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I smile with satisfaction. “That was the plan.”
He rips his shirt off and throws it on the floor. “I have one and a half hours before I have to leave and head back to practice.”
“Let’s make every minute count,” I tell him.
His eyes fix on me with a feral gleam, and he stalks towards me like a panther stalking its prey.
“Babe,” he husks.
“Yes, you sexy beast?”
“I love you so much.” He grabs my shirt and pulls it up over my head.
I fall back on the bed, my hair falling in my face. “Show me,” I order him. He lies down on the bed next to me and strokes my hair out of my face.
“I just want to look at you for a minute,” he says, his voice husky with desire.
“Don’t you want me?” I trail my fingers down his stomach, but before I can reach his hard, erect cock, he seizes my wrist.
“I want you so much that it hurts.” He runs his finger along my cheek, leaving a sparking trail of desire at his touch. “But I want all of you. I just want to drink you in.”
“You could stare at me while I’m sleeping,” I suggest, snuggling up against him. I throw my leg over his.
“I do that too.” He lifts a lock of my hair and plays with it. “All the time. I watch you breathe.”
I laugh. “That’s not at all creepy.”
“I just want to remind myself that you’re really mine.”
He stares down into my eyes for a long, long moment, and then slides on top of me. Cupping my face in his hands, he kisses me with infinite tenderness. Some days he’s hard, fast, and hungry. Other days he’s slow, gentle, and romantic. I love all the different sides of him that he’s letting me see.
His hard, solid weight presses me into the bed. My legs part for him, wrapping around him.
He moves one hand down between my legs. Those big, killer, crushing hands... He strokes me slowly, spreading my lips apart and playing with me. One finger dips inside of me, stroking my inner wall until he finds my tender, sensitive g-spot.
“Ohh,” I whisper. He plays me like a violin, and waves of hot desire flow over my body.
“Should I make you come, baby?” he murmurs.
“I... I want us to come together...” He withdraws his hand, brings it up to his lips, and sucks on his fingers.
Then, his mood changes. He grabs a condom from his bedstand and quickly rolls it on. He roughly spreads my thighs open wide and thrusts inside me.
“Like this, baby?” Another thrust. A hard one. Another. He’s pumping into me, slamming up against my cervix, slamming again, and again, and again.
The pleasure inside me is building. He knows exactly how to move. It’s not long before the dam breaks and I explode, crying out in a hoarse voice that I barely recognize as my own. When my inner muscles clench around his, he joins me, shuddering in orgasm, his breath a series of ragged gasps, before he finally goes still.
“You’re such good luck,” Paxton grins at me. “You’re my little four-leaf clover.”
They won. They won... THEY WON THE STANLEY CUP! I’m hoarse from screaming his name. Me, Ruby, who used to mock hockey and call it “sports-puck.” I was shrieking for the blood of his enemies.
I do have one kind of big concern I need to talk to him about, but today is his day. I am all about celebrating his win with him.
The hockey arena is boiling over with excitement. Paxton’s arranged to call his family when he gets free. He’s already done the obligatory interviews with sports reporters, and signed autographs for a bunch of superfans back stage.
We’re in the hockey arena’s events room, which is large and very crowded.
“Mason is doing something,” Paxton observes. I glance over to see what he’s talking about. Mason just dropped something on the floor. He’s looking extremely strange and awkward right now.
