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“Still feels fucking good,” Ari responded, holding a fist up. “Stanley Cup. Stanley Cup.”
I had to admit, I’d missed this in my vision board. That I would find myself standing in a room full of half naked, perfect specimens of men as they all started chanting along with Ari.
Lincoln’s hands tightened around my waist as he stared around the room, bemused.
Ari moved into us even more, his face so close to Lincoln’s it would seem like they were kissing at the right angle. “Stanley Cup! Stanley Cup!”
Lincoln rolled his eyes at Ari’s antics and then glanced down at me.
Although I was still confused and overwhelmed by the situation, the urge to join in suddenly came over me. Feeling playful–not an emotion I felt often–I found myself chanting right along with everyone else in the surreal world around me.
Lincoln’s eyebrows lifted and his gaze heated, like the words “Stanley Cup” just did something when they came out of my mouth—and maybe they did—who knew what got famous hockey players off.
“Stanley Cup,” he finally yelled, raising one fist in the air. “Fuck yeah!” The whole room went absolutely crazy, and I was jerked around as they all started piling on us.
I gasped with the amount of hands on my body, and that was enough for Lincoln to yank me out of the pile and wrap himself around me like he was trying to smother me in his scent.
“This is a weird day,” I mused as we watched his teammates form some sort of super hot doggie pile.
He brushed a kiss across my shoulder, his hands going up and down my ribcage, in that space right under your breasts that makes your breath gasp because you wonder if he’ll go any higher.
“This is the best day,” Lincoln murmured as he brushed a kiss against my hammering pulse.
“You move really fast,” I told him, my words coming out breathy and embarrassing.
“I just know what I want,” he answered, absolute surety engraved in every syllable that came out of his mouth.
He turned me around in his arms, his hands never straying from the skin that had peeked through the band between my leggings and tank.
“I want to take you home, learn everything about you, but I probably need to make an appearance at the afterparty. Forgive me?”
A rush of disappointment hit me that the night was over. I felt a bit like Cinderella when the carriage turned back into a pumpkin. “Oh yeah, of course. I can get an Uber…”
“What?” he asked quickly, his fingers pressing into my skin like he was trying to hold me here. “I meantwehad to make an appearance…not that I would go by myself.”
I blushed as his hands slipped from my waist to my hair. Suddenly, he was cradling my head tenderly. “I would put you in my pocket if I could, baby. Keep you with me always.”
The force of his emotions were overwhelming, threatening to choke me, drown me, because I’d never felt anything like this before.
I yanked my gaze away. Everything was too much, but it ended up with him cradling my cheek.
I had the strange urge to cry because no one had ever held me like that before.
Like I was priceless. Wanted.
Worthy.
“I’m going to throw some clothes on,” Lincoln finally murmured gently, and I started because I realized we were standing there, me pressed against his body, lost in our own world. Half of the locker room had somehow cleared out in the moments we’d lost.
“Right.” I cleared my throat, remembering just how little clothes he had on. His length was its own presence in the room, the top of it visible when I glanced down, peeking out from the band of his briefs.
Holy fuck, I think I had a mini orgasm staring down at the monster.
I tried to push away, but he held me there for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressed together, a mix of emotions playing across his face like he was torn about letting me go.
Finally, his hands left my face.
And I immediately missed them.
