Page 120 of Lucky Laces
“Inside me.”
It fades, heat taking its place, his eyes full of thunderstorms…and God, I’ve never wanted to be struck by lightning.
Until now.
But I watch him temper his need, control that storm.“Let me take care of you first, baby.Let me make it good for you.”He curls his fingers and sweet Christ, that feels incredible.
Let me.
And seriously, this man is killing me.
But somehow I manage to stay focused.“We’ve had weeks of good,” I tell him.“Weeks ofincredible,really.So…” I tilt my hips.“Let’s go fast now, honey.And later we can go slow.”
His gaze locks with mine.
And I hold my breath, thinking that as serious as I am, as much as I want this, I won’t push it further.
Because I want him to want what I want.
But not at the expense of whathewants.
“God, I like you,” he mutters.
“I like you too,” I whisper.“So much.”
The storm clears from his eyes.
And then his fingers are out of me, and his pants are off, and?—
“Oh, God,” I groan as he slides inside me, so hard, so thick, that he’s stretching me wide.He’s gentle.He’s deep.
But he’s not slow.
Not the first time anyway.
But that’s okay, the second time, after apple muffins and crockpot chicken and hot crunchy rolls doused liberally with butter, is slow.
So slow that he leaves me limp and sated and all but unconscious by the time he’s finished with me.
But that’s okay too?—
Because he holds me tight as I drift off to sleep.
And when he wakes me in the morning for more fast—although this time with a side of hard and deep—he does it by first holding me close.
“Why am I nervous?”I mutter, Huddy’s big hand wrapped tightly around mine as we walk toward the team’s plane.
He flicks a glance my way and draws us to a halt.“Because this shit is nerve-wracking?”
“Maybe,” I say.“But we talked about this with Jean-Michel.We talked with the rest of the coaching staff and HR.We’re not going to be making out in the hallways?—”
“Anymore,” he teases, flashing me a smile that has my heart squeezing.
“Anymore,” I agree, lips twitching.“But we’re also not hiding us.”
His fingers brush over my cheek then trail up to my ear, tucking an errant strand of hair behind it.“No,” he murmurs, “we’re not.”
We’re not hiding.
