#b03

Every year on your birthday, a bouquet of flowers appeared at your door and while there was never a card, you didn’t need one to know exactly who had sent them. When your boyfriends would ask you’d insist that they had come from one of your parents or grandparents. 

It had been almost a year since you’d seen Alex, though you’d spoken, well fought really, over the phone multiple times. See, ever since Alex met your boyfriend last summer he’d been insisting that he was bad news, that you deserved better than being with a guy like that. But you’d been stubborn and had decided that one meeting couldn’t possibly tell Alex what kind of man your boyfriend was. So every time you mentioned your boyfriend Alex tried to warn you and in return, you’d scream at him before hanging up. Though he wouldn’t push the issue for a while after that, he’d send a short text reminding you that his door would always be open for you no matter what. 

You hated him for being right. 

Finding your boyfriend cheating on you, in your own bed no less, completely crushed you. Without thinking you’d hopped into your car like you had what seemed like forever ago and just started driving. This time, instead of Boston, you were destined for Vegas. 

You could have flown. You should have flown. But a cross-country road trip was good for your soul. The tears had ebbed for the final time as you crossed into Indiana. For the majority of the trip after that, a feeling of emptiness had taken sadness’s place but the Nevada state line brought with it anger that you couldn’t explain. 

By the time you pulled up in front of Alex’s house, the thunder crashing and pouring rain echoed the intensity of your mood. All of the lights were off, which was unsurprising considering that the Golden Knights would be returning from a series of away games tonight. You hadn’t told Alex you were coming, though you’d had the chance many times, you didn’t want to hear the words that he’d been right all along. 

Instead, you sat on his stoop, letting the rain pour over you until headlights pulled into the driveway and Alex climbed out of his car, bag tossed over his shoulder along with his suit jacket, leaving him in just his button-up and dress slacks as he tried to dodge rain droplets while coming up the driveway. 

The moment he spotted you it almost felt like time had slowed and though you felt like you should be crying, no tears were falling. Instead, you pushed yourself to your feet and before either of you could say a word, his free arm had wrapped tightly around your hips and after one look in his eyes, you’d stretched to press your mouth to his. 

Not once did he pull away as he fumbled to get his door open, pulling you inside before pressing you against the door once it closed behind you. His large body crushed you between it and the door as he dropped his bags, now free hands, running up and down your sides before lifting you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. 

Whimpers escaped your throat as his mouth sucked deep marks onto the skin of your neck. Frantic hands worked to undress each other and as he buried himself inside you, your nails scraped deep lines down his back. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, drawing you back into a passionate kiss as his thrust into you over and over, pushing you toward the edge of pleasure. 

You screamed his name in climax and then felt him spilling inside of you, though he continued to work you through your orgasm until it began to ebb.  Only then did his kisses soften, touches turning from intense to gentle. Carefully, he carried you to his bed, laying you down gently. Though he moved to pull out of you, you kept your leg wrapped around his hip, keeping him in place. 

This certainly hadn’t been your intention when you’d decided to come to Vegas, you certainly hadn’t intended to use Alex to vent your anger and frustrations, nor had you expected him to let you. Your confusion as to what the hell had just happened must have been evident because Alex simply kissed you again before pulling back to speak against your lips.