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“That’s because you’re so good at everything else,” he tells me. “But luckily for you I’m good at this, and I’ve got it for both of us. I’m going to skate backward now. You need to come with me.”
“Don’t let go of me.” I tighten my grip on his hands. My heart is hammering against my chest.
“I won’t.”
“And if I fall, don’t you dare laugh.”
His thumb caresses my palm. “If you fall I’ll owe you an orgasm.”
My head snaps up. “Really? So I get an orgasm for every time I fall? You’re not exactly motivating me to stay upright. What if I fall a hundred times? I’ll be getting off for days. You really need to restructure the benefits you offer.”
He grins. “You’re moving.”
“I’m what?” Then I realize what he means. While I’ve been babbling, he started skating backward, pulling me along for the ride. Then I look down at my feet and dizziness overwhelms me. I feel myself wobble. More than wobble, I’m flailing.
He lets go of my hands and I know it’s going to hurt.
But instead of my head slamming against the ice, his hands grab my waist and pull me against him. Yes, his chest is hard, but not as hard as the rink.
Instinctively, I wrap my arms around him.
“Don’t look down,” he advises.
“Now you tell me.”
“You need to look straight ahead,” he continues. “Looking down will put you off balance.”
“Sure.” It doesn’t matter because I’m not intending on letting go of him. If he wants to skate he’s going to have to get used to me being a limpet.
“Mackenzie?”
“Yeah?”
He strokes my face. It feels good. But it also means he isn’t holding onto me, so I tighten my grip on him.
“We’re moving again,” he says. He’s so damn nonchalant, skating backward, a thirty-something woman attached to him.
“You’removing,” I tell him. “I’m just along for the ride.”
He turns, the show off, and I keep clinging. Then he dips his head to brush my lips with his. “You’re doing great.”
The stupid thing is, I flush with pride. Just because I’m staying upright by clinging onto him. I’m a sucker for praise and by the way he’s smiling at me he’s worked that out.
“If you call me a good girl I’ll scrape your eyes out,” I warn him.
“Will you? I wonder.” He kisses me again, still skating backward. How the hell does he know what’s behind him? I glance over his shoulder and see the barrier rapidly approaching us.
Or rather us rapidly approaching the boards.
But then he curves on his right skate and pulls me seamlessly along with him. Clearly, he has eyes in the back of his head.
“As much as I like having your body pressed against mine,” he says as he completes a backward circuit of the rink. “I think we’re going to have to take it to the next level.”
“It’s fine,” I say, gripping the back of his jersey. “I’m quite comfortable here.” I put my cheek against his chest and look up at him. “Let’s not push it.”
Ignoring my protests, he unwraps my arms from his waist and slides his hands along them, until my palms are against his again. “If you stay upright I’ll fuck you until you see stars,” he tells me.
“You’ve changed the bonus system without consultation,” I protest. “That’s bad business.”
