Page 29 of Puck Off, She’s Mine

"Evil," I grumble, making him laugh again. "If I break something today, it'll be your fault."

"You aren't going to break anything."

"I might."

"You won't." He hauls me off the bench like I'm weightless. Before I can even stumble on the thin blades attached to my feet, his arms are around me, his lips brushing my cheek. His stubble scrapes my skin, and I go boneless in his arms. "I've got you. All you gotta do is trust me, baby."

He says it like trusting him is the scary part, except it's not. After spending the last two nights in his bed, that part feels simple. It's trusting my own damn balance that's the issue here. He does this professionally. The only time my dad ever tried to teach me how to skate, I took out an entire row of toddlers.

They went down like bowling pins. I think someone even yelled strike from the sidelines. Needless to say, my dad and I quickly decided that should be my first and last time on skates. I'm a voyeur, not an exhibitionist…figuratively speaking.

"Let's get this over with."

"No."

I tip my head back, clinging to him for balance. "No?"

"No," he repeats, his expression soft. "I've got you all to myself for the first time all day. You're wearing my jersey. And I fly out in the morning for a game, which I'm not thrilled about. So no, I'm not getting this over with. I'm not rushing a damn thing, gorgeous."

Warmth spreads from my chest, melting my reservations about skating. It's hard to be nervous when he's being all perfect.

In truth, he's been a lot of that the last couple of days, and I'm struggling to remember why I was so damn deadset against giving him a chance. That feels like some other version of me now, one without a clue. This version, though? I like her. She's not running. She's just…living in the moment.

It feels damn good, skates aside.

"You ready?"

I nod hesitantly, allowing him to pull me away from the bench toward the ice. My legs wobble and shake beneath me, but he holds me tightly, refusing to let me fall.

"Like this, baby," he murmurs, showing me how to place my feet. "March in little steps until you get the feel of the skates beneath you, then push off from the inside edge of the blade to glide."

I trap my tongue between my teeth, focusing. My legs wobble dangerously when I try to follow his gliding instructions, and I grasp for him.

"Easy," he chuckles, gripping my hip. "I've got you. Try again."

I do. And again. And again and again and again. After half an hour, my legs hurt, I'm sweaty, and Phoenix is looking at me in awe. We've spent at least ten minutes on our asses, and ten more with me trying to crawl back to the boards after every fall. He's way too fast to escape, however.

"Why are you looking at me like that? If your ass hurts, it's your own fault," I remind him. "This was your idea."

"You're a disaster in skates." He grins, little smile lines appearing around his mouth. "I thought you couldn't possibly be that bad. Turns out, you're worse."

I try to swat him, but only manage to lose my balance. He grabs me, hauling me up against his chest before I land in a heap on the ice again.

"The hockey gods are embarrassed for you right now," he teases.

"No, they were fully aware of my limitations before you dragged me out here," I retort. "They're laughing at you for thinking you could turn a reporter into a professional skater."

"Probably," he agrees. "I'll sacrifice you later in penance."

"You're such an ass," I grumble, but I can't hide my smile. Honestly, I've had more fun than I expected. Probably because this little skating lesson involved him touching me the entire time. My whole body hums.

"You love it," he murmurs, dipping his head to kiss me. I think he means it to be a quick little taste, but I bite his bottom lip, making him growl. His hands clench on my ass, pulling me closer. His erection nestled against my stomach.

I melt into him with a soft groan, my body catching fire. God, I love the way he kisses me. I love how he's always so freaking hard and desperate for me. Every day, I find something else to love about him.

"Jesus, Cara," he groans, breaking from my lips to press his forehead to mine. "I've never wanted to fuck anyone through the ice until now."

"Yay for me," I whisper, earning a chuckle from him. "How sad for everyone else."