Page 47 of Mister Hockey
Jesus. His brain stuttered while his vision went dark around the edges. He’d been inside Breezy before, lots of times now, and knew how fucking good it was in there. How tight. How hot. But this was different, and it wasn’t just the fact that he was bare. This was next-level connection. He disappeared inside her inch by slow inch, losing his goddamn mind while at the exact same time finding a whole new part of himself that he didn’t know existed. Deeper he went. And deeper still. With Breezy, there was always more to be discovered. Nothing was enough. He wanted in. Deeper and deeper. Until, God. Jesus, fuck. He was as far as he could get.
And he was in. All in. On every fucking thing where this woman was concerned.
This wasn’t the time, when he was buried to the hilt, to tell her he was falling for her. She’d think it was the sex talking. But the truth was that he felt his heart in his throat, and it was authentic and not a line, or some sort of sex-drenched garble. It was pure. And—
“You gonna keep staring or get to it and fuck me?”
She had a filthy mouth and he loved that too.
“God, Jed.” Her throat was rosy and her lips parted, reaching beneath, her fingers brushed his sac with featherlight strokes.
“You feel gorgeous, dirty girl.” That was an easier truth to get out than any midfuckLword. “I love being inside you.”
She smiled ever so slightly at that, then clenched him harder, milking his shaft, threatening to send him over the edge far earlier than he intended.
“Your pussy is so tight. I’m filling it the fuck up.” He drove into her like the world was ending, like this was the last time he’d ever be inside her. Ravishing. Dominating. Water splashed onto the tile. One of the candles flicked out.
And all the while he stared directly into her beautiful face. He could barely blink, let alone look away. Swear to God, he had a window into her very soul.
Everything he gave she took and returned tenfold. The air was thick with steam and a charged electric energy. Water splashed onto the tile. Her whimpers were soft, punctuated by short sharp gasps. He’d never wanted anything so bad in his whole goddamn life.
“Breezy.” He growled her name, a two-syllable command. “Breezy, you come now.” And she fell apart on cue, the silky heat of orgasm rippling over the length of his cock. Because she finished, he was there too. With a possessive moan, she gripped his ass, holding him down as he lost himself in a single intense rush.
After, they didn’t speak, they didn’t move a single muscle, just held each other quiet in the water.
At last he stirred, but even then they didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure what to say. Because this felt so big and life-changing that words didn’t seem up for the task. They drained the water from the tub and toweled off wordlessly. Breezy picked up the bottle of wine and took a long pull right from the bottle.
“Sorry.” She dabbed her mouth. “I really needed that.”
“Me too.” It was time. He had to tell her what was going on with him. What he’d been putting off. “So, we got to talk.”
That got her undivided attention. She lowered the bottle, dabbing her bottom lip. “What’s going on?”
“I went to the doctor today. Neurologist. I’ve been having intermittent blurry vision since taking a big hit in game seven and...”
There. He’d done it. Poured out the shit he’d been holding in. Also mentioned Travis, what had happened to him with football and his recent transfer to a long-term care facility.
“My symptoms have gotten better,” he said in conclusion. “But the idea of another season? The risk doesn’t seem worth it. Not when I look at my brother and everything he’s lost.”
“You have so much talent.” She wrapped him in a hug. “You’ll figure out the right path.”
“You’d like me even without theCon my jersey?” He kept a light, joking tone, but a part of him was dead serious.
“I’d like you in a paper bag, Jed West.” And when she kissed him, he knew she meant it.
Chapter Sixteen
For the next forty-eight hours, Breezy and Jed cocooned away from the world. They made love at his place, ordered takeout and finally drove to her cottage so she could change clothes before having an eighties movie marathon under a giant blanket fort in her living room.
Breezy had trolled her shelves, considering a few books for Jed, titles ranging from John Steinbeck to Stephen King, but dismissed them all out of hand. “None of these are right,” she said, finishing up a late lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “I feel like you need something more—”
A loud knock sounded on the front door.
They exchanged puzzled glances.
“I’m not expecting anyone.” Breezy furrowed her brow. “What are the odds that is a magically delivered pizza?” Grabbing a pink fuzzy bathrobe she’d ditched under the coffee table, she knotted the ties together, making sure the neck was pulled closed. No point flashing her mystery caller.
“While you figure that out, I’m going to go make us more coffee.” He crawled out and padded to the kitchen.
