Lighting the Lamp (Chicago Velocity Book 1) Page 2

  Ryan barely lets my breathing slow before he's crawling up beside me, his hands caressing my bare skin. "You were spectacular," he says with a smile. Then his hand drifts back down the length of my body, sliding one finger easily between my slick folders and into me. I can't help it - a moan escapes me.

  He inserts another finger and begins to pump them slowly while nibbling on my neck. I gingerly slide a hand down his chiseled chest and across what can literally be described as washboard abs. I thought men like this only existed in movies, magazines, and porn, but here I am, about to have sex with the hottest guy I have ever seen. His stomach is flat with rippling muscles, and even that coveted V shape leading down to the prize. I let my hand explore its way down until I'm gripping his dick. He growls from deep in his throats and I know he's as turned on as I am.

  I slide my hand up and down his shaft in rhythm with him moving his hand in and out of me. He gently moves his hips into my hand in rhythm as our breathing quickens. Abruptly, he pulls his fingers out of me, and I hold back a whimper from the loss of contact.

  "I think you're ready for me," he says, slightly out of breath. He leans over to his bedside table and pulls a condom from the drawer. In a flash, he has the wrapper open and rolls the rubber onto his dick. "But, I'm not going to be gentle."

  He positions himself on top of me, rubbing his sheathed dick against my folds, teasing. I shudder with excitement. I have no second guessings now - I want him inside me, fucking me senseless.

  I want to forget that I haven't gotten laid in almost a year.

  I want to forget that my last fuck was Ashton, before I found out he had a fiancée back in Texas.

  I want to forget that all my friends are in love and happy and I'm still pining after a guy who is no good for me.

  I want to forget.

  Ryan slides inside in one swift motion, pushing in all the way until I'm filled with him and I gasp at the sudden fullness. He waits there a moment, the calm before the storm. Then he begins to move, dragging himself almost all the way out before pushing back in to the hilt on each pass. I tangle my fingers in his hair as he somehow props himself up in such a way that he's able to play with my nipple with one hand as he continues to thrust. It's the most amazing sensation and my body is going haywire on sensory overload.

  I quickly feel myself approaching the edge again, the burn in my belly dropping down into me and my hands balling into fists, gripping the grey sheets beneath me. "Ryan, I-I'm going to come." This information causes him to go into overdrive, all gentleness gone as he holds both of my shoulders and pounds vigorously into me. My head knocks into the headboard but it barely registers.

  As I hit the peak, I cry out, the orgasm shattering me into a million pieces.

  "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," Ryan peaks a moment later, his thrusts becoming haphazard and unrhythmic as he spends himself inside me. He collapses partially on top of me, his dick still inside, panting heavily.

  Every nerve in my body is ablaze. My bones are wet noodles and my brain is egg drop soup.

  As our breathing slows and the blood returns to my brain from my vagina, I start to realize what I've just done.

  I had sex with a complete and total stranger, a guy I met at the bar. This isn't Brenna behavior. I've always been a good girl - straight A's in high school and college, never skipped school or called in sick in my life, and definitely never had a one night stand.

  I feel sick.

  Ryan dislodges from me, fumbling around to remove the condom and tie it off. He tosses it into the wastebasket next to his bed with his eyes half-closed, which is kind of impressive. Then I remember he's probably done that a thousand times and it suddenly isn't impressive anymore.

  He shuts off the light on the nightstand and puts a heavily muscled and tattooed arm over me, pulling me closer to him.

  He's asleep within 30 seconds, lightly snoring into my ear.

  I just had sex with a stranger. A very hot stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. I feel the panic bubbling up, my throat constricting. I can't stay in his house for a single moment longer. Carefully, I pry his arm from me and he rolls over, spreading out across the bed. I make sure his breathing is still steady before I slide off the side of the bed.

  It's dark, so I claw around the floor, find my underwear and slide them on. I find my dress in a crumpled heap across the room and pull it on over my head. My bra is nowhere to be found. I wonder if it possibly ended up under the bed but I'd rather cut my losses, get lost and forget this ever happened.

  Ryan's chest rises and falls rhythmically. He's starfished out on the bed, none the wiser. I tiptoe out of his room and down the hall. Luckily, he left the kitchen light on, and I find my purse sitting on the kitchen counter next to a giant gym bag. I grab my purse, pulling my phone out and discover I have 17 texts and 31 missed calls from Carly. Shit, I never even told her I was leaving the bar or where I'd be. I don't even bother to read any of the messages or listen to the voicemails, I just immediately dial her and she picks up on the first ring.

  "Where in the hell are you!?" She yells. I hear John in the background asking if it's me but she ignores him. "We have been looking all over for you. What the fuck, Bren!?"

  "I'm sorry, Carls," I whisper as I walk to the foyer, where I thankfully find both of my shoes. "I, um, I forgot to tell you I was leaving."

  "Yeah, no shit," she says sarcastically. "I figured that one out. Are you okay? Where are you?"

  I peek out the front door of Ryan's house. All I see are street lights lining the cul-de-sac. "Um, I don't know, but I'll just get an Uber home."

  "You don't know where you are!?" Carly screeches. "What happened? We are coming to find you."

  "I'm okay," I whisper. "I will meet you at the house, okay?"

  "Are you sure you're okay?" She is much more calm now.

  I'm not sure I'm okay, but I can't tell her that right now. Not while I'm still in this house. "I'll be okay. I'll be there soon. Love you, Carls."

  "Love you too. See you soon." She hangs up and I quickly pull up Uber and signal for a car to come here. I see based on the map that I'm in an outer suburb of Chicago, quite a long ride from home. Luckily, it's mid-September and the nights are still moderately warm, so I quietly slip out the door, it clicking closed behind me, and step out into the muggy late-summer night.

  I walk down the driveway to the edge of the road, noticing that I'm sore in places I forgot could BE sore, and sit down on the edge of the curb.

  The tears prick at my eyes, and I let them fall. I deserve every last one of them.

  4. ryan

  The alarm blares, far too early. I bang my hand on it until it finally stops. Yawning, I stretch my arms over my head, noticing I'm completely naked. I usually sleep in boxer-briefs, so waking up naked is unusual for me.

  Then I notice that the room smells like sex, and last night comes charging back into my mind. Blonde haired, brown eyed, petite, beautiful Brenna. Last night was pretty damn great. Although I only remember fucking her once. Usually I can bang three or four times in a single night before I'm too tired to function, but apparently I was exhausted last night.

  I roll out of bed and pull on my boxer-briefs from the floor to go look for her. I check in both bathrooms on the main floor but they're empty. She isn't in the kitchen or living room either. I notice her purse and shoes are gone and deduct that she must have slipped out at some point. Too bad, because she was a lot of fun.

  I head back to the master bathroom to take a quick shower. Today is my first practice with my new team, the Chicago Velocity. I was traded during the offseason after a lackluster season with the Philadelphia Drivers. I had been with them for seven years, ever since I was drafted into the league at 18.

  I already have all my gear packed and ready to go in the kitchen, so as I go to shut the door to my bedroom, my hand touches silk.

  Brenna's black bra is hanging from the doorknob in my bedroom. One of three things must have happened. Either

  1) she lef
t it there on purpose,

  2) she couldn't find it, or

  3) she was in such a haste to leave that she didn't care if it was left behind.

  The first option is something a puck bunny would do. Puck bunny is a popular term in the hockey world for slutty girls who try to sleep with the players. They like to leave souvenirs as much as they like to take souvenirs. It also gives them a reason to come back around, hoping for a repeat performance. Brenna isn't a puck bunny and that doesn't feel like it's her style, so I rule out option one.

  That leaves options two and three. I'm hoping she left it because she couldn't find it and not because she was insanely desperate to get away from me.

  I don't know why I care so much. She was a one night stand in a new city. I'll never see her face again.

  Yet, as I run my thumb across the silk bra in my hand, I can't help but want to run into her again.

  I toss the garment on my bed as a reminder to look her up online after practice.

  The captain of my new team, Patrick Huff, invites me out to lunch after morning skate. He seems like a nice enough dude. He's been captain of the Velocity for only a couple years, but we were drafted into the NHL the same year. He's a center, and I'm a wing, so there's a high probability that we'll end up playing on the same line at some point.

  We head to a small bar called Two Bits Pub, located near the arena. Patrick must be a regular here because the waitress brings him a beer only a moment after we've sat down. She takes my drink order and bustles away to the bar without a second glance. The other patrons don't even look our way, which is unusual for someone of our celebrity.

  "So, welcome to Chicago," Patrick says. "I know you've been with Philly since you were drafted, so it's a big change to come to Chicago, but I think you'll like it here."

  "I'm looking forward to being here," I say earnestly. I'm still on guard though – I don't know if he's mentioning my being traded as a way to remind me of my piss-poor performance last season and put me in my place on my new team. I decide to believe he just wants to connect with the "new guy," mostly because I need to make a good first impression. If I mess things up in the next few weeks, I'll get sent down to the “farm team,” which is the minor leagues and where old veterans go to watch their careers die. I know I'm better than the minors, but I have to prove it.

  The waitress drops off my beer, takes our order, and heads back to the kitchen. She's average height but athletically built, with her dark hair cut short, hanging around her chin. I only ogle her a little before turning my full attention back to Patrick.

  He gives me some background on the other guys on the team. I've played against most of them here and there, but since Chicago and Philly are in different conferences, I don't know them very well. Patrick also asks me about myself, from what I like most about hockey to what my favorite video game is. By the end of lunch, I'm feeling much more comfortable and I can see Patrick and I becoming real friends.

  The waitress stops by and Patrick hands her his card. "I've got them both today, Morgan."

  "Sure thing, Pat," she says and turns away to run the card. She's got a great ass. Apparently I'm staring, because Patrick clears his throats and says "That's my little sister."

  Shit. "She seems very nice," I quickly say, running a hand through my hair. "Are you guys from Chicago originally?"

  "Nah," Patrick says, seemingly forgetting that I was just checking out his sister. "We're from Minnesota, actually. Morgs moved here a couple years ago after our dad died."

  "Shit, man. I'm sorry to hear that," I offer.

  "Yeah. It's alright. Morgs and I have always been close, so it just made sense for her to move here. Plus it was a fresh start for her." Morgan comes back over to us and our conversation ceases. She hands Patrick the card and receipts and smiles at us.

  “It was nice to meet you, Ryan,” she says to me, her eyes full of platonic kindness. “I'm sure you're going to be a great addition to the Velocity's roster this year.”

  “Thank you. It was nice to meet you as well, Morgan.” I shake her hand, satisfied with how today has gone so far.

  I drop my gear bag in the foyer with a loud thud after I get home from lunch with Patrick. I've got the rest of the day to myself. I should probably unpack my shit and get settled in a bit more, but fuck that, it'll get done eventually. I head to my bedroom to take a nap, and find that black bra sitting on my bed.

  My room still smells like sex.

  My dick twitches in interest. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I take the bra in one hand and pull out my phone with the other.

  I start searching for Brenna on social media and luckily, she isn't too hard to find - Brenna isn't exactly a common name, and I know she lives in Chicago. Her profile picture is of her and a brunette, obviously friends, laughing together. Her profile says that she attended Northwestern University and studied Marketing there.

  With another glance at her bra, I click the "Send Message" button and start typing.

  Hey Brenna,

  Had a great time with you last night. You forgot your bra here. Would you like to meet up for coffee and I can return it to you?

  Ryan

  I was only wanting a one night stand, but.. she was a lot of fun. We clicked so well while talking at the bar, plus I don't have any other friends in Chicago yet. It's worth a try.

  And she's hot as hell. That doesn't hurt anything either.

  After sending the message, I set down my phone and pick up her bra with one hand, my other hand snaking down the front of my pants. I've got time to kill.

  5. Brenna

  I cried the entire way home in the Uber. The poor driver probably wishes he'd ended his Saturday night one pickup earlier so he didn't have to deal with my sobbing self the entire ride. He probably gave me a one-star rating and I can't say I blame him.

  I can't believe I did something so reckless, trashy and stupid. It was insane. It was irresponsible.

  It was absolutely incredible.

  But it shouldn't have been.

  But it was.

  I've never experienced pleasure anywhere near that level until last night with Ryan. He must be some kind of sex god, because I am pretty sure it doesn't get any better than an orgasm that completely obliterates you like last night's did.

  But it was dirty, foolish and wrong of me to go home with him. I could have been drugged, raped, and left for dead. I was drunk, and feeling bad about myself, so I wasn't thinking straight. I can't believe I let myself get into such a risky situation.

  Thankfully, Carly was waiting for me at the front door when the Uber pulled up to our house. John had gone home, luckily - we're all close and he knows a lot about me, but I wasn't exactly ready to have him hear all about my bad decision.

  She pulled me inside and over Ben and Jerry's I told her everything that happened. Carly insisted that I go get myself checked out first thing in the morning, but I didn't want to go to the ER since it's a Sunday and my family doctor isn't in until Monday, so I'm going tomorrow instead. If I contracted any STDs, they'll still be there tomorrow, I guess.

  Carly was supportive as any best friend should be, but she also took interest in the fact that the sex was good. Well, better than good, but I tried to gloss over the details of just how good it was. I'd rather just forget it ever happened. It was one night. One stupid, amazing night.

  So when I'm cleaning around the house and my phone dings with a message from Ryan, I'm stunned. He found my bra, and he sought me out on social media to give it back. And invite me to coffee. He's probably just trying to be nice. He has no other reason to seek me out.

  Curiosity overtakes me, and I click his name to go to his profile. His picture is of him standing with a couple other guys, all shirtless and holding a beer, on a large yacht overlooking wide open waters. His smile outshines the other guys by miles and I catch myself smiling along with him before I remember I'm mad at this guy and wipe the smile from my face.

  I scroll down into the About Me section of h
is profile.

  Name: Ryan Flynn.

  Hometown: Toronto, Canada.

  Well, that confirms my suspicion that I was catching snippets of a Canadian accent in his voice last night.

  Then I find something I didn't expect.

  Occupation: Winger for the Chicago Velocity Hockey Organization.

  I don't follow hockey very closely, but I'm a Chicago native and this city loves their hockey, so I know enough about the sport to realize that I fucked a famous athlete last night.

  My head spins and I gingerly sit on the edge of my bed to try to quell the sudden onset vertigo. Somehow the gravity of realizing I spread my legs for someone who is probably a well-known hockey star makes me feel even more sick. It probably should make me feel special but instead I want to take the scrubbing brush from the kitchen sink and scrub my vagina with it.

  After all, sports stars are usually mansluts. I've heard plenty of rumors about all kinds of famous athletes, since Chicago is home to so many big teams. I never seem to hear any good stories about hockey players settling down, though. Rather, I see the tabloid headlines of scandals and infidelities committed by Chicago's hockey team and now I'm almost certain I probably have an STD. Or two or three.

  I walk into Carly's bedroom, not even bothering to knock. Thankfully, she's sitting on her bed, painting her toenails a neon pink color. She barely has time to screw the cap on her polish before I shove my phone into her hands.

  Her brow furrows as she looks at Ryan's profile. "Um..?"

  "That's him, Carls."

  She scrutinizes the screen for barely half a second before she recognizes the man in the photo. "Ryan Flynn?" she asks, standing up suddenly. Her nail polish goes flying to the floor. "You fucked RYAN FLYNN?"

  "Shush!" I'm fairly certain the entire city block just heard Carly yell out my sexual indiscretions.

  She grabs my shoulders and shakes me. "Bren! He's in the NHL. He was just traded here from the Drivers. He's kind of a big deal!"