“Fuck, you’re already soaked.” He doesn’t pull back to say it, just speaks directly against me so I feel every word vibrate through me. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“Since—” I gasp as he adds two fingers without warning. “Since the third goal when you mouthed ‘count them’ at me like a psychopath.”
He laughs against me and the vibration makes my knees buckle. He catches me with his free arm, holds me up while his fingers curl and I’m seeing stars.
His tongue presses harder and I cry out, my hands gripping his hair. “Come on, baby. Let me taste what a whole hockey game of anticipation does to you.”
It’s embarrassing how quickly I fall apart. Maybe thirty seconds of his mouth and fingers working together before the orgasm crashes through me. He holds me up while I shake against the wall, his name broken and desperate on my lips.
He works me through the aftershocks until I’m pushing at his shoulders, oversensitive and trembling.
“That’s one,” he says, rising to his feet and pulling me against him so I can feel how hard he is through his dress pants. “Four to go, Ice Queen. Still think you can handle it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Always.” He kisses me and I taste myself on his tongue. “But you’re not really quitting after one, are you?”
“No, of course not.”
He smirks, and pulls me toward the bathroom. “Come on. I want to see you all wet.”
The hotel shower is massive.
Romeo strips while adjusting the water temperature, completely unselfconscious about being naked while I’m still in his jersey.
“Are you just going to stand there admiring the view?”
“Maybe.”
“Get in here.” He pulls me under the spray, jersey and all. It immediately plasters to my skin, going almost transparent.
“This is your jersey,” I point out.
“I have others.” He peels it off me, tosses it outside the glass door where it lands with a wet splat. “Besides it was driving me crazy. The way every guy in that arena was looking at you tonight.”
“They were looking at you. You scored five goals.”
“They were looking at you in my jersey.” His fingers massage my shoulders and it feels so good I close my eyes.
“Does your team know about our agreement.”
“No, they think I promised you a car.”
“A car!”
“Or a trip to Paris. I’ll let them think that.” His hands trail down to my breasts, circling slowly. “The truth is better.”
“The truth is insane.”
“The truth is I’m obsessed with you.” He backs me against the tile wall, the contrast of cold marble and hot water making me shiver. “Turn around.”
I turn, bracing my hands against the wall. He presses against my back, his erection hard against me, his hands sliding down my stomach.
“That second goal,” he says conversationally, like he’s not currently sliding two fingers inside me from behind. “The power play one—I almost missed Dex’s pass completely.”
“Why?” Though I know why. I remember his face finding mine in the crowd right before.
“Because I was watching you instead of the puck.” His fingers curl and I gasp, pressing back against him. “You were leaning forward, hands clasped. Then you realized what two meant and bit your lip the way you do when you’re turned on.”
