Page 9 of The Girl in the Hockey Jersey

Oh. So pleasant.

His teeth scrape over the just-loved spot, and I arch off the bed, all my nerve endings firing like a mini fireworks display. He repeats the slow kiss, suck, and bite on the inside of my thigh, and then he peels the elastic edge of my panties up just enough to do it again on the edge of my mound.

“Kieran…”

“Groan my name. It gets me hard.” I snort, and he lifts his head, a charming grin dancing on his face. “It does.”

“Oh, I’m sure it does.”

“You’re such a fucking challenge to impress,” he growls. His eyes glitter. “I like it.”

Then he yanks the crotch of my panties to the side.

Heat floods my torso as he nuzzles his face between my thighs, his lips brushing against my sex, then his tongue teasing at the seam of my pussy.

Of course he’s good at this, I think desperately. He’s good at everything he does, and I wanted the full Kieran Marsh experience.So stop fighting it.

I toss my arms over my head, giving myself up to the turmoil-y goodness that is happening inside me.

One night with a professional hockey player. A sex god, by all early evidence. A funny, quick-witted guy with a talented mouth and a charming smile.

I may have set out tonight to learn something about this kind of man, to see how a certain type acts once the game is over and the fans go home. But I’ve stumbled into something else here.

Something I might want to cherish forever.

So I open the little box in the back of my mind where I keep my worries and resentments, and I put Harper Roberts in that box.

Tonight, I’m the girl in the jersey. A secret hockey fan, a not-so-secret fan of Kieran Marsh’s tongue, and a full-and-present participant in what happens in the next few hours.

He sets his free hand on my inner thigh, pressing that leg up and away. Revealing more of me to his lapping tongue, his sucking mouth.

I groan his name again. His body rocks, and I imagine him grinding his hips into the mattress as he eats me out, my wicked taste all he needs to get twisted up. Oh, and his name on my lips, apparently.

“Kieran,” I whisper again for good measure, my pulse leaping with the breathy syllables.

He rears up, his lips slick, his eyes wild, and he drags my underwear down my legs. “Need you naked,” he barks.

That’s hot.

I roll the jersey off, and he yanks up the t-shirt I was wearing underneath it. “Bare tits all night long?”

Now he’s groaning my name as he rolls us over, spreading me wide on top of him. A naked woman perched in the lap of a fully dressed hockey player.

Quite the cli—

Nope.

Shove. In. The. Box.

Because the look in his eyes is all mine tonight. That heated, needy, animalistic expression…it makes my skin warm and my muscles loose. Makes me roll my shoulders back, putting a little jiggle in those bare tits he likes so much.

His gaze hooded, he cups my slight swells, pinching my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. “You’re so pretty,” he says, and it’s reverent.

I hope I remember that line in the morning. The way he says it makes my thighs ache, and I rock a little.

He drags his attention to where my legs are splayed. “Look at you, all turned on for me.”

I blush and don’t look down. I’m probably making a mess on his expensive suit pants, but he’s the one who sat me here.

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