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“Not at all.”
She nods toward the big flat screen mounted on the wall. “You can be in charge of the remote.”
I smile. “Is that just while you’re showering, or …”
She laughs. “Yes, to clarify, only until I come back.”
“Fine by me.” I shrug and make myself comfortable on the couch, loaded with about a million cushions. This place suits her.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I point the remote at the TV and immediately flick to the sports channel.
I know they’ll be replaying a rerun of the Stanley Cup final, but I didn’t think it would be tonight. I can’t say I’ve ever gotten used to seeing myself on TV.
Even though I’m watching our team on the big screen, it’s still surreal, no matter how many times I’ve seen a game.
Taylor sure was on fire that night. He played against Josh Beauman from Vegas Heat most of the night. They had a rough time early on when Josh smashed Taylor into the glass barrier. I peeled him up off the ice a few times. It’s kinda strange to watch it back now. I often wonder how we don’t get more broken bones than we do.
Not that I’ve been exempt from injury over the years; I’ve had plenty of those. I guess the sport wouldn’t be what it is without some blood spatter and broken bones.
I’m fixed on the game when Maddison walks back out ten minutes later, trying to fasten a necklace around her neck when she glances up at the TV screen.
She definitely gets ready fast, I’m impressed. She’s wearing a short black dress with glitter running through it.
“Didn’t take you long to find the sports channel,” she says.
“Couldn’t help myself.” I hold my arms out in the air, shrugging. Then I motion for her to come to me. “Let me help you with that.”
“Yeah, I can’t get the clasp thing.” She walks over to me, giving in and handing me the necklace.
I scoot forward on the couch as she bends down toward me. At the same time, the neckline on her dress hangs open, enough for me to get an eye full of her cleavage.
My mouth goes fucking dry instantly. She follows my gaze as a giggle escapes her lips.
“Like what you see?”
I fucking do, as her tits hang heavily forward, barely contained in the fabric posing as a bra. My fingers ache to touch her skin—my body hums, and my dick stands up.
“Love what I see,” I murmur as she pulls her hair out of the way, and I slide the necklace around her neck, securing it quickly even though the catch is small.
I trail my hands along the back of her neck when she makes no attempt to move.
I feel her shudder under my touch. Her knees bend onto the sofa in front of me as she lets her hair free and pulls back to look at me.
Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to care that I’m copping an eye full.
My hands land on her hips. “You look beautiful,” I tell her. “And you smell divine.”
“Thanks,” she whispers, running her hands over mine and up my arms.
I can’t help it anymore. No one could blame me for wanting to kiss her. I reach up, as we’re about on par height-wise with her kneeling, and brush my lips on hers, softly at first, enjoying the fullness and the feel of her lips against mine. I close my eyes to savor it.
I sigh and run my tongue over hers. She makes this moan in my mouth that has my cock straining in my jeans. I love it when she does that.
“You’re a good kisser,” she breathes.
“So are you,” I say, reaching my hand to cup her face. I badly want to squeeze her tits but refrain.
