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And that was pretty fucking great.
Plus, now I was conveniently close to the rink where I was going to get to watch some hockey.
In my new Rush jersey.
Something he’d appreciated me showing him that morning if him snagging my wrist and tugging me into bed after I’d walked out of the closet in it—and onlyit—was any indication.
It had ended up in a puddle on the floor.
But—good news—I’d been naked beneath that jersey. And being naked had meant that I’d reaped some serious benefits.
And—more good news—hockey jerseys didn’t really wrinkle, so when I’d put it on after Joel had rocked my world in bed, it hadn’t looked any worse for wear.
I’d just been a hockey fan living in a town that had begun to live and breathe for its team.
Just a hockey fan who was dating one of the sexiest players on the team.
Smiling, I saved the documents I’d been working on, made certain they were sent off to the proper recipients and then pushed back from my desk to see Joel sitting on my couch, looking through my planner—something that was nearly as terrifying as him looking through my underwear drawer.
Lie.
It was significantlymoreterrifying than him looking through my underwear.
Looking through my underwear would most likely lead to fucking.
And fucking was great. It was awesome. It wasn’t scary at all.
My planning, on the other hand, was light and unimportant, but it also…wasn’t.
It was mylifehe was casually flipping through—every single day of my existence, every insignificant—and boring to him, but critical to me—detail.
“What are you doing?” I asked softly.
He glanced up, lips curving. “Checking in on my woman.”
I narrowed my eyes, worry gnawing at my belly, and rose from my chair, rounding the desk, but when I would have nudged his feet aside and sat in my visitor chair, he set the planner on the couch next to him, captured my hand, and tugged me down onto his lap.
“Mmm,” he murmured, burying his face in my throat.
Frisky time in my office.
Okay, nowthatwas something I could get behind.
As in, he could get behind me.
Heh.
Because it had been far too long since we’d fucked. Hours even.
Also,heh.
But also…curiosity was bubbling up in my belly and the man had fucked me well enough that morning that I could temper my need for him (for the moment…and also because he had to play hockey and do it well in less than an hour). So, instead of jumping him, I asked, “Why are you checking up on me?”
A shrug. His lips pressing to my skin. His tongue flicking out to taste me.
My fingers slid into his hair, tightened.
But just as things were getting good, his head popped up, and he smiled at me, brushing back a few unruly curls from my face. “Because you work too hard.”
