Life was so much easier for Margarite Lancourt before she had set eyes on Petro Shevenko. Her diploma to teach hearing impaired children would be in her hand within a year. Then she would find the right man, the right neighborhood, and bear the right children. Her deafness was not going to get in the way of her aspirations. But were they her dreams or her mother`s?
Now that she has met Petro, the Wildcats sexy new acquisition who has an unquenchable thirst for the wild side of life, Margarite`s nicely mapped out life is in chaos. Can she tame this unruly Russian Wildcat? Or will his family demons drag him, and Margarite, back into the darkness the couple have struggled to break free from?
A moment later I stood outside the Wolverines’ locker room, my eyes fastened to the sign barring anyone except authorized personnel. Placing my purse back on my shoulder, I turned the knob slowly. The aroma of stinky pads, sweaty skates, soap, unwashed man, and old socks hit my nose. I hurried to close the locker room door. If Petro were in there, he could stay in there. Rubbing at my affronted nose, I glanced back the way I came. Something wet hit my arm. I jumped in fright.
Spinning around I saw him, leaning on the doorway of another room minus his skates and jersey. I threw a glare at the wet washcloth he had chucked at me. Then I grabbed it off the dirty floor and flung it back at him. It missed by ten feet or more. Petro laughed then stepped back into the open door behind him. Down the hall I went, my purse slapping my hip, my hair bouncing, my eyes locked on my goal.
I slammed into the training center. Massage tables, cold plunge tubs, and whirlpools greeted me, as did the Russian Romeo. Petro was shucking off his padding. The door drifted shut. He threw his shoulder pads to the floor. My mouth filled with saliva. I swallowed roughly then stood there, rooted to the spot, as he worked on divesting himself of every damn bit of gear he had on. When he got down to his compression shorts, my legs grew a little rubbery. Down they came, as did his cup. I ogled his ass. He gave me a sly look over his shoulder before he walked toward a whirlpool. He took just a moment to turn the jets on then he stepped down into the frothy water. His cock hung down the inside of his thigh, growing fatter and longer as I looked at it.
“Come,” he called over the rumble of the whirlpool. I chewed my lip with indecision. Dare I?
Dark eyes smoldering, prick now rising to the task, he called to me yet again. I ran back to lock the training room door, and then scurried past the six massage tables. This rink was bare compared to the new training facility at the Houseman, but that whirlpool seemed to be in fine shape, as was the nude man waiting for me with foam and hot water swirling around his knees. I couldn't undress quickly enough. My eyes roamed over him as I shimmied out of my panties. His hand took mine. Petro pulled me against him as soon as my feet were on the bottom of the whirlpool. My fingers took hold of his sweat-soaked hair. Down I pulled his mouth. His lips roamed over mine. His cock was pinned between us, hard yet soft. The taste of him was divine, sinspirational even. The smell of him? Gross. I broke the kiss then tried to wiggle free. He cocked an eyebrow as if to ask what was wrong. I pinched my nose shut. The man lifted up one arm to smell his pit. Oh God. Even he made a face. I was then yanked downward into the hot, bubbling water, his arm never moving from around my waist.
I slithered free once our skin was wet. He leaned back, arms on the side of the tub. His head dropped back as his eyes drifted closed. My legs were resting over his. I decided to do as he had done. My head rolled back as well. My lashes fluttered closed. There we sat, letting the hot jets work their magic. I cracked one eye open when Petro slid out of the whirlpool. His ass and legs were simply amazing. Muscles flexed and rolled with each step. Water ran between his tight buttocks. My mind filled with wicked thoughts of nipping that ass repeatedly. He unlocked the door then left. I sat up stiff as Nana’s back, my hands over my wet breasts. What kind of game was he playing? Enough time had passed that I was seriously contemplating getting out when his naked form filled the doorway. He had a bar of white soap in his hand and that erection that made my mouth water. He stopped only long enough to shut and lock the door. I was all over his fine ass when he lowered himself back into the whirlpool.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted goofy domestic fowl, and two steers: one named after a famous N.H.L. goalie while the other carries the moniker of a 60`s pop legend.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.