Page 14 of Stalked By the Hockey Player

Perfect.

I pick her up, and her legs wrap around me. She grinds herself against my erection, and I groan.

"You're perfect. You know that?"

I lay her on the bed before she can answer, my knees on either side of her thighs, trapping her.

I growl as I undress her slowly.

Her clothes pool around us.

Her skin is flawless.

I tease her nipples with my tongue, and she gasps.

My hand slides up her thigh, finger at the edge of her panties.

She's wet for me.

I slide a finger inside her, and her hips buck against my touch, need for me etched into every inch of her.

"You're always so ready for me," I murmur.

Emila's eyes roll back into her head as she moans.

Our bodies grind together, exploding in a frenzy.

Her taste is sweet on my tongue.

Her nails scrape my back, leaving marks.

I'm possessive and demanding.

Her every moan intensifies my hunger, her cries of pleasure fueling my obsession.

We come together, our skin slick with sweat, and then I hold her.

I could hold her forever.

Later, at the dinner table, I watch her eat.

Her lips the perfect shade of red from the lipstick she wearing. The lipstick I smeared and kissed off those beautiful lips that taste like strawberries and cherry cola mix with every bite.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks between bites.

"Us."

She smiles.

"That's all you ever think about."

I grin.

"Can't help it."

She rolls her eyes playfully.

The way her neck turns pink from my stare makes me want to devour her all over again.

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