Page 19 of Slap Shot
"No second thoughts," she said, and reached for the hem of his shirt.
Oliver's shirt came away easily, revealing the body she'd only imagined beneath all those fitted button-downs. Hockey had carved him into something magnificent—broad shoulders that tapered to a lean waist, defined abs that made her mouth go dry, muscles that flexed as he tossed the fabric aside. But it was thescars that made her breath catch: a jagged line along his ribs, a constellation of smaller marks across his chest.
"Occupational hazards," he said, voice rough as he noticed her stare.
"They're perfect," she whispered, tracing the jagged scar with trembling fingers. His skin was hot beneath her touch, and when he shuddered, she felt a surge of feminine power she'd forgotten she possessed.
His hands found the buttons of her blouse, fingers surprisingly gentle for their size. "I've been thinking about this since that first day in the coffee shop," he murmured against her ear, his breath making her shiver. "About getting my hands on you."
"Just your hands?" The boldness of her own words surprised her.
Oliver's laugh was dark and promising. "Among other things."
When her shirt fell away, his eyes went molten. "Christ, Heather. Look at you." His palms skimmed up her ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through her lace bra. "So fucking beautiful."
The curse word sent heat spiraling through her belly. She'd never been with a man who told her exactly what he was thinking, who looked at her like she was something precious and dirty all at once.
They worked together to shed the rest of their clothes, and when Oliver's boxer briefs hit the floor, Heather's breath caught. He was impressive everywhere, thick and hard and already slick at the tip. The sight of him made her core clench with want.
"Like what you see?" he asked, stepping closer until the heat of his body washed over her.
"God, yes." She reached for him, wrapping her fingers around his length, marveling at the way he groaned and dropped his forehead to hers.
"Fuck, your hands," he breathed, hips jerking into her touch. "I need to taste you first, though. Need to make you come on my tongue before I'm inside you."
The crude words should have shocked her, but instead they made her thighs clench together, seeking friction. Oliver noticed, his eyes dropping to where her legs pressed tight.
"Already wet for me?" He backed her onto the bed, following her down until she was spread beneath him. "Let me see."
Heather's face burned, but she let him push her thighs apart, exposing herself completely. The way he looked at her—like she was a feast he wanted to devour—made her feel beautiful instead of embarrassed.
"Perfect," he murmured, settling between her legs. "Absolutely perfect."
The first touch of his tongue made her arch off the bed, a broken moan tearing from her throat. He worked her with skillful precision, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on the bundle of nerves that made her see stars. When he added two thick fingers, curling them just right, she came apart with a cry that probably woke the neighbors.
"That's it, baby," Oliver praised against her thigh, pressing kisses to her oversensitive skin as she trembled through the aftershocks. "So responsive. So sweet."
When he moved up her body, she could taste herself on his lips, and the intimacy of it made her head spin. He was hard and heavy against her thigh, and she reached down to guide him to her entrance.
"Condom," he said, reaching for pants on the floor.
She watched him roll it on with shaking hands, then gasped as he inched forward, stretching her slowly. He was bigger than her ex, and she needed a moment to adjust.
"Okay?" Oliver asked, voice strained with the effort of holding still.
"More than okay," she breathed, rolling her hips to take him deeper.
The sound he made was pure male satisfaction. When he finally began to move, it was with controlled power that made her clutch at his shoulders. Each thrust hit something inside her that made her vision blur, building toward another climax she'd never thought possible so soon after the first.
"So tight," Oliver growled against her neck, teeth scraping her skin. "So perfect around my cock. Feel so good, Heather."
The dirty praise pushed her over the edge again, her inner walls clamping down around him as pleasure crashed through her system. Oliver followed with a harsh groan, burying himself deep as he spilled inside the condom.
Afterward, they lay tangled in sheets damp with sweat. Oliver's fingers traced lazy patterns on her shoulder, and she could hear Charlie's gentle snoring from the living room.
"Holy shit," Heather whispered, still trying to catch her breath.
Oliver's laugh rumbled through his chest. "My thoughts exactly."
