Chapter 37

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Ella

"Fuck, Riggs," I moan into the pillow I grabbed, trying to not scream so loud that Todd will hear me.

It's five in the morning, my hot hockey player has the day off, and I've been woken up without my eight alarms.

It's fucking glorious.

He nips at my thigh and I jump. "Pay attention, chérie ."

"Is this where you're going to do what you promised on that puck?"

I feel rather than see his smile, and the flick of his tongue that follows has my hips bucking, seeking the purchase of his talented mouth, the friction of his thick, bushy beard that I know will send me over the edge.

But I don't get there.

Instead, I find myself maneuvered in a flash, his big, strong body suddenly beneath me, my thighs straddling his waist, his thick cock nestled in the slick folds of my pussy.

"Get those tits up here," he orders, bucking his hips, sending me toppling forward, having to brace myself on the headboard…

And positioning my breasts?—

"Oh God!" I moan.

—in the perfect position for him to suck my nipples into his mouth, to roll his tongue over them, to nip and kiss and lick?—

To drive me fucking insane, all while the tip of his cock is almost inside me.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," I moan.

He sits up, sending his cock deeper inside me. "Ride me like I promised you would, chérie . Take me deep and fuck me hard. I want you to feel me for the rest of the day, to remember this every time you sit down." He grips my hips, pulls, and?—

"Riggs!"

I'm suddenly full of him.

Full and stretched to the limit, his cock so much deeper, so much bigger in this angle.

"Ride me good, chérie ."

And then his mouth is too busy sucking my nipples to continue speaking. But he groans against me, the sound vibrating through my flesh.

And I… move .

His hips buck, and he's grinding his cock up into me as I'm stroking down.

It's fucking glorious.

It's fucking perfect.

It's fucking incredible.

It's fucking ?—

He smacks me hard on the ass, sting flaring through my cheek, the blip of pain exactly what I need.

Pleasure and pain.

Hard and deep.

"Oh, God, Riggs!" I cry out, far too loud, but unable to stop myself.

But it's fucking there .

My orgasm blasts through me.

My body goes limp and it takes everything in me to keep moving, to not fuck up his own release?—

But, like always, Riggs takes care of it, flipping us, thrusting into me, each stroke sending another starburst of pleasure through me.

Once. Twice. Three times?—

"Fuck, I love you," he groans as every muscle in his body goes taut, his beautiful brown eyes locked onto mine, the love he has for me—for me —shining out like the brightest rays of the sun.

But even with all that…

I still find that I can't give him the words back.

"Are you sure you have to go in to work today?" he murmurs a while later, lips on my throat, teeth nipping at my earlobe.

My mouth tips up as I finish pouring the muffin batter into the tins then lean back against his hard chest, press a kiss to the side of his neck, inhaling deeply.

Yummy.

He used beard oil this morning, something I had the pleasure of witnessing after he carried my limp body into his bathroom and we showered together.

Well, really, I sat there like a well-pleasured lump of a human while he soaped me up, gently washed my hair, dried me off, then scooped me up and plunked me on the counter.

Where I got to see him groom that glorious beard.

Yum.

I inhale the scent of cinnamon and orange then kiss his throat again before dropping back onto my heels.

"Yup," I say. "I have to go in to work. I have a full day of clients and I've been flaky enough lately."

He scowls, but not at me, at his dad barking into his phone in the other room, yelling about some perceived inconvenience.

"…and then the doctor said…"

"You know what he told me last night after you scored?"

"In my bedroom?" he murmurs, pulling me flush against him.

I swat his arm, but don't resist being wrapped up in him. "No," I tell him, spinning in his arms, needing to see his face. "After your goal in the game last night."

He rolls his eyes. "It doesn't matter, chérie ," he says. "I think I've finally got to the point where I don't really care."

I touch his cheek. "I respect that," I tell him gently. "Really, I do. But he…he was proud. He cheered and clapped."

"I saw him sitting like a grumpy old man statue next to you, baby." He covers my hand with his own then peels it from his cheek and presses a kiss to my palm. "You don't have to sugarcoat it for me."

"I'm not. He didn't cheer for long, but when the crowd quieted, he told me that was a heads-up play with a good finish."

His eyes widen.

"I'm not saying that you need to have him in your life—hell, based on what I've experienced and the shit Knox has told me he's pulled over the years, you're well within your rights to tell him to fuck off forever." I sigh. "But I…I guess, if there's a part of you that's unresolved, that's searching for…something that's missing or you had once or—" I shrug, throat tight.

"Ella," he whispers.

"I'm just saying it might be worth trying to hash it out," I push out. "Set some boundaries, find something together that doesn't tear you apart."

Because I hate the idea that he has the same wound in his heart that I do.

And if there's some way to repair it…

"I love you," he whispers.

I close my eyes, the words washing over me in a warm rush of emotion. "Riggs," I whisper.

I want to give voice to the feelings in my heart—I'm almost desperate to do it. But…I can't. Not yet. Not when I've made so many mistakes.

Not when I have so much to make up for.

He cups my jaw, and when I peel open my eyes, I see his face has softened. "I'm here," he murmurs.

I swallow hard. "I know."

He strokes a finger over my jaw. "So, a full day today?" he asks. "Or do you have time for lunch with your boyfriend and his grumpy dad?"

"Such a tempting offer," I tease, tapping my finger against my lips and letting him shift our conversation to something lighter. "How ever could I turn that down?"

"I can think of a hundred reasons." He grins.

"Hmm," I say, slipping out of the circle of his arms and sliding the muffin pan into the preheated oven. "But you were very skilled with that beard of yours when it was between my legs this morning." I tap my bottom lip again. "That might have bought you lunch?"

One half of his mouth hitches up and he starts to speak, to presumably give me some more of those dirty words I love so fucking much, but he's cut off by stomping.

We turn as one to see Todd marching into the room, brows yanked together, steam all but coming out of his ears.

"All good, Todd-o-Rama?" I ask, turning for the coffeepot and filling three mugs.

His scowl deepens as he tosses his cell on the table. "Sure isn't, Ells," he grumbles, coming toward me.

I lift my brows and pass over a mug. "Want to talk about all those big feelings you're having right now?"

His mouth kicks up, but he doesn't bite, just takes a long sip and exhales before lifting the mug in my direction in a quiet salute. "You make good coffee, kid."

"Actually," I say. "Riggs made the coffee." I lift my brows higher. "Because he's good at a lot of things." A beat. "Like hockey. And cooking." And fucking me senseless with his tongue. "And making coffee."

He snorts. "That's not all he's good at, if what I heard this morning is any indication."

This man…he's just freaking impossible.

"Dad," Riggs warns.

"Sorry," Todd mutters and I freeze with a rebuttal on the tip of my tongue. "I'm a surly old bastard," he mutters. "And I don't know when to quit." He sinks down into a chair and takes another sip of coffee. "And I'm a particular asshole in the mornings."

My eyes jerk to Riggs's.

He looks just as shocked as I am.

And that's before Todd sets his mug aside and says quietly, "You played good last night, son."