Page 18 of Mister Hockey
“Ah. That cereal one.” He glanced to the door. He knew what would happen if he walked out. He’d head to the gym. He’d take out this mounting sexual frustration on free weights. Do a few seven-minute miles. Sweat the poisons out.
“Sorry. Let me get that.” She jumped to the door, mistaking his confusion for a sign to leave.
Shit. He didn’t want to go, but he didn’t know how to be a fucking normal guy. He gave her a curt nod and slung on his jacket. “Goodbye, Breezy Angel.” He stepped over the threshold.
“Goodbye, Jed West.”
And just like that, the door snicked shut. He turned and strode to the edge of the porch, rain came down hard, the sky breaking open. A strengthening wind stole through his sweatpants, the coolness on his tensed quads a stark contrast to the snug warmth of the cottage to his back. He flipped up his hood. A quick wet dash to his Land Rover and he’d be on his way, racing back to his real life.
It wasn’t a conscious thought that caused the pivot. He was knocking before fully registering what he’d done. The door swung open and she leaned against the frame, brow wrinkled with uncertainty. “Forget something?”
“Yeah.” He stepped forward, catching a whiff of her shampoo’s perfume, the sweet coconut. “I’ve got a question.”
“Shoot.” Her two top teeth fastened to her lower lip.
“What’s it like?” He reached for a tousled wave escaping her top knot and coiled the lush strands around his finger with a gentle tug. “Kissing that pretty mouth?”
A shy gleam flared in her eyes. “Some mysteries you can never unravel unless you try.”
He took her smiling answer as his cue and drew her close, bending her head against the crook of his arm.
Her surprised, husky laugh ended in a breathless sigh that hit him someplace deep inside the chest. He slowed, offering her nothing but a gentle press of lips, innocent, sweet, not even a hint of tongue. She tasted like tea and toothpaste.
Reaching out, she cupped one of his cheeks, tracing a thumb over his scruffy jawbone and he suppressed a shudder.
Way he saw it, there were two choices. Ravage her in the doorway in full view of her entire neighborhood or pull back and take a breath, figure out how the fuck the chastest kiss he’d had since the ninth grade just rocked his goddamn world off its axis.
Of course, he knew what it was to want a woman—how to satisfy and get satisfaction in return. But as her lips tentatively parted, deepening the kiss, a new kind of hunger grew within him, sweetly ravenous. This was a mouth a man could lose himself in. But could he afford to get more confused than he’d been of late? The only way he succeeded in his world was to anticipate the next three steps ahead.
That game seven hit and the resulting ramifications sure as shit hadn’t been in the cards.
And Breezy Angel? He’d wanted to know what it was like to kiss her, had suspected it would be good, hoped for great. But as far as firsts went in his life, it was unsurpassed.
He pressed her up in the doorway, a hint of grind to his hips, wanting, no—needing—those perfect tits crushed to his chest. She was a wild card. He dipped his hands to frame her flared hips, the dip to her hourglass waist.
“You’d better come back inside,” she said breathlessly.
“Good idea.” He hiked her up by the waist and slammed her center against his growing bulge. Less thinking, more doing. Her eyes widened in surprise as he reached down, finding purchase under her thighs. Stepping inside, he back-kicked the door before turning her around and crushing her into the wood.
Oh, hell yes. He loved having her weight in his arms, all that decadence in all the right places—voluptuous and heady. All woman. As she wriggled in closer, locking her ankles at the small of his back and gripping his shoulders hard, his control snapped and they sank to the floor.
She explored beneath his sweatshirt. Her fingers were cool, but that wasn’t what caused his goose bumps. She glanced down at the inches of bare abdomen sneaking beneath his Under Armour, flexed and rigid, and a small moan escaped her parted lips. A fierce pride lit within. All those hours punishing his body, making it hard, invincible, like a modern-day gladiator, had paid off.
She reached out as if to stroke his external obliques and paused, uncertainty on her features. “Sorry, I’m getting handsy.”
“That’s the whole idea here, Vixen.” The nickname slid off his tongue. She was foxy as hell, all curves and chaos. “Go on, get closer. A little bit closer. Yeah.” He pressed his nose against her neck. “Christ, you smell fantastic.”
Her hands fisted his hair. He’d been meaning to cut it for summer but right now was glad it was shaggy. It hurt fucking good.
“Jed.” The desperate way she whispered his name drove him wild. His name. Not West or Westy. Just Jed.
Her next kiss was more possessive, almost aggressive. She plundered and he allowed her to take the lead, let her fuck him with her tongue until his heart near burst from his chest.
“Jesus.” She whispered over and over. “OhJesus.”
“No one’s answering those prayers but me,” he growled, clamping her full ass, dragging her over his pelvis. “You’re slumming with the sinners now, Ms. Angel.” He broke the kiss and nibbled along her neck as she writhed, pulling his hair, rocking like a devil over his growing erection. The cotton from her pants and his sweats added a layer of friction. He hadn’t dry humped since high school, but it felt as intimate as if they were buck-ass naked and coated in oil. His stomach churned, his balls drawn up heavy and sensitive. “You’re something else, Breezy Angel.”
“I don’t know what I am,” she whispered, unsure if he heard as he tenderly assaulted her neck, his tongue skimming, his teeth nipping, lifting her to unbearable heights.
