four

The water was hot, as much as the shower he’d forced himself through in the locker room.  It had done nothing to calm his nerves and Jonathan prayed that this time would be different.  Maybe because he was wearing clothes.

“I want to see you naked, you do know that,” he said.  The tension with Fiona had broken and Jon was comfortable again, saying whatever popped into his head because that’s what he always did with her.  He lowered his swimsuit-clad backside beneath the surface of the bathwater and sat down.

“I’m afraid that line actually works for you.  You’re losing touch with reality.”  Fiona wore a pair of Jon’s boxers rolled over at the waist and his shirt.  She had stuffed her panties into the pocket of her jeans while changing - they were a little wet from their encounter in the closet.  She sat on the edge of the tub, feet in the water and Jon scooted back till he was leaning against her shins.

“It’s better than Pat.  He says, ‘You want to see me naked.’  And they do,” Jon laughed.

She worked her fingers along his neck and the top of his shoulders, feeling muscles that normal people didn’t have.  Jon was such a baby when it came to being touched - Fiona figured a lifetime of being beaten up for a living would do that to a guy.  He rolled his head in encouragement as her thumbs pressed along the top of his spine.  Fiona was working her way inside one shoulder blade when Jon grabbed her ankles and pulled.

Her butt slipped off the rim of the big jacuzzi tub and down the sloped side, wedging her in right behind Jon’s back.  The water was shockingly hot all at once and she hissed as it seared her skin.  The borrowed shorts and t-shirt were soaked instantly.

“Ow, shit!”

He just chuckled and wiggled back between her legs, then he rolled his shoulders.  “Don’t stop.”

“Jesus,” she muttered, but moved her hands over his bare skin just the same.  She couldn’t get much purchase with everything so over-developed.  He seemed to enjoy it anyway, letting her work for a few minutes until she pushed her fingers up through his dark hair.

“Mmmm, that feels good.”  Jon scooted down, bending his knees, until he lay against Fiona’s chest.  His hands lifted her ankles again and hooked them in over his thighs like a pretzel.  She let him because she couldn’t do anything else.  Jon’s palm caressed the curve of her calf.

“You have great legs.”

“I have great everything,” she teased, pinching his earlobes.

“I wouldn’t know, you won’t let me see anything else.”

Fiona made a mocking noise, continuing to massage his scalp.  Jon closed his eyes and reveled in the warmth of the bath and the comfort of Fiona’s body.  He also considered another element: they were alone.  For the first time since the locker room that morning, when she’d kissed Stalberg hello, he felt calm and controlled.  Maybe that was the x-factor.

“Hey, I lost you there,” she said, twisting his ear again.  Fiona had been talking out loud to herself.  About what she couldn’t say - her mind had officially wandered down Jon’s chiseled chest beneath the surface of the water.

“Sorry.”

The opening might not present itself again, when Jon was at her mercy.  So Fiona asked her question.  “You okay?  Today was weird.”

Because I want to kiss you.  I want to pull you into my lap and rip off those shorts and make this the dirtiest bath you’ll ever take... Jon’s train of thought drifted off, circled back to the beginning.  But I really just want to kiss you.  He chickened out.

“Do you like him?”

Jon was aware it sounded like a note passed in homeroom: please circle how much you’re going to break my heart.

“Viktor?  I do.  I like all your teammates.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he said quietly to avoid whining.

Fiona wanted to ask if he liked any of the girls he brought home.  If he ever bothered to know them at all.  How could he like someone he’d barely met?  It didn’t matter how much clothing they ended up shedding - it wasn’t the type of revelation Jon needed.  He could fuck any girl he wanted, except her.  She chose her worlds carefully.

“I like him more than you like the girls you bring home.  But that doesn’t mean I’m going to bring back to mine.”

Those were fighting words, bringing up more questions than they answered.  She let them hang.  Jon shifted - he was uncomfortable but it only served to remind Fiona that his huge, perfect body, that mass of sex appeal and strength, was currently closer to her goal line than any man in quite a while.  And whoever that last scorer was, Fiona hadn’t needed a full butterfly to get her thighs around him.

“He wants you to like him.”

Fiona sighed.  “I’m not worth it.”

Jon’s hands were behind her knees, his head rested against her breast.  She ran her thumb along the thick tendon at the back of his neck.  They both knew exactly what she meant - it wasn’t worth it for Viktor to chase something Jonathan wanted.  Stalberg could pick up the sloppy seconds or passed-overs, but only after Toews had first choice.  The Blackhawks pecking order was firmly established when it came to women.  And Fiona was something much more than that.

“You are,” Jon said, sliding his grip up to the back of her thighs.  “You definitely are.”

Kiss him, Fiona thought.  Her body ached to be absorbed by him.  She could lean down and press her lips to his ear, he’d turn and capture her mouth.  Borrowed clothes and swim trunks wouldn’t last a second.  The bathtub would become the first set in many scenes, all to end with panting and screaming and release.  But it would change everything and she wasn’t sure she’d ever find herself back here, intimately telling secrets and spending time, once she relegated herself to the ranks of the girls in Jon’s bed.

Fiona told herself it would be different, for her.  But Jon never did.
_____

Finally the water was cold.  Jon detached himself from Fiona’s body and helped her stand.  She looked down at her soaked clothes.

“No dripping on the floor,” he smirked.  She couldn’t reach the towels.

“You are,” Fiona pointed to the water pooling around his own feet from the swim shorts.

Jon shrugged.  Things had been weird all day and Fiona’s answers didn’t give him the reassurance he’d been looking for.  If she wasn’t going to stroke his ego, he wished she’s get to work stroking his second most useful part.  So he pushed the shorts to the floor in a wet thwap.

“Fucking hell, Jon!” Fiona’s hand flew up to cover her face.

“What?” he feigned, checking his naked self out from behind in the mirror over his shoulder.  Fiona spread her fingers and peeked at his reflection - backside only.  She nearly slipped to her death.  Jon flexed, curling one arm in front of his perfectly flat abs.  “Not interested?”

“Jonathan Toews, I am going to kill you.” She looked the other way.

“Gotta get out of the tub first.”  He crossed his arms and stood, stark naked, like the bouncer outside a club.  Fiona glared at him, he smiled right back.  Never once did her gaze drop below his elbows.  Jon was tempted to start shaking his hips like a dance.

“You will regret this,” she promised.  But her fingers curled slowly into the hem of the over-sized shirt.  Gathering a fistful of saturated cotton, Fiona turned her back and stripped it off.  Then she tucked it under her chin to cover her front, even though he couldn’t see, and dropped the boxer shorts.

Jon sucked in a breath at the site of her perfect ass.  He’d seen it scantily clad, rocking in the air like an apple hanging from a tree, while she eviscerated some nameless girl with the idea of a threesome.  Jon had wanted that girl to leave more than ever, because he didn’t need her.  Fiona in his bed, in earnest, would be plenty.

“Fi,” he started to reach for her when his hand was slapped away.  She didn’t even look or aim, just swung where she knew he’d be reaching.  Then she spun around, his drenched shirt clinging to the curves along the front of her body.  Chastened and stunned by the fact that she’d actually done it, and was close enough to touch or toss onto the bed, Jon stepped back.

Fiona took the opening and covered three steps to the door in a moment.  Jon stayed still, gaping.  She felt his eyes on her skin, her bare curves, making their way from the small of her back to the cleft just below her ass.  It left a hot trail of sparks, and left her shaking at the idea of his strong hand following along.  She glanced back to see Jon with his mouth hanging open.

For fuck’s sake.

She yanked the shirt from where it stuck to her front, balled it in one movement and threw it over her shoulder.  Jon’s gaze followed it - and she dashed away.  As her feet hit the carpet, she heard the wet slap of the shirt landing in the tub.

Jon yelped.  Fiona reached her destination - the walk-in closet - and slammed the door behind her.  Half a second later, Jon was shaking the handle.

“Let me in.”

“No one gets in the panic room,” she said, rifling through the sickeningly straight piles of clothes for a new pair of pants and a shirt.  That might not be enough.  A snowsuit, maybe?  A quick glance around didn’t reveal a suit of armor or chastity belt within reach.  Jon rocked the door hard.

“Fiona, I’ll break this down.”

“I’ll be out in a second!”

“I bet it’s....” His footsteps moved away, Fiona hurried to find something.  She pulled a red Canadian Tire long-sleeve shirt over her head like a dress, then found a pair of track pants.  They were way too big.

“Damn your huge ass, Toews!” she called, rolling them over four times at the waist.

Just then, she heard a scrape.  Another.  Before she could react, the lock clicked open.  Jon stood in the doorway, staring in awe at the credit card in his hand.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he smiled like he wasn’t still naked.

“Now you can retire to a life of crime,” Fiona laughed nervously.  This whole no-clothes thing needed to end right now.  The game was turning dangerous and she was beginning to think losing might be more of a win.  Her eyes drifted south and quickly darted away... then back.  Jon watched a hot blush creep up her cheeks.

He was big.  Everything about Jon was big, Fiona knew that.  But seeing him like this, Fiona knew that some things would never be the same.  Even if she left here now and joined a convent, she’d never sleep through another night without moaning and wet dreams.

“Jesus, Jon.”  She held out another pair of pants.

“I told you, the view changes.”  He stepped closer, Fiona backed a step deeper into the closet.  “I want you to know what you’re missing.”

“I already know.”

He let his eyes drop to her body, lost in the size of his clothes like she wore a tent.  Jon gestured with his chin. “I’d like to see what I’m missing.”

A smart remark sprang to her tongue, but Fiona swallowed it.  She was exhausted by the day and confused by all this attention.  Jon’s naked body was short-circuiting her brain.  The ground beneath her feet seemed sloped down, like a single step would send her tumbling, freewheeling toward something - a cliff, a bad landing, a bottomless pit.

“Jon,” she said quietly.  Her shoulders rounded and her voice dropped.  One white flag short of a surrender.

Jon closed his eyes.  Anger flared, leftover from the game; a hot burst of frustration flooded his veins.  He waited it out then looked at her again.  God damn she was so fucking beautiful.  Why couldn’t she just give in?

“Okay.”  He reached for the pants she offered, pulled them right on.  Then he reached back and grabbed her hand.  His wide thumb pressed into her palm, catching her unaware so he could pull her closer.  She sighed at the pleasure of the pressure as Jon wrapped her in his arms and frog-walked them to the bed without letting go.  One hand went for the corner of the comforter.

Fiona lifted her face to his, searching his eyes.  The urge to kiss her fired like a cannon but Jon gritted his teeth and let it drain away.

“Clean sheets,” he promised.  Fiona climbed in.

Jon followed her to the middle, fit his body all along behind and wrapped an arm over her side.  He bent his knees by pushing hers up, locking them together.  Heat bled from his shirtless chest into the tense muscles of her back.  Jon gently brushed the hair from her neck - Fiona felt goosebumps rise - and tucked his face into the spot.

Don’t go with him.  With anyone, Jon wanted to say.  

Don’t let anyone else in here, Fiona wished she could tell him.
____

“Fi.”

She didn’t move.

“Fi.”  Jon pushed a hand up under her shirt, flat on her back, as high as he could reach.  Her skin was softer than he thought possible.  Reaching her shoulder, he gave her a little shake.

“Fi.”

She came around slowly.  Fiona lay on her side, sprawled across his bare chest with one arm tucked in at his far hip - inside the waistband of his pants.  His dick wanted to stage a revolt, stand up like a soldier.  Jon was trying to reason with the traitor.

“Hey,” she croaked softly.  With one eye open she took stock of the situation: all the bare skin, her weight on top of him, his hand well beneath her clothes.  Fi pulled away a little and untangled herself, then nuzzled in against Jon again like a sleepy kitten.  

“Why are the girls who sleep here never cuddled up to you in the morning?  You’re so warm and lovely.”  She burrowed deeper.  Jon pushed an arm beneath her head, she accepted the half-hug and rested her head on his huge bicep.  It opened his whole side and she couldn’t help but rub her palm across his six-pack.  He squeezed her tight.

“I don’t....”

I don’t let them.  I don’t want them near me when I sleep.  And it would be tougher to get them out in the morning.  Jon told them he wasn’t a close sleeper, or claimed hockey injuries.  The truth was colder.  But he didn’t sleep well with them nearby either, unless he was drunk.  So when he failed in that category it made for a long night of lying awake near a sleeping, naked girl like the remnants of a snack you shouldn’t have eaten that exist only to make you feel wretched.

“I don’t like it.”

Fiona hooked a leg over Jon’s, anchoring them together.  “Liar.”

“Only with you.”

She went perfectly still at his side, even holding her breath.  Jon felt her muscles stiffen.  He rolled to face her and hauled her in close.  Those dark green eyes were unsure - but they didn’t say no.  It was the falter he’d been looking for before, the one tiny clue that she felt something too.  Not a lot, just a hint.

Jon put his lips to her cheek, just off the side of her mouth.  It was so nearly a kiss that it felt like a punch to the stomach.  He held Fiona tighter so she wouldn’t notice when his body rocked with the impact.

You’re the one, he almost said.

But he didn’t.  The phone rang.  Distracted by what he wasn’t telling Fiona, she was quicker on the draw.

“Headquarters,” Fiona hit the speakerphone and purred with the full lilt of her accent.  “Good morning, Mister Seabrook.”

“Ah, Moneypenny,” Brent laughed.  “You’re sounding very naked this morning.  I presume that means Mr. Bond is indisposed?”

She giggled from the back of her throat, so convincingly sexy that Jon groaned.  He reached out and dragged her up so her back was on his stomach.  She yelped in surprise, wriggling in his arms and making the whole situation even worse.  The phone slipped from her hand.

“He wishes!” Fiona yelled.  

“That’s true!” Jon clenched his arms around her waist, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

Seabrook made a barfing noise.  “Later Captain.  Have fun jerking off when she leaves.”

The phone beeped dead.  Fiona was still perched atop Jon, his rock solid bear hug unbreakable.  It was not at all unpleasant to feel every muscle in his professional body flexed against her, manhandling her with ease.  Add to that the huge biceps pushing her breasts up and together... she wondered just what Brent imagined they might be doing.  And what it would be like to actually do it.

Stop it, stop it!  Fiona let her body go slack all at once, falling into Jonathan and sliding off to one side.  He kept an arm around her and they lay still, watching the ceiling, each wondering if the other was thinking what they were thinking, all of which involved no clothes and a lot of heavy breathing.

Jon wondered what he would have to say to keep her in his bed.  How many things he’d have to apologize for, how many things he could never undo.  There was a long list of moments he wasn’t proud of.  Jon tried to picture himself through Fiona’s eyes and the vision wasn’t pretty - if he was honest, he frankly couldn’t understand what she saw in him.  Maybe that was the reason he’d been so upset of the idea of her and Viktor - a guy like Stalberg deserved a girl like Fiona.  Jon was well aware he fell painfully short.

While Jon was lost in thought, Fiona traced a finger along the heft of his bicep and watched his flawless skin give under the gentle pressure.  He was so strong and capable on the ice and in the locker room, yet he let his life outside the game spin in every direction, picking up whatever he bumped into and dropping it just as quickly.  Fiona was grateful for the semi-permanence of her role and knew the best way to lose it was to give Jon exactly what he wanted.

Even if sometimes she wanted it too.
_