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His mouth is back on me, and within seconds, sharp jolts of pleasure shoot through my body. I tug, feeling his damp hair—the sweat of victory—between my fingers. And I feel like I’m the one winning gold over here.
I tremble, dropping my hands because the urge to tug him hard against me is too powerful.
He stands and cups my face, bringing it up to his. “Is there a problem?”
“It…feels too good.”
He chuckles. “Let it. Fuck my mouth, Princess. And don’t hold back. We have about three minutes.”
I resemble somewhat of a bobblehead. “Okay.”
He’s back on his knees, and my hands find their way into his scalp, getting a good grip and—oh fuck. Desire swirls through me as he devours my pussy. I tug him against me, bucking my hips and rocking against his mouth.
He moans and the vibration buzzes through me.
Holy hell. I’ve died and am floating weightlessly through dirty heaven.
I shudder as my second orgasm tears through my body, my vocal cords only knowing one word. His name. He rises and holds my face, kissing me hard and…passionately?
Could Chase Reeves be passionate?
Is it safe to try and find out?
There’s muffled chatter outside the door, and I gasp. “It’s just the team. But the girls aren’t far behind,” he tells me.
I swallow. “I need to get changed.” I hold out my hand. “I’m going to need those back.”
He smirks. “I don’t think so. I’m starting a collection.”
With that, my two-time panty thief walks out like…well, like he just robbed a bank and is walking out the front door.
It’s been a mere hour since the wildest evening of my life and I’m not ready to go to sleep.
Chase must be. He hasn’t said much since meeting me outside the locker rooms where he tossed a possessive arm around me and walked me to his bike, carrying both our backpacks.
I’m in the shower—I didn’t exactly need one since I washed up in the Queens locker room, but it serves as putting some distance between us.
I know he still has questions about what happened to me on the ice. And I am not talking. Chase Reeves will be the first one to call me crazy.
When there’s nothing left to do in the bathroom, I step out. The lights have finally dimmed, but the bed is only turned down for me and there’s one pillow.
I’m in a cami and shorts when I step into the living room. Chase is in his usual tank and boxers. The other pillow from the bed is on the far end of the sofa and he’s sitting on top of a throw blanket, reading a book.
“Hey,” I start, cautiously.
He looks up from his book, his eyes sweep over me with appreciation as his lips curl on one side. “Thought you were camping out in my bathroom tonight.”
I take the open invitation and cross to the sofa. “Is that what you’re doing? Camping out here to avoid me?”
He sits up and sets his book down.
I glance at the cover. “Stephen King?”
“Helps me sleep.”
“Because skating at thirty miles per hour with adrenaline rushing through your veins just isn’t enough.”
“It’s just an average Saturday.” He shrugs before his eyes wash over me again and his jaw tightens—his expression shifting from lust to…anger? Straightening, he pushes his hair back.
