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And then he’s blazing up the ice, feinting right and then cutting left, his stick a blur of motion. There’s no time left. He fires off a shot and—
“Score,” comes a low, familiar rumble at my ear, scaring the life and a totally humiliating yelp out me.
I’m off the couch in a flash, hand at my throat, eyes wide and shifting between the flesh-and-blood man in front of me and the miniature version of him pumping his fist hard as he glides on one skate into the embrace of a team that has spilled onto the ice following the final buzzer.
I’m mesmerized by both. In awe.
Wade grins down at the table. “Mom’s package came.”
He flips through the pages and shoots me a cocky, too-sexy grin. “Been watching my old games?”
Three of them. One from this past season with the Slayers, an AHL game, and this one from college. “You’re really good.”
Geez, was that breathy voice mine?
He straightens. His brows go high, and his mouth tips into that criminally hot, slanted smile.
“Good Girl—oomf!”
Wade catches me against him as I kiss him with the frantic need of a rabid fangirl, my legs locked at his back.
“So I’m guessing”—he takes my kiss—“the hockey”—gives me his—“works for you.”
“So hot.” My legs tighten, bringing us closer. “You’re going to take me to your games?”
“Wrap you up in my number,” he growls, hands moving to my ass to drag me over him.
“Numberseventeen.” I know it now. “Tap the glass when you skate by for warm-up.”
“Hell, yes.” We both groan. “Score for you.”
“Wade.”Heat spills through my center as he fills my mouth with the thrust of his tongue, kissing me hard and deep. Backing me to the wall and grinding against that spot I need him most. “Tell me I’m yours.”
“Fuuuck, Harlow. You’re mine.”
Yeah, I’ve got his number. But it works for me too.
“Make mefeel it,” I pant against his lips, reveling in his answering sound of masculine desperation. In the way he maneuvers me to pull down my leggings and panties on one side, so I can pull my leg free. In the way he bites his lip as he strokes through the spread of my sex.
I’m drenched for him. Quaking beneath his touch.
He gives me one thick finger, pumping in and out. “You feel that, Good Girl?”
“Yes.”
Another thick finger presses in with the first. Stroking. His touch making me whimper. “How about that?”
“So good.”
“You want me to fuck you with my fingers?” He’s at my ear, his teeth nipping at my lobe, tongue tracing the shell. “Give you another and fill you so good you come all over them?”
“Wade,” I gasp, clenching around the stretch of a third. God, his hands are so big. His fingers so long. But I want— “More.Please.”
One more pump inside me and he eases out. The emptiness is unbearable, but then he’s back, the wide head of his cock nudging at me. Teasing. Torturing.
Making me crazy.
“You want me to make you feel it?”
