Page 37 of Holiday Interference
I don’t.
She fills the glass. Sips like she didn’t just turn my bloodstream into fire.
“For a hockey player,” she says, tossing a smirk over her shoulder, “I expected you’d have faster reflexes.”
I arch a brow. “Did you now? I think you missed me every time.”
“I was letting you win. I felt bad for kicking your ass in poker.”
“Your winning is questionable.”
She shrugs one shoulder, all fake innocence. “So, what now? You gonna sulk?”
Again, with the smart mouth. What does it say about me that it turns me the fuck on?
“Thinking of throwing something.”
Her laugh tumbles low and easy. Every part of my body tightens.
She’s too close. Her hand grazes my forearm as she sets the glass in the sink. Her hip brushes mine as she shifts, slow and unhurried.
I should move.
But then she turns. Looks up.
And I snap.
One step. That’s all it takes.
My hands find her hips, grip tight. I walk her backward until her spine hits the edge of the counter with a soft gasp.
Then I cover that smart mouth with my own, kissing the shit out of her.
Like I’ve been waiting through a goddamn war just to taste her. Like it’s the only thing that might shut down the ache buzzing under my skin.
Her breath stutters and it takes her a moment to catch up, but when she does, her hands fist in my shirt, dragging me closer, crushing space between us like she’s starving for me too.
My mouth finds hers again and again, rough and hungry, stubble scraping her jaw. She moans into it, low and desperate, and I swear I nearly lose it right there.
I angle my hips tighter against hers. Feel the heat between us blaze hotter than the room. Her spine arches to meet mine, hands sliding up under the hem of my shirt like she’s been dying to touch more.
The counter digs into her back. Her thighs press against mine. Her mouth opens under mine like a dare.
Our tongues curl together, and it’s the type of kiss you never want to end.
I’ve kissed women before. Fast, forgettable. Fun.
But not like this.
Not like she matters.
Not likeIdo.
Not like it means something.
Because it does.
I pull back a fraction, breathing hard. Her lashes flutter. Her grip stays locked in my shirt like she doesn’t know how to let go.
