Page 133 of The Pucking Date
“Finn,” she gasps. Her fingers are in my hair now, pulling, anchoring. “The guys are watching?—”
“Hmm,” I mutter against her jaw. “I don’t have a problem with that….”
My hands are everywhere, on her shoulders, in her hair. I’m like a man possessed, kissing her like she’s my oxygen.
“SWEET JESUS, GOLDEN BOY!” Jace’s shout cracks through the gym like a bell, followed by bellowing of the other guys.
“Didn’t know you had that kind of footwork off the ice!”
“Better check the ropes; O’Reilly’s breakin’ the laws of friction over there!”
“Is this the warm-up, or are we charging tickets for round two?”
“Yo, leave her some oxygen, damn!”
Laughter. Whistles. The thud of someone slapping a heavy bag for emphasis. And somewhere behind me, Jace drawls again, “Look at him, boy’s been starvin’. Ain’t touched his mouthguard, but he’s already goin’ mouth first.”
Jessica pulls back, flushed and breathless, trying to suppress a laugh. “We’re making a scene.”
“Yeah,” I say, still not letting go. “And I’m not sorry one bit.”
I give it five more seconds before I finally ease off a bit. My hands stay at her waist, thumbs tracing slow circles over her hips like I forgot how not to touch her.
She blinks up at me, cheeks pink, voice lower. “You’re sweaty.”
“You’re about to be.”
Her brows lift.
“You up for helping me shower?” I murmur, leaning down and biting her lip possessively.
She doesn’t answer. Just gives me a slow smile that wrecks me.
“Let’s go,” I growl, grabbing my bag with one hand and her hand with the other. As we cross the gym, the noise follows us like a wave.
“You go, Golden Boy!”
“Treat her right, O’Reilly!”
“Wrap it up before round two, bro!”
“I need me a girl like that; mine only throws my shit out the window.”
“Y’all need to get laid,” I shout back, not even turning around.
“That’s what you’re doin’, ain’t it?” someone calls.
Jace whistles. “Go get her, Romeo.”
We step out into the late afternoon heat, the door swinging shut behind us. The air is thick, the sun low, and I’m already so hard I want to burst.
“God, you smell,” she says, wrinkling her nose, laughing.
I stop walking. Turn to face her.
“Yeah? I’ll let you pick—do you want me now, with my sweat all over your pretty skin or should I have a shower first?”
She steps closer. Runs her hand over my chest. “You.”
