Page 132 of Hockey Halloween
I’m drawn to Tristan’s steady gaze as he observes my reaction. I’m the first to look away, flustered.
After a beat, Tristan clears his throat and rasps, “Yeah. Something like that.”
Tristan
An hour and a half into the party and I have yet to get Ligaya to myself. When a guy named Kai asks if he can try the wings on, just as Ligaya takes a tray to the kitchen, I use the excuse to follow her.
“Need help?” I ask.
She looks over her shoulder. Her wavy dark hair grazes her back, drawing my eye to the creamy expanse of her skin. And lower.
The tattoo has to be a joke, right? Seas instead ofseizethe day? I mean, she’s a freaking English teacher.
As if she can mind read, Ligaya explains, “The writing isn’t permanent. The seashell is.”
“Thank god,” I exhale in relief.
We both chuckle.
“What’s a trip with girlfriends without a tramp stamp, after all.”
The term irks me. “It’s not a tramp stamp. It’s beautiful.”
Her eyes widen. “That was a softball pitch to make fun of me, Tristan. I’m surprised you didn’t swing.”
“I’m serious. In fact, I’d like to check it out a little more. The design is rather… interesting.”
By interesting, I mean hot as fuck because it’s on her skin.
Ligaya does the last thing I expect. Of course, she does.
She turns around and leans her forearms on the counter. The pose makes her curvy backside stick out and the light shine on the tattoo.
“Go ahead.” She sounds as breathless as I feel. “Give it a look.”
Fuck, yeah.
She’s a feast on that kitchen counter. My eyes track the elegant line of her spine and the subtle way her shoulder blades undulate under her skin. The tattoo sits on her lower back, right above the waistband. I trace a finger over the curve that dips ever so slightly. That subtle, perfect hollow is the sexiest sliver of skin I’ve ever seen. I follow the intricate lines of the seashell and hear her sharp intake of breath.
“Goddamn, your skin is silk.”
She glances over her shoulder with hooded eyes. I wrap my fingers around her waist and she closes her eyes and moans. Confident that my grip is welcome, I run my thumb over the tattoo in firm circles.
“Tristan?”
“Yes, Ligaya?” I splay my fingers over her lower belly.
“Don’t stop.”
“I don’t plan to,” I answer, doubling my effort so both thumbs frame her spine with massaging motions. The movement positions me behind her. I keep my hips back but Ligaya leans further, grazing her ass cheeks against my steel cock.
“Goddamn, Ligaya,” I mumble, amazed by how well our bodies fit. My cock pushes angrily against my zipper.
“I’ve been meaning to get a massage,” she quips.
I run my hand to the front of her body and urge her up so her back is pressed against my chest and I can pin her hips between me and the kitchen cabinet.
“Lucky for you, I’ve been dying to give you one.”
