Page 45 of The Pucking Date
He shifts, mouth grazing my jaw. A waterfall of tingles spills down my spine. “Sure it was. Ice skating is a classic. It just needs a proper ending.”
His hand finds the small of my back, pulling me in. He’s steel and sinew, and all I can think about is how good he felt inside me. How completely he filled me. His thigh shifts, closer now, firmer between mine.
“Let’s play hooky today.” His voice gains a gruff edge.
“What? I can’t; I need to prep for the summit.” I try to deflect, but my body has already decided. Every inch of me screams yes.
“Come back to my place.” His lips graze my neck, breath hot, goosebumps rising in its wake. “I’ll pull you an espresso. Strip you down slow. Kiss every inch until you forget why you keep running from me. Then I’ll lay you out and take my time reminding you how good we are for each other.”
My pulse stutters.
“Finn—”
“Let me take care of you.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. No one’s offered to take care of me in...God, I can’t remember how long. My lungs forget how to work, my mind goes completely blank except for one screaming thought:yes, please, yes. There’snothing but fire and need and desperate longing. His thumb traces along my hip, deliberate, reverent.
“Say yes, darlin’. Let me be your man.”
The soft thunk of a door echoing across the rink barely registers. We’re too lost in each other to care.
And I do want that. Christ, I want him with an ache that reaches my bones. I open my mouth to say yes?—
“WHAT the hell are you doing on the ice this early, O’Reilly?” Dad’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade through silk. I jolt away from Finn so fast, I nearly lose my balance, caught red-handed in something that looked exactly like what it was.
But Finn doesn’t flinch. He shifts back an inch, calm as you please, as if almost kissing the coach’s daughter is built into his morning routine.
“A light skate before the captain’s run,” he says casually, mouth warm from hovering over mine two seconds ago, whispering wreck-you-and-ruin-you things.
My dad’s gaze narrows. “That so?”
Finn nods. “Gotta stay sharp, Coach.”
Then he flicks one last look my way—smoldering, charged, very much unfinished—and pushes off into a lazy, controlled drift that looks anything but innocent.
And then, he winks.
The bastardwinks.
Detonates every rational thought in my skull and strolls off as if nothing happened.
I exhale shakily, core humming, legs unsteady beneath my skates.
The rink door clanks shut behind him.
“Jessica.”
My dad’s tone drops, low and clipped. The one that used to stop me cold at twelve.
“What were you thinking?”
I turn to face him, spine stiff. “I was skating. Like I do every week.”
“You were practically—” He cuts himself off. Drags a hand down his face. “You can’t afford distractions like this.”
My jaw tightens. “It wasn’t a distraction. We were doing a lift.”
“You shouldn’t let O’Reilly get this close. We spoke about this already.”
