After I took her shopping, I checked her in at the Lux, letting the concierge know whatever she wanted or needed, it was their job to provide. I hated leaving her, but I had my appointment with Dr. Hoffman, then practice, and she needed to get her feet back under her and breathe.
I can be a lot.
Her wide green eyes and that wild hair…not to mention how her tit fit in my hand perfectly and all that ripe sweetness she creamed into my palm, and how it tasted like forever. It all tells me I need to be inside her. How am I going to make it until the end of the season without nutting in that warm, sweet heaven between her legs?
Fuck. I squeeze my phone, staring at the screen. She’s not answering me.
It’s been ninety-six seconds, and I’m ready to come apart. I’m like a lovesick puppy, playing back every moment since sheshocked my heart back to life and took control of my dick in that red dress.
It’s insane how possessive I feel about her already. The need to console and consume and care for her is unlike anything I’ve experienced before.
Text me back, goddamn it.
I fire off another text, my fingers flying on the screen of my phone as I growl at one of my teammates when he shoots me a look.
Me:Tell me you’re okay. What did you have for lunch? I’m still a little salty I couldn’t take you out. Had to get to Dr. Hoffman. He thinks highly of you. I’m jealous he’s known you for so long. Answer me, firecracker. I need to know you’re okay.
Fuck. I’m not playing games with this girl. She’s got a direct line to this wild, nurturing, protective part of me I didn’t know I had.
After I lapped her sweet cream off my hand, I took her down the street to the Galleria.
First, our wet clothes were hella uncomfortable, so I told her to pick any store she wanted, and she chose the Nike store.
Fucking girl.
She only smiled as I told her to pick out my clothes as well as hers, and she chose an identical pair of gray sweats and white t-shirt to the ones I was wearing.
I made sure she had at least a week’s worth of clothes from there, with shoes, then insisted on taking her to the Apple Store to get her a new laptop.
Her phone survived the sprinklers, but her laptop was gonna be toast even when she gets back into her office to retrieve it. She kicked up a fuss about paying, but I took care of it with a phone call before we arrived, and gave the store manager who I know a heads-up on some other special treatment I needed for her new setup.
He took us into his office and got her all rigged up on her Apple account, making sure all her logins worked, she could access her client list and schedule in the cloud, and she had every program she would want or need.
While he was finishing up with some of the technical stuff, I distracted Emee, sending her out with another sales associate to get a new laptop case and whatever else she might need, while Gabe asked for her phone to make sure it was ‘updated’ and connected to the new laptop.
Then, I made sure Gabe gotmeset up with what I needed: a clone account and a screen sharing program on a duplicate new MacBook.
As well, I had him download a location tracker on both of them, then linked it to an app on my phone.
Over the top? Invasive? Yeah. But since she put her hand on my shoulder, I’ve lost my fucking mind.
And I don’t want to find it.
She still isn’t answering my text.
I scan the locker room where my team is milling around in various states of gear, ready to head out onto the ice. I can’t leave, but fuck, if she doesn’t answer, I’m calling my security company and sending them to the hotel.
I check the tracking app for the hundredth time. There’s been no movement on her phone or her laptop for twenty-four minutes. What if she fell?
What if she slipped in the shower and hit her head?
Or, she opened her hotel door to some stranger.
The idea of her hurt or in pain drives a rusty spike into my skull.
Me: Firecracker. If you don’t answer me, I’m coming there and missing practice.
One. Two. Three. Fou—
