Page 17 of Hockey Halloween
“Thank fuck for this,” I mutter.
She laughs, a deep, throaty sound that I swear I’ll hear in my dreams for weeks. After I roll the protection on, I sit on the couch, motioning her closer. She swings a leg over me, straddling my lap with a confidence that makes me dizzy.
Her thighs bracket mine, warm and solid and so fucking perfect. Her hands settle on my shoulders, anchoring herself as she slowly sinks down onto me.
I groan, head falling back. “Fuck, Willa. Just like that.”
Feeling her this way, all wrapped around me, makes me wonder how I ever went this long without her. My hands find her hips, then slide up her waist, fingers splayed wide to hold onto her as she begins to move. Each roll of her body sends fire up my spine. Her skin’s flushed, lips parted in pleasure.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” I press my mouth to the slope ofher breast, tasting the salt of her skin and the sweetness of the moment. “You also feel like heaven.”
Her voice cracks with wonder. “And you fill me up so good, Nolan.”
Her fingers tangle in my hair as she kisses me, desperate and messy.So damn perfect. She moves with purpose now, chasing something we both want to find.
“I’m so close,” she breathes, forehead pressed to mine.
“Let go for me,” I rasp, tightening my grip on her hips. “I’ve got you.”
She shatters in my arms a heartbeat later, her body clenching around me, breath caught in a silent cry that breaks open seconds later in a guttural moan that undoes me.
I follow with a groan, hips jerking up as the pleasure slams into me, hot and consuming. It steals my breath, hollows me out and fills me all at once. I hold on to her, not letting go.
She rests her forehead to my shoulder, her breath warm and unsteady on my skin. Post-orgasm trembles still work through her limbs as I wrap my arms around her, pulling her tight, anchoring us both in the afterglow. We stay tangled together, slick with sweat.
“Holy shit,” she mutters, voice muffled against my shoulder. “Is it always that intense with you?”
I kiss the crown of her head, still trying to catch my breath. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
She tilts her head, hair sticking to her damp cheek, eyes glassy and wide. “Because if it is,” she murmurs, “I might never let you go.”
Her words hit me hard as I brush her hair with my fingertips. “You might be stuck with me, then.”
She shifts slightly, still wrapped around me, then presses a soft kiss below my jaw. And I’m right where I’m meant to be. The way we fit is inevitable.
Willa
The morning light filters through the sheer curtains, bathing the room in its glow. My legs are tangled with Nolan’s, my cheek resting on his bare chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.
I should be exhausted—we didn’t sleep much—but there's a different type of energy thrumming in my veins. Not adrenaline. Not nerves. It’s something gentler I don’t have a name for yet.
Carefully, I shift, trying not to wake him. His arm tightens around me for a moment before relaxing. I slip from the warmth of the bed and pad across the hardwood, pulling on my mint green robe as I head for the kitchen.
My apartment is the same as it was yesterday—small, familiar and all mine. But now it holds the echo of his voice and the imprint of his weight on my couch. There’s the faint scent of his cologne lingering on my skin and in the air. His clothes are piled next to the front door, making my cheeks flush thinking about how quickly we got naked once arriving at my place last night.
I start the coffee, savoring the comforting smell as it brews. Rummaging through my kitchen, I try to put together something toeat. While heating the pan and letting the coffee brew, I grab eggs from the fridge, slice a few pieces of sourdough and cut a ripe avocado.
I’m plating the scrambled eggs when I hear footsteps behind me. He’s standing in my kitchen nook, like he belongs right here. His boxers hang low on his hips, and one of my throw blankets is draped around his shoulders imitating a cape. His hair is a mess, tousled and sticking up, and his eyelids are heavy with sleep. He’s rumpled and unguarded, beautiful in a way that steals my breath.
“You made breakfast?” His voice is scratchy and oh so sexy. It makes my insides purr.
I hold out a plate, the corners of my mouth tugging up. “Nothing fancy, but it’s hot and it’ll get you full.”
“You’re officially the perfect woman,” he brushes an unhurried kiss to my cheek before grabbing his mug. “Good morning, my Muse.”
I freaking love the nickname. “Good morning, Nolan.”
We sit on the couch with the plates balanced on our laps, the moment quiet except for the soft clink of forks and the occasional hum of appreciation. There’s no rush. No awkwardness. Only that still, suspended feeling of two people wrapped in a moment that neither of them wants to end.
