Page 84 of Guarded Love

He's quiet for a moment, and I can see him wrestling with whether to answer honestly. Finally, he exhales slowly. "Yeah. I liked it."

The admission sends heat racing through my veins. "Why?"

"Because..." He pauses, his hands sliding down to grip my hips more firmly. "Because I guess I have a praise kink.”

This powerful, always in control man who commands respect on the ice and in the classroom just admitted he has a praise kink. To me.

"A praise kink," I repeat, letting the words roll off my tongue as I watch his reaction. His jaw tightens, and I can see the flush creeping up his neck. "So when I tell you you're being good..."

"Willow." My name comes out as a warning, but his body betrays him because I feel his grip tighten on my hips.

"What happens when I tell you you're my good boy?" I ask, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Does it make you want to please me even more?"

"Fuck yes."

The admission makes me want to be even more bold. I slide my hands up his chest and say, "I thought so. You were so good to me in that alley, Blaise. So thorough. So perfect."

A low groan leaves his lips, and suddenly his mouth is on mine again, hungrier this time. His hands roam my body with more urgency, and if his cock is any indication, my words are having the effect I want them to have on him.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he says in my ear, and I shiver as a result.

"Then show me," I challenge as my fingers play with his belt buckle. "Show me how fantastic you can be."

I undo his jeans and belt and both of them hit the floor with a soft thud. I immediately notice the tension in his body. There's something intoxicating about having this effect on someone who usually doesn’t lose control.

"You're going to be the death of me," he says against my lips, but his hands are already working at the clasp of my bra.

"Good," I say back. "I want to wreck you the way you wrecked me."

The bra falls away, and suddenly his hands are everywhere. He’s cupping and caressing my breasts and when his thumbs brush over my nipples, I arch into his touch, practically begging for more.

"I love how responsive and sensitive you are to my touch you are," he says it so low that I wonder if he’s actually talking to me. "So perfect."

"That's very romantic," I toss out because this is getting serious very fast. "Very un-fuckboy of you."

He laughs softly. "I was never a fuckboy, Willow. Just a coward."

"Well, you're being very brave now." I let my hands slide down his chest again. "Almost heroically brave, one might say."

"Are you mocking my emotional vulnerability?" But he's smiling as he says it.

"Maybe a little." I grin up at him. "It's cute how you get all sincere when you're about to get laid."

"Cute?" He raises an eyebrow, and suddenly his hands are on my thighs, lifting me effortlessly. “There’s nothing cute about me.”

My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries me the few steps to his bed. "Yes there is; you’re very cute. Like a golden retriever who learned to sit."

He sets me down gently on the edge of the mattress. "You always do that."

"Do what?"

"Use sarcasm when things get too real." His fingers trace along my jaw. "You don't have to deflect with me."

The observation hits too close to home, making me want to retreat behind another joke. But the way he's looking at me stops the words before they form.

"This is terrifying," I admit quietly.

"I know." He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. "It's terrifying for me too."

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