“Why?” she tries again, her voice barely a whisper. Shepulls herself into my arms at the end of that word, hands sliding around my neck, her mouth stopping a hair’s length from mine.
“Red,” I murmur, eyes darting to her lips.
Her mouth brushes mine but she doesn’t kiss me. She breathes the same word against my lips. “Why?”
“Because,” I mumble, winding my hands around her waist. I hold the small of it, keeping her body between my palms. “I know what that paper says. I know what we agreed to, but that contract hasn’t meant shit in a long time.”
She nods, but says nothing. I know it’s because she wants to keep asking me that question:Why?
This girl in my hands terrifies me. She’s scarier than any guy on the ice or any man in a bar. She can actually hurt me, beyond physical pain. She can chew me up and spit me out, and I’ll lose whatever grip I have on my sanity if she does.
“Is this still fake for you, Red?” I whisper, brushing my thumb against her waist.
Arden’s thumb brushes the nape of my neck. “No, Carter. It’s not.”
And my heart explodes.
I physically feel it. As powerful as the rush I feel after a punch.
I suck in a breath.
This isn’t fake for her.
Hasn’t been.
I don’t know for how long. I thought I was rowing this boat in circles alone, but I haven’t been. She’s been right behind me, oars in hand, pushing us toward where we needed to be with all of her ‘why’s’ and her pleas for me to own my feelings.
“Fuck,” I mutter, “okay.”
She angles her head. “What about you?”
“Red, you’ve had me wrapped around your little finger thiswholefucking time.”
She rewards me for that one. Her nails scrape against the back of my scalp and she lifts herself on her tiptoes until her mouth reaches mine. It’s urgent, like she’s needed those words from me, like they’ve matched her thoughts and she’s been yearning for me to meet her in the middle.
I wind my arms completely around her, but we just admitted some big shit to each other, and this kiss should commemorate that. I slide my hands down her thighs and hoist her into my arms, deepening the kiss the moment they’re wound around my waist.
I carry her across the kitchen until her butt hits the edge of the dining room table, never once daring to stop kissing her. Her cherry chapstick seeps from her lips to mine, and my dick aches at the taste.
I drop her onto the table gently, reaching up to cup her face in my hands. I regretfully pull away, using my hold to force her head up to mine. Her legs fall to either side of my hips, fingers curling around my belt loops.
“You’ve really fucked everything up, haven’t you? First, I knock a guy out for you, then I fall for you. What a mess.”
She smiles in my grasp, angling her head as much as she can. “You gonna punish me for it?”
Sweet god.
“Jesus,” I hiss, biting back a groan when her hand slides to the front of my pants, wrapping around my clothed, very hard dick. “The devil must have sent you to me.”
She reaches up, moving one of my hands from her jaw to her throat. With her fingers, she wraps mine around the column of her neck and encourages me to squeeze, all while her eyes are on me.
“You should write him a thank-you card.”
I tighten my grip and the pleasure that washes over her face has me ready to come without being touched. She gasps, perfect mouth popping open, dark eyes burning into my face—a look of desire so potent that it feels sinful not to please her.
“Trust me,” I grumble, leaning down until our mouths are almost touching, “after I’m through with you, you’re the one who is going to be thanking me.”
I crush my mouth to hers, hand tightening on her throat. She makes an ungodly sound into my mouth, our kiss messy, filthy, and utterly unholy. Without daring to stop, I reach between us and tear her sweatpants down her legs. She helps me where she can and immediately dives for mine until they’re off and my briefs follow suit.
