Page 12 of Slapshot & Sweet Potato
“I do want it,” she whispers, eyes betraying the heat behind her gaze. “But do you really have to be such a holiday grump?”
I laugh out loud. “God, you are a holiday fangirl.”
“I want someone to eat turkey with … laugh over mashed potatoes,” she says on a puff of air.
I arch an eyebrow. “I’ll eat turkey with you, mashed potatoes and stuffing, too. But what I’m really good at is pie. Sweet Potato’s my favorite.”
She giggles, a lightbulb going off in her head. “Is that what you’ve meant all this time? When you say it’s your favorite?”
“Yes,” I huff a laugh. “Notit’smy favorite.You’remy favorite. You have been since the night we met in The Steam Room.” I’m talking about a little over a month ago, when Liam and I went out for drinks and first met Wendy and Cass.
“Really?” Her bottom lip trembles. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, then?”
“Because you spent the whole night talking about your ex, and then, somewhere in the middle of that, I started annoying the hell out of you. After that, I chalked it up as a lost cause.”
“Oh.” Her voice trembles.
“But now I’m having second thoughts about that decision.”
I grab her hips, slide her over my firm ridge. Her pupils blow wide, desire trembling in the delicate features of her symmetrical face.
Outside, the storm claws at the eaves, jealous of our heat. I can feel the little gusts of air through the cracks in the log cabin that still need fixing. Yet, the fire burning between Wendy andme is real, overwhelming. Something that could keep us both warm tonight.
“I really,reallyneed to taste you,” I say in low, velvety tones. “And I need that whipped cream.”
She gasps as I jump to my feet. “Whipped cream?”
My laugh comes out like a growl. “Lots you still have to learn about me. But I like my dessert slow and fully satisfied.”
“Oh,” she squeaks.
I plop the whipped cream container next to the mugs, slide my finger through the cloudy white and bring it to her mouth, heart melting as she licks my finger. Fuck, she’s good at that. I only let her have half, tease her by pulling away, licking my finger clean. Then, I press her back into the couch, kissing her breathless.
“I want to make you feel so good, Wendy. Better than you’ve ever felt before.”
She whimpers as my hand slides between her legs, offering friction.
“I want to worship the hell out of you. Not just tonight or tomorrow. But for as long as you’ll let me.”
Her hands grip my shoulders, pulling me closer, our lips and tongues incinerating in the heat of our kiss. My hand slides up her lavender, cashmere sweater, thumb flicking over her nipple. She gasps, back arching off the couch. So sensitive, so needy.
“You’re the only feast I need this Thanksgiving,” I rumble, fingers kneading and pleasing her, savoring the weight and softness of her ample tits. They couldn’t be more perfect, but I need them to be all mine.
I break the kiss, pull back, and bury my head beneath her sweater. She gasps as I circle her areola through the lace of her bra, and I fall in love with her feel, her flavor. Vanilla, cinnamon, and sugar all wrapped up in the most decadent flesh.
When her back arches again, I slide a hand beneath, flicking the clasp apart. The fabric falls away, and I greedily devour her, sucking her nipple into my mouth and swirling it with my tongue. Every gasp, every buck of her body, amps up my need until I’m so hard it hurts.
But first, I have to make her come. Show her I can be the man she needs. My hands work her pants and panties free, wet, warm, satin teasing my fingertips. She needs me as bad as I need her.
Clothes pile on the ground beside the coffee table as I part her thick thighs, sliding my head between them.
“Wallace,” she pants when the cold of the whipped cream hits her warm pussy.
“How I like my pie. You have a problem with that?” I ask with a naughty grin. I don’t wait for her answer, diving in. I make a damn meal of her, falling in love with her musky scent, the tang of her flavor. Like she was made for me.
I suck and tease her clit, and her hips chase me. They prove she needs me as much as I need her. It puts a dangerous sting behind my eyes, knowing I’m more than just a hockey player or a decent fuck to her. Knowing that this could be so much more for us. Desire blossoms. I need to make her scratch my back and scream my name.
I dip a finger into her silky heat, nearly coming undone around the feel of her gripping me. Damn well sucking me in. Like I’m all she’ll ever need. Maybe I could be. Maybe I want that more than anything else.
