Finn's Shot: Eden's Odyssey, #1

1

Finn

Ismile to myself as I step out of the double doors and away from the empty arena. I took my time leaving tonight, hoping to be able to walk to my truck without a horde of hockey hookers following me like the pied piper of fake boobs and stilettos. It looks like I waited long enough. If I were Irish I’d do a damn jig to celebrate, but I’m Canadian and we’re far more reserved than that.

It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed my share of puck bunnies over the years, but the groupie scene gets old after a while. I’m mature enough now that I need more substance. Just getting my rocks off doesn’t quite cut it, so I don’t bother with those women unless I’m desperate. It’s been a while, but not so long that I need to go that route.

I sling my duffle bag onto the back seat of my truck, shut the door, and press the button on my keys to lock it up. After the tell-tale beep of the lock, I stride to a bar about three blocks down. I’m not going to stay anonymous in this suit for long, but I forgot to bring a change of clothes. It’s a league rule we arrive and depart from the arenas in a suit and tie. With my height and build, wearing a suit makes it hard to remain inconspicuous in a bar, especially near our home ice.

Buddy’s Bar is one of my favorites and I drop in every chance I get. I don’t drink much, especially during the season, but I like the staff, the kind of clientele they draw, and the enormous televisions all turned to different hockey games during the season. Also, in the off season it’s just a nice place to relax.

As I approach, a petite woman with long curly blonde hair catches my attention. She’s standing on the street corner in front of Buddy’s like she plans to cross, yet hasn’t moved. In fact, she’s like a statue as people crowd behind her and step out all around her.

Why isn’t she moving?

As my gaze runs the length of her, I freeze. A black, thigh length, pea coat is wrapped around her and tied with a red sash in the front, leaving her toned and shapely legs visible. The last thing I notice is the sexy high heels on her little feet. Something about this woman has me like a duck in an oil slick, completely stuck in place. She continues to stare straight ahead as the windy Chicago air toys with the ends of her hair, lifting and twisting the strands. It’s hypnotizing to watch.

Almost as if she knows I’m staring at her, she turns her head toward me, her eyes locking on mine. Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything. Her eyes sweep me from head to toe and then meet mine again. I smile at her, unable to help myself. Her features are delicate with a small and slightly upturned nose, plump rose-colored lips, skin a soft alabaster, and cheeks pink from the cool air. She’s simply stunning. Classy and beautiful in a way I haven’t seen in a long time.

Her face lights up with a playful smile and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. She looks back to the street. Neither of us say a word but the connection is instant, and I know I can’t let her leave.

Wait! I shout, surprising myself. Wait!

She pauses and glances back as I approach from the side.

Hey. Are you busy now? I ask.

I should probably introduce myself, but I can’t seem to make my mouth say what I believe needs to be said. She shakes her head but doesn’t actually speak. She just gifts me with another dazzling smile.

Want to join me for a drink? I blurt, suddenly feeling like an adolescent boy rather than the grown man I am. I reach my hand out toward her like I expect her to say yes.

Her eyes search mine with the hint of smile in them and finally she nods and places her hand in mine, which is tiny and surprisingly warm. I grin at her and gently pull her inside Buddy’s.

Once seated, I wave the barkeep down to us and say, Molson bottle tonight for me, Frank, and for the lady…. I turn waiting for her response. She grins and before she can reply, Frank answers for her with a chuckle, Diet and rum with a twist of lime? Hey, Darcy. Good to see you.

Yes. Hey, Frankie. Good to see you too. Sorry I haven’t been in for a while. The old guy chuckles again and wanders off to get our drinks. Twisting the upper half of my body as I lean against the bar, I shake my head and smile. "Regular here… Darcy?"

Not anymore. I’m too busy. Been coming here for years though. Even with all the bars in the area, this one’s still my favorite.

I see. So what do you do that has you so busy?

She smiles an I’ve-got-a-secret smile while looking at her clasped hands on the bar and responds, Hmmm. Let’s not go there. Let’s avoid the usual small talk bullshit and come up with the most bizarre questions possible to ask the other person.

One side of my mouth kicks up, as I consider her proposal. This could be very interesting. Why the hell not? No telling what she’ll say, and she’s already surprised me enough that I want to see what’s next. Sure, that sounds good. I’m Finn, by the way.

She giggles a little and says, Nice to meet you, Finn. I’ll go first, since this was my idea. Would you rather be attacked by a mountain lion or a bear?

Not what I expected her to ask. What does that even mean? My surprise is obvious as my eyebrows rise to my hairline. What?

Mountain lion or bear?

My eyebrows hit my hairline. Can I answer neither one?

The playful smile firmly in place, she shakes her head. This woman smiles a lot and I find it refreshing.

I guess a mountain lion, because I’ll be taller. I’ll have a better chance that way.

She busts up laughing, the sound infectious. What a bizarre question.

How tall are you exactly? she asks.

Six foot six.

I guess that’s why I have to crane my neck back to look up at you since I’m only five foot six. She grins and holds her hand out, palm up, ushering me to take the next question.

What makes you laugh the most? Slap stick, sarcasm, or subtle humor? I question, unable to come up with something as bizarre as the mountain lion vs. bear one she threw at me.

Slap stick when I’m watching a movie. I watched the Three Stooges non-stop as a kid and couldn’t stop laughing. Sarcasm in conversation, I guess. Subtle humor goes over my head, more often than not. Without even blinking, she rolls right into the next one. Whips or chains? she asks with a naughty grin. I practically spit my drink out. I really wasn’t expecting her to go that route. It’s rare that a woman will surprise me, but she’s succeeded already.

Um…

She busts up laughing before she shares her own answer to the question. My preference is chains. Rather be chained up than whipped. Pain is not my thing

My eyes are enormous as I get the impression she isn’t kidding. We go back and forth for an hour with more goofy questions, and it’s the best and strangest conversation I’ve had in a while. Her forward nature, mixed with high self-confidence, and a body that won’t quit, leads me to yell down the bar to Frank and request the check. Before I can get a word out, she invites, Come back to my place?

Under normal circumstances, forward women turn me off. As a hockey player, women tend to throw themselves at me and expect a response. It’s not something I care for anymore, but there’s something different about Darcy, and she hasn’t mentioned the hockey player thing. I’m not sure if she knows who I am. She doesn’t come across as sleazy or cheap. She’s fun and charming and hasn’t acted like anyone I’ve met.

Sure. Sounds good. You want to ride with me or do you have your own car?

My place is walking distance from here. You can move your car to my street, but parking is limited so we’ll be lucky to find a spot. It’s up to you.

I can just leave it where it is now. I almost mention it’s at the arena, but decide I don’t want to reveal my profession if I don’t have to. Let’s see how this evening turns out without hockey player status.

All right, follow me.

As we pass through the glass doors of the bar entrance, I follow closely behind her until she reaches back and slides her small hand in mine and pulls me up next to her. Her head doesn’t even reach my shoulder. She doesn’t say a word as we walk through the deserted streets; the only sound is the cadence of our footsteps. Ten minutes later, we’re riding an elevator up to the top of a nice downtown apartment building. It’s not fancy by any means, but it’s nicer than most and seems quiet.

As she pushes her way into the apartment, pausing to flick on lights in the place, an explosion of color smacks me in the face. I’m not expecting it, so it’s more shocking than it should be. The walls are sunshine yellow and there are colorful paintings all over the place. Her bright, multi-colored furniture is all solid patterns. This is the exact opposite of my apartment. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

2

Darcy

Iadore the shock on his face. He clearly didn’t expect the wild color scheme I have going on in my apartment. As an artist, I love the plethora of colors in my place. It helps to keep me happy. Who can be sad when surrounded by a rainbow?

Sorry. I forgot to warn you. I like color.

Surprised eyes turn to mine. I share a flirty smile and wait for him to say something.

I didn’t expect it, but I like it. Never been in a place this…colorful. It’s interesting.

He slides his hands in his pockets nervously and shakes them a little like he’s not quite sure what to think or do.

Let me take your coat. It was cool outside, but it gets warm in here this time of year.

He shrugs off the suit coat and passes it to me. I find his shoulders impressive with the jacket, but even more so with it off.

Want a drink? I have American beer and white wine.

No, I’m good. I can’t drink too much.

I tilt my head trying to decipher his meaning, and when he doesn’t offer any other information, I hang his coat on a hanger and put it in the coat closet behind the front door. I grasp him by the hand and lead him to the bright red couch placed in the middle of my living room.

He lowers his large body onto the middle cushion. I step over to the stereo and press play, hoping to break up the quiet of the apartment. Once he’s seated, I waste no time with awkward pleasantries; I simply straddle his thighs. We are now eye to eye, and he watches me warily.

Am I making you uncomfortable? Holding a sinful smirk, I wait for his answer.

He seems to search my face for a minute and I do my damnedest not to cower under his stare. I’m going to be proud of who I am and go after what I want. I refuse to be limited by what society says is the norm for sexual advances. As the owner of an exclusive sex club, I can’t be shy about sex, but I’m no slut. In fact, I haven’t been with as many people as you’d think in my line of work. This guy, though, is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen so I don’t plan to hold back. He looks familiar, and I can’t figure out why, but at this point I don’t care. I just want to see what he’s packing under that expensive suit. This is a first. I’ve never brought a complete stranger back to my place. The whole scenario should scare me at least a little, but it doesn’t. He has a comforting aura about him and I tend to be good at reading people.

No, uncomfortable is not the word I’d use. His voice is husky as his gigantic hands grip my curvy hips. He lifts me slightly to line up my center with his.

I find his erection to be much bigger than I expect. He’s hard as stone and my body tunes in to his immediately, soaking my panties at an alarming rate.

I lean forward and place my lips so close to his that I can feel the heat of his breath as it escapes his mouth, and the combination of beer and mint gum tickles my senses. Our gazes lock. I’m afraid to close my eyes for fear of missing something in his. They’re so expressive, he’d give away his whole hand if we were playing poker.

I flatten my palms on his chest and push them up slowly over his shoulders, along his neck and up into his hair. It’s a coffee colored, almost unruly, wavy mess that curls over the collar of his shirt. I grip the strands in my fingers and pull his head to mine. My lids lower, and I try to soak up every step of this little liaison and catalogue it for later. Our lips connect. He’s hesitant and gentle at first. Then I lick the seam of his lips, begging entrance; and as soon as I break the barrier, he loses control. His mouth opens enough to lick and stroke the inside of mine, and then his tongue coaxes it to dance with his. It’s the sexiest kiss I’ve ever had. His erection is like steel between us, growing thicker by the second, as I grind down on him over and over again.

His calloused hands slide under my blouse and up the sensitive skin of my back where he unhooks my bra. Stopping to check my expression, he waits for permission before I nod and allow him to go on.

To prove I’m okay with where things are going, I unbutton my shirt all the way down, leaving it open only a fraction. His mouth is back on mine, and his fingers push the flimsy material over my shoulders and off onto the floor behind me. My bra follows shortly thereafter, and he groans as his hooded gaze takes in my 36D breasts. His hands slide up over my rib cage to grip the mounds in his palms. Keeping eye contact, he seeks the berried tips with his lips, and his tongue snakes out to swipe across the tender flesh. My body shudders as my hips roll against him.

My nipples have always been a highly erogenous zone for me, but now even more so with his attention. The sear of his tongue is like a hot line to my clit tonight. He pulls with his lush lips, giving a gentle nip, and my head drops back. A moan escapes my mouth. His eyes observe my response as he moves his attention back to the other breast, repeating the process, and my thighs quiver at the sensation. It’s possible I’ll have an orgasm just from breast play. It’s only happened once before and I was tied up at the time.

With shaky fingers I unbutton his shirt, pushing it back to reveal a sexy tribal tattoo in black ink that swirls around one of his thick muscular shoulders and down over his bicep. I trace the lines with a fingernail and watch as the goose bumps follow in its wake. I push the shirt as far down his arms as I can in this position, until he removes it and throws it to the floor. Artfully done, on the other arm are the tats of a hockey puck and stick, and the number 77 inked in black below them.

Aha! His tattoos trigger my memory. He’s on banners and billboards all over the city, but he’s in hockey gear, his expression menacing in all of those shots. He’s a professional hockey player for the Chicago Blizzard. Not that it matters much to me since I’m not into hockey, but the body created by his sport sure gives me a great piece of canvas to paint with my lips and tongue tonight. His body is ridiculous, long and lean with defined muscle everywhere I can see. His thick muscled thighs contract under me as he works to get my attention again by pulling my nipple into his mouth with his skilled lips and tweaking the other with his calloused fingers. I’m busy absorbing the sensual sensation as I keep tracing with my fingertips, moving over to the indentations of his muscular stomach until he gets too impatient and flips me to my back on the couch, hiking my skirt up higher.

His voice is husky with lust as he asks, What do you want, Darcy? How far do you want this to go? I’m close to my breaking point, and I need to know. He studies my expression, waiting for my response.

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