps at my skin.

The moment his finger pushes into me, agonizingly slow, a stark contrast to the way he’s licking my clit, I come apart. I muffle my cry against my shoulder, curling in on myself, almost falling as I yank my leg down. There’s slick all over my thighs; when I press my legs together, I feel sticky. He rises to his feet, pulling me into a crushing kiss. I taste the salt on his lips and lick into his mouth without thinking.

When we eventually break away from each other, he just presses his forehead to mine.

And even though I’m the one with stars swimming in my vision, he thanks me.