Passing Through (Love/Hate Part Three)

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Part Twenty Four

 Chapter Twenty Four

Training and work got in the way of life for them both over the next couple of days, when Bo hadn't seen Natasha by Wednesday, he was starting to get concerned, they were travelling to Newcastle on Friday, then up to Glasgow for Saturday's game. He knew that she headed to a zumba class on a Wednesday, so in a slightly stalker gesture, he dragged Blake, the captain and Nails to the gym for a massage. After all, they'd had a really hard on ice session that afternoon.

The masseur he had was a guy called Marcus. As Bo stripped and dropped onto the bed, he explained how long he'd worked there, his qualifications and what he was planning to do. And whilst he had the most demonic elbows, gouging into his gluts and hamstrings, Bo felt like putty in his hands by the end of the session. He could barely dress himself afterwards.

"You look spaced out." Bo glared at Nails after his comment."

Blake patted him on the back, "yep, I agree with Nails. You look a little preoccupied.!"

Bo elbowed him in the ribs, "obviously needed the massage then."

Blake grinned, "so it's relaxation and not the fact that you've got a certain someone downstairs you're wanting to see?"

Bo's stare flicked from the speaker, Blake, to Nails, the newbie, the only person who could have told his captain that information. He had the grace to blush profusely at being caught out.

"Loose lips sink ships, young man." He winked at Nails, then led them both downstairs.

Unfortunately, there was no sign of Natasha there. The disappointment that hit like a thunderbolt was all encompassing. He realised that he had relied on seeing her there, presumed that he'd have a chance to talk to her...and more.

By now he was in a rather abrupt mood, and had to ignore the knowing looks from his current company. Eventually he got up and stormed out...into his little car...and immediately to the street outside her home. Looking up, he could see lights on in the rooms above the shop. She was there at least. The relief at that was unbelievable.

Jumping out of the vehicle, he rushed to her door, and had buzzed the intercom before he had chance to talk himself out of it. He might feel like a stalker, and he hoped she didn't think that.

"Hello?" Her voice slid out of the speaker, wrapping around him, she was like the Pied Piper, enticing him, or the siren on the rocks. He just wanted to be near her, without any rational thought.

"You weren't at zumba..."

He sounded like a fucking stalker. Rolling his eyes, he leaned against the door.

"I twisted my ankle this afternoon...thought I should give it a miss."

She hadn't buzzed him in, and that worried him.

"Can I get you anything?"

She was quiet for a moment, "you want to come up?"

He sighed, "thought you'd never ask. But really, do you need anything?"

"Not really. I'm OK. Come up? Yeah?"

The door buzzed and he let himself in.

Natasha's ankle had blown up like a balloon when she'd wobbled off the pavement, but ice, tubigrip and a little elevation had meant that the swelling had eased and it wasn't half as stiff as it had been. And she'd been gutted to miss her gym class, not because she enjoyed it that much, but she had half hoped to see Bo there, now that he was knocking her door, looking for her, worried about her, she was jubilant inside, and trying to hide it as she heard his footsteps on the stairs.

She was on the sofa, foot propped up on cushions, watching him approach as the door from the hall way opened, and Bo stepped in. Had it only been a couple of days since she'd seen him? She wanted to see him more often, and that worried her. This was casual, there was no long term in this and she wasn't about to have her heart broken. But as he looked at her, eyes filled with concern from the door, a warm feeling washed over her.

He was so handsome, his very short, dark, curly hair, the beautifully clear skin, full lips, and those bloody cheekbones. His sleeveless t-shirt and training shorts clung to his muscular shoulders, and those divine legs. She literally swooned. He could be a pin-up, a model. Instead he was a rather subdued, yet sexy hockey player, and she couldn't help but smile at him.

"Fuck, Natasha!" He rushed across to her when he spotted her elevated and bandaged leg.

"It's fine," she offered, but he was already cupping her foot in his hands and feeling his way rather expertly around her ankle.

"It's not broken..."

She nodded, "I can walk on it, I just know it's better to keep it up."

Dropping to his knees, he stooped to give her a kiss, a brief, yet passionate kiss. "What do you need? A drink? Food?"

She shook her head, "nothing, though a cuddle could help."

He sighed with what she imagined was relief, "that I can do."

Easing her forward, he slipped on to the sofa next to her, wrapping his arms around her, and within a moment, she had turned in his arms and brought her lips to his. When they finally parted, both breathless, deafened by their pulsing hearts, she sighed,

"So you went to the gym?"

He smirked, "got a massage, just coincidence that it was a Wednesday."

"Ah," she replied, knowingly. His blush hinted that he had planned a meet, and that made her smile. "So you didn't expect to see me there?"

With a shrug, he lowered his mouth to hers, suddenly fed up with all the talking. And once again, their kiss was like electricity, she craved more of him, needed him. Sliding her hands under his shirt, she let her hands slide over his smooth skin, his back, shoulders, then down to that shapely backside that she was finding herself dreaming about. When his tongue slid into her mouth, she slipped her hands under the waistband of his shorts, over his firm buttocks.

Then her head popped up in shock, "commando?"

She was right he had no underwear on, and as she moved away from him to meet his eyes, questioningly, the obvious tent in his shorts only proved what she'd found.

He shrugged, "I wear a restrictive jock strap, like ALL the time. So shoot me for hanging loose every now and again."

He was blushing, and it was cute, dropping his head, he kept his eyes on her almost coyly, "my sisters say it's like when they take their bra off at the end of the night."

That made sense, there was no greater feeling than flinging off her bra after a busy or long day, smiling she slid her hand over his thigh, "and less work for me."

Stroking him through the very flimsy shorts led to him moaning, dropping back onto his elbows, watching her long fingers graze over him.

"Fuck," he murmured, "I am never wearing boxer shorts again."

Natasha laughed, it was so easy to slide the silky fabric down over his rough thighs, exposing him. Her thumb teased him, and when he closed his eyes, she managed to drop onto the floor on her knees. Opening his eyes with a flash, he murmured, "your ankle..."

She gave a little head shake, "I'm fine."

Then she swooped down and as she engulfed him with her mouth, any protest died on his lips.

Bo wasn't sure he could open his eyes, what she could do...he'd roll his eyes if they weren't still closed. Natasha was indescribable, he'd been in her home for less than fifteen minutes and he was wrecked, ruined. She was still on her knees, and when he peeped through his eyelashes at her, she was resting her shin on his stomach, her arms draped over his thighs, a rather smug expression on her face.

"How was that for a starter?"

His voice was hoarse as he managed, "I can't wait for dessert!"

That made her smile, pulling her self to her feet, staring down at him, half naked sprawled across her sofa, satiated, he couldn't imagine how he looked to her. Spent.

Her eyes not leaving his, she started to shimmy out of her jean shorts, a rather elaborate tease as she unbuckled them, then slid them down her thighs. They'd barely reached her knees, than he'd recovered and pulled her astride his body, pulling her hips up his body until she was near his face, then with a groan he dived in, returning the pleasure.

"Fucking perfect," he whispered as she collapsed back against his bent thighs, her body vibrating after reaching what he would describe as a very vocal orgasm. Her own thighs were either side of his head and his hands still had free roam.

"Too sensitive," she mumbled, reaching for his hands.

Which was a shame as he knew that he could make her feel even better. Slipping out from under her, he stood, then scooped her into his arms.

"I'm too heavy."

He shook his head, "no you're not, and I am not doing anything else on your sofa, with that picture of your grandmother looking down at me."

Chuckling she gave a little wave to the picture that hung above the sofa, "she'd have liked you, Nana H. She was a legend."

Pausing at the doorway, he glanced back at the picture, "she looks fun."

Natasha was wistful for a moment, "she was amazing."

"So you were lucky to have her?" He knew the way to the bedroom, and lowered her to the bed.

She nodded, watching him hungrily as he pulled off his shirt, "I was, definitely, my parents love me, but their careers always came first."

Completely naked now, he moved next to her, rolling her onto her back, "always good to know someone has your back."

"Who has yours?" She asked running her hands over him as he slid on top of her.

"Hmm," he contemplated that for a moment, "someone I let in, maybe?"

She studied him for a moment, "is that you admitting you hold people at arm's length?"

This was suddenly too deep, too intimate, but instead of listening to his instinct and getting the hell out of there, he let his body lower on to hers, their skin touching from shoulder to toe.

"Is this arm's length?"

That made her smile, a sexy chuckle, and he was happy to devour her, to forget that she'd made him look in on himself, question himself. A place he still wasn't ready to go.

The next morning, Natasha groaned at the alarm disturbing her whilst it was still dark. Bo rolled over, he'd stayed again. She liked that he had.

"What time is it?"

"Five. I've got a delivery in ten minutes." She sat up, then turned back to place a kiss on his lips. "Go back to sleep, I'll leave a key in the lounge, when you get up, lock up? I'll get you breakfast downstairs?"

His reply was a grunt, his eyes already closing, and she grinned as she found clothes, then dragged a brush through her hair. She should shower, but she really didn't have time. And if she stayed around any longer she'd be back in that bed with him, doing more of the naughty things that had kept her up half the night.

John, the delivery man for the dairy company she used, was a regular, and as he wheeled in the palettes of milk, cream and cheese that she needed, she had a coffee ready for him.

They talked for a little while, as they always did, about the weekends football results, the weather, his grandchildren. Then she wrapped a couple of scones for him to take on his journey.

This was part of her usual routine, but today, the thought of the man upstairs was occupying her mind.

Thursday was always carrot cake day, as well as Victoria sponge. Whilst she varied the menu for the cafe dependent on what she had that was fresh, and in season. But she had a few stalwarts that she did regularly. She had made dozens of cup cakes the previous night, so once the sponges were in the oven, she set about decorating them. Icing wasn't her favourite thing, but with the radio on, coffee, and an empty shop, time flew.

At seven thirty, she opened the cafe, and a few minutes after that, a still sleepy, yet very sexy Bo appeared. His sports gear looking a little out of place on what was a cold and wet late summer morning.

"Do you ever get used to this weather?" He asked as he came to the counter, then swept down to kiss her, a familiar yet passionate greeting that left her shivering.

Filling a mug with her brewed coffee, she smiled, "it's like this all the time, and we're used to it."

He leaned against the counter, "to think I moaned about being in the Mid West compared to SoCal. You say us Americans don't get irony. But I get it, right there."

Natasha smiled, "so what are you doing today?"

"Skating practice, ice stuff. About ten. Then early night as it's game day tomorrow. Got to travel to Newcastle."

She sighed, "and then London?"

He nodded, "but I'll home on Sunday morning. Thought maybe I could take you out to lunch, a few drinks?"

"Sounds perfect." She wanted to invite him around that night, but she knew it was too much, too soon. They couldn't spend every night together.

But then he's away lots of weekends, so you DON'T see him.

He drank his coffee, ate the breakfast she provided, and then stepped away from the counter as the first customers of the day entered the shop.

When there was a lull in service, he came back to the counter, completely oblivious to the attention he was getting from her usual patrons. He was so tall, muscular, athletic, he stood out as something special, and everyone was stealing glances, wondering of they recognised him.

"Thanks for breakfast, I really should get back. But thanks."

He kissed her, a chaste effort, but her toes still tingled. As he stepped towards the door, she could feel her own fingers touching her lips, with no real awareness of doing it. She could still feel the gruffness of his stubble.


It was a hiss more than a shout, but he heard her, then turned back.

"I'm not playing tennis tonight, not with this ankle." She'd strapped it up to work, but was looking forward to one of her staff members arriving to let her rest for a minute.

He pondered that comment rather elaborately, for far longer than was necessary. "So I could call over?"

She grinned, "I can do food and an early night."

His eyes lit up, and he blew her a kiss, "later."

He was like a teenager, bouncing from foot to foot, watching the clock, waiting for the time to tick, down. Checking his phone for the fourth time, Bo knew what Natasha's message said.

Closing cafe at six. Give me twenty minutes to just get a shower?

It was still well before six, and the drive to hers was maybe twenty minutes at the very most, with heavy traffic and maybe a break down. So he had to amuse himself again. Then he glanced at the bag near the door. He was travelling to the away game the next morning, he had to meet his team at nine am. There was no real point going home, so he had packed his overnight bag, he'd sort out his kit at the rink before getting on the team bus.

Did it seem presumptuous, arriving at Natasha's with an overnight bag? He wasn't sure, but it was tough. Every time they'd seen each other they'd spent the whole night together, it was likely that it would happen again. He'd deal with her reaction when it came.

Finally the clock struck six, so he gathered his things, and locked up the apartment.

It was an easy drive across to her, so he called into the gas station, filled up the car, and bought a bumper pack of condoms. They would use them, that was for sure. Slipping them into his bag, he drove the rest of the way, arriving at just after six twenty.

"You've got perfect timing," she breathed through the intercom, far too sexily for him to deal with. The anticipation of seeing her again had been building all day, and he was about to explode with lust, longing, need, desire...he wasn't sure which, or maybe all of them.

Not even bothering with a witty reply, he threw open the door and took the stairs two at a time, jogging to her front door.

It opened as he drew to a stop, and she smiled up at him. His eyes popped out on stalks, and he ran a hand through his hair.

"We're not going out." They'd talked about going our for dinner earlier, but there was no way.

"We could go out..." she offered, When he scowled she asked, "What's wrong?"

Rolling his eyes, he entered the hallway shutting the door behind him, "You're not wearing a bra!"

And what a fucking sight that was, he thought as he let his eyes travel over her shoulders, then the white t-shirt that was tight over her more than ample breasts, her dark nipples clearly visible through the fabric, and hardening as he studied her.

She bit her lip, a contrived move that made him gasp, then she asked coyly, "you can tell?"

Tell? He wanted to scream, he was about to lose his shit over her. Instead of the outburst, he gave a brisk nod.

"Hmm," she bit her thumb rather too suggestively, then smiled. "Long day...bit like going commando, hey?"

He felt heat surge through his body, never had a woman challenged him like this, kept him on his toes, pushed every single one of his buttons. She was taunting him, and he loved it, and was overwhelmed with it in equal measure. He couldn't even answer her.

"So you won't go out with me?"

He swallowed, trying to lubricate his dry throat, "I'm happy to, but I am not sure you'll like me punching every guy who checks you out." He'd never been so possessive in his life, he'd never cared. Not like this.

That made her laugh out loud, throwing her arms around his neck, "ah, Bo Holding, are you jealous?" When he shrugged, she chuckled, "it's OK, I cooked dinner, luckily it's steak for my caveman!"

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