Page 126 of The Overtime Kiss

“Fine. You’re right, Cat Daddy.”

“I knew it,” he says, then hops out of bed to fetch the furball.

I peer over at the big, strapping hockey stud cradling a tiny kitten against his chest. I sigh happily. “I think she wants you to throw her one of those tinfoil balls,” I say.

“Perfect. I get to play with both of you,” Tyler says.

And a few minutes later, he’s multitasking—tossing tinfoil balls to the kitten while stroking my pussy again, bringing me to another orgasm.

We’ve broken our number one rule. It feels like we’re breaking an unwritten one when a few minutes later, he says, “Tell me about your lessons.”

I snort. “Is that a condition of untying?”

His eyes shoot to my wrists, still shackled by the silk scarves. “Oh shit,” he says, then hustles to untie me.

He stretches across me, and wow, I have quite a nice view of his chest. It’s so strong and sturdy, and there’s a bruise right there. As he frees my right hand, I reach for the bruise, gently touching the inky lake on his right pec, just under his kids’ birthdays. “Does this hurt?” I ask as he shifts to my left wrist.

He glances down at me, pausing his knot work. His lips shift. “If I say yes, will you kiss it?”

The flirt is strong in him.

“I guess you’ll have to find out.” I suppose it’s strong in me too.

He frowns, playing it up. “It hurts so much.”

I stretch closer, pressing a kiss to the slab of muscle. His breath hitches as I touch him, and a thrill rushes through me.

He unknots the scarf on my left wrist, freeing me and catching my left hand in his. He strokes the faint red marks the material’s left on my arm. “Does this hurt?”

Well, two can play at this game. “Yes.”

He kisses it, then my other wrist. I shiver from his soft touches, these after kisses to my once-bound wrists. From under him like this, I scan his upper body, spotting a scratch on his forearm. With him still leaning over me, I drag a finger across the cut—it’s maybe a week old, nearly healed. “This?”

He pauses, then perhaps gives in completely, letting me take the lead in this game as he says, “So much.”

I kiss him there, a slow, sweet kiss that makes his breath catch once again. I didn’t know these soft kisses could affect a man like this. Could affectthisman like this. I study his face, hunting for any marks and bruises from the rough sport he plays for a living, then run my finger down his cheek, traveling to a small cut along his jaw. “And this?”

Tyler pouts. “Hurts a lot.”

Happily, I kiss there too, brushing my lips slowly across his skin. Savoring every hum, every murmur. I relish it—this power I’m only now realizing I have over this burly defenseman, who looms over opponents on the ice and smashes men into the boards, but then melts into my kisses. It’s a power I want to use for good. So I drop another slow, hazy kiss to his jawline.

He sighs, and I want to capture that sound. The sound of him relaxing into me after a long day. Another soft murmur comes from him as I continue to kiss him. He settles down next to me on the bed, looping his arm around my waist. He’s so warm right now.

I touch the corner of his mouth with my forefinger. “And this?”

“So much pain,” he whispers.

I press my mouth to his and kiss him, a little more deeply. He parts his lips, swallowing more of the kiss, drinking it up like it’s brandy. I kiss him back luxuriously, taking my time as his hands wrap around my waist and he holds me close. It’s a tight grip like he doesn’t want to let me go.

It lasts an intoxicating minute or maybe many more until our kiss is interrupted by another meow—loud and demanding.

Drama is stalking the foot of the bed like a tiny black and white lion, looking entirely put out.

“Kitty girl wants to join us,” Tyler says, then sits up and reaches for her, cradling her in a palm. He places her on a pillow, but being a cat, she doesn’t sit still. She parades around beside the headboard, testing each section while Tyler returns to me, kissing me tenderly. Then more urgently. And I can’t resist.

My lips travel down his chest to his abs, then to the zipper of his pants. I tug at it, arching a brow. “Does this hurt?”

“Unbelievably so,” he says.

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