Page 72 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
I don’t give it to him. Not yet. I kiss him instead—deep, unhurried, swallowing every sound that spills from him. My hand slides down between us, wrapping around him, stroking him in time with the slow roll of my hips.
He jerks into my touch, broken sounds catching in his throat. “Max—God, Max?—”
“Shh,” I murmur against his mouth. “I’ve got you, Princess. Just let go for me.”
The words do something—I feel it in the way he clenches, in the way his body bows up against mine. His eyes squeeze shut, his lips part, and then he’s coming undone in my hand, spilling hot between us as I keep stroking him through it, whispering low nonsense into his ear. Sweet, filthy things I can’t stop myself from saying.
The sight, the feel of him unraveling beneath me—it’s too much. My control snaps, and I bury myself deep, grinding into him as I come hard, groaning his name like it’s a confession.
For a long moment, it’s only the sound of our breathing, rough and uneven, filling the room. My body shakes with the effort to stay over him, to not crush him with my weight, but he pulls me down anyway, arms wrapping tight around my shoulders, holding me there.
And I let him.
Because right now, with his heartbeat thundering against mine and his skin hot and damp under my lips, there’s no place else I want to be.
His chest is still heaving against mine, damp skin sticking where we’re pressed together. I nose along his jaw, kissing thecorner of his mouth, his temple, anywhere I can reach without pulling out of him yet.
“You really do drive me insane,” I whisper, voice rough with the aftermath. “Do you know that?”
He hums, lazy and content, stroking his fingers through the hair at the back of my neck. “Mm. Good insane?”
I huff out a laugh, shaky and unsteady, pressing my forehead to his. “The kind I can’t walk away from.”
The words tumble out before I can catch them, and my throat tightens instantly. Too close. Too much. I smooth my hand over his ribs, slow and steady, like I can soothe the weight of what I didn’t say.
His eyes search mine, soft and knowing, but he doesn’t push. He just leans up to kiss me, sweet and lingering, like he heard every word I didn’t let out.
And maybe he did.
Then he wiggles his ass deliberately, the smug little bastard, making me groan low in my throat because I’m still buried deep inside him. His grin blooms, wicked and sunshiney all at once.
“If you keep making me cum while you’re still inside me,” he says, sing-song, “I might just let you stay, Calder.”
I choke out a laugh, half a growl, half a surrender, dragging my hand down his side and gripping his hip hard enough to anchor myself. “Princess, don’t tempt me.”
But he already has. He always does.
TWENTY-SEVEN
ELI
The Lansing lockerroom smells like old sweat and fresh tape, the kind of mix that clings no matter how many air fresheners the rink staff tries to hang. I’m pulling on my pads when the chirping starts.
“Jesus, Starling,” Todd whistles from two stalls down, “you let a vampire at you or something?”
I glance down at myself, cheeks heating despite the grin tugging at my mouth. The collar of my undershirt doesn’t hide much—not with half a dozen purple-red blotches scattered across my neck.
Peter leans around the corner of the bench, eyebrows climbing. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to fuck before a game? If we lose, it’s on you.”
That gets the whole room going, sticks thudding on the concrete, Daniel laughing loudest. “Bad luck, Starling! You doomed us!”
I throw my arms wide, all innocence. “Relax, gentlemen. You’re welcome. I’ll be sharper than ever between the pipes now. Nothing gets past me.”
“Better hope not,” Todd shoots back. “One soft goal and you’re buying post-game wings for the whole team.”
“Deal,” I say, smirk firmly in place. “Hope you’re all hungry, I know I am, because I’m shutting them down anyway. Then you all are buying the wings.”
The joking jabs keep rolling, but it’s the warm kind—the kind that means they’ll give me shit and then fight tooth and nail beside me.
