9. Lawson

CHAPTER 9

LAWSON

Crack ! The puck is live, and my muscles are on fire, the Bruins not pulling any punches for our first preseason game. We’re in the last period. Tied up. Sweat gathers on my brow beneath my helmet, but I’m explosive off my start, soaring across the ice with a laser focus.

The Bruins manage to get the puck, and I make sure to get right in the puck handler’s way, reading his actions a microsecond before he goes to pass it to his teammate. I intercept the puck, flying across the ice in the opposite direction, looking left and right for my teammates.

Nash is in prime position, so I send the puck gliding his direction, and it hits his stick perfectly without him missing a beat. Our defense is already clearing a path for him, and he makes a shot with only ten seconds left in the game. The puck breezes past the goalie, hitting the net and making the crowd go wild.

I immediately skate over to Nash, chest bumping him as the rest of our teammates celebrate too.

I quickly look to the stands, finding Blakely where I clocked her at the beginning of the game.

She's on her feet and cheering, looking sexy as hell in the Badgers’ black and yellow.

My heart swells in my chest, pride rippling along every inch of my body at the smile on her face. And sure, she’s coached every single player on the ice so she's happy for her team, but she’s looking directly at me .

I point at her, silently sending credit her way. We all skated faster than we had a month ago, and we owe that to her.

Are there some kinks we still need to work out with the team? Absolutely.

But we're heading to the locker rooms with a win under our belt and it's only the first preseason game.

Coach says as much in a fifteen-minute speech that covers everything from pride to motivation, before sending us off to the showers. We all hurry through the process, knowing a victory celebration is due.

I'm a bit bummed to not find Blakely waiting for me outside of the locker room, but maybe she's already headed to The Queen’s Rum knowing that we'll all be celebrating there.

It's a quick drive from our home arena, and as I and half the team walk through the doors, flooding the establishment with patrons, I scan those who are already here.

No sign of Blakely.

My shoulders drop, disappointment shooting through me.

It’s been three weeks since Kiplin’s party. Three weeks since Blakely let me take care of her in a way that’s appeared in my dreams every single night since.

I haven't been able to get her out of my head, and it’s taken every ounce of willpower I possess not to cross any lines during our private lessons or when I saw her at regular practice.

She kept things friendly enough, engaging in our normal back-and-forth banter, which don't get me wrong, I absolutely live for. But we’ve both been so ridiculously busy there hasn’t been any time for bodyguard missions, let alone anything else .

I was hoping tonight would be the night to break that streak, but even after I've sat with the guys for a good half hour, there’s still no sign of her.

“I thought you were going to take that last shot for yourself,” Nash says from where he sits to my right.

“You were primed to take it for yourself,” Pax adds from the other side of the table.

Kiplin sits next to him, only giving a nod to the players who pass our table or grunting at anything I have to say.

“I could’ve,” I admit. “The thought crossed my mind, but Nash had a better chance of scoring.”

Nash purses his lips, flashing Kiplin a look I can't decipher.

I'm hoping that after one season I'll be included in the silent conversations among the vets, but who knows, it could have taken him three years to develop that. Either way, it doesn't bother me. Not only have I busted my ass in practice, but I've just proven myself at our first preseason game.

It's not always about me, it's about winning . All I need to do is show them that and I’ll be well on my way to earning their full respect.

“Either way, it was a hell of a play,” Pax says, raising his glass.

All three of us clink ours against his and take sips, celebrating the much-needed start to the season. I set down my glass when my phone buzzes in my pocket, smiling at a text from my mother.

Mom: Congrats on your preseason win, honey. I'm so proud of you.

Me: Thanks mom. How did book club go?

Mom: It was so much fun. Barbara didn’t like this month’s read, so she made sure everyone knew about it.

Me: Did you like it?

Mom: Oh, I loved it. I made sure to tell Barbara why.

Me: Attagirl! Don’t let her push you around. She’s not the end all be all on literary gold.

I nod at my phone, proud of my mom for branching out recently. I’d invested every penny I’d gotten from college endorsement deals, however small they were, to help her get rid of her second job. After signing with the Badgers, I’d been able to retire her properly. Now she had all the free time she’d sacrificed when she was raising my sister and me, and I was proud of her for actually using it to do things she loves.

Mom: I know, just because she has a daughter-in-law who is a literary agent doesn’t mean she gets to tell me what makes a good mystery novel.

Me: Definitely. Did you do tacos or burgers after?

Mom: It was Tuesday this week, so naturally we did tacos.

Me: Sounds like fun.

Mom: It was. But enough about me, I know you must be celebrating. I’m just so proud of you. Go Badgers! Love you!

Me: Thanks mom. Love you.

Another wave of pride washes over me, and I internally congratulate myself on making my mom proud. I'm about to pocket my phone when it buzzes again, only this time showing Blakely’s name on the text screen.

Blakely: You remember when you joked about checking my apartment?

I furrow my brow, laughing softly to myself.

Me: Finally ready to take me up on my offer? My bedroom checking skills are unmatched.

Blakely: Ha ha. Yeah. Who knows, maybe I'm overreacting.

I sit up a little straighter, pushing away from the table and dialing her number immediately. I walk out of the bar, not even bothering to say goodbye to my teammates.

“Hey,” she says, a little hesitation in her voice when she answers the phone.

“What do you mean overreacting ?”

“Well, I was just a little wiped out after the game and was going to come home and do a Bridgerton marathon, but...” She hesitates again, and I'm already reaching for my keys, climbing into my car.

“But what?”

“I don't know, maybe I'm being a coward,” she says. “But I'm sitting in my car. I can see my front door from here, and there's a note taped to it. Normally I’d think it was just the apartment manager but there are a dozen red roses sitting on the porch beneath it. And if this is the part where you want to tell me you sent me flowers, I will be more than eager to go pick them up and look at them.”

“If I sent you flowers, damsel, they wouldn't be roses. I know you don't like those as much as you like orchids. You told me that during one of our lessons when I called you a daisy after you laid my ass out on the ice.”

“How do you remember stuff like that?” she asks, following it up with a heavy sigh, likely realizing that the last hope the flowers weren't from her ex is dashed.

“I'll just go in,” she says. “I'm being ridiculous. I'm a grown woman for fuck’s sake?—”

“You do whatever you're most comfortable with,” I say, wanting to support her even though every instinct is telling me to demand she stay in her car. “But I'm already on my way.”

“Seriously?” she asks. “I swore you’d wait at least until your celebration is over. Congratulations, by the way, you did fucking phenomenal tonight.”

“Well if that wasn't one of the sexiest things I've ever heard. I'm five minutes out, you want to wait for me?”

“Yes,” she says. “I'll wait for you.”

We hang up and I turn the five-minute drive into a two-minute one, pulling into the empty spot right next to Blakely’s car.

Relief uncoils in my chest as I spot her sitting behind the wheel of her car, bobbing her head to some music I can hear blaring just outside her door. I tap on her window, and she jolts slightly, then smiles as she kills the ignition and gets out.

“You really are the best,” she says.

I smile down at her, reaching for her hand, happy when she doesn't hesitate to take it. “I know,” I say. “Trust me, I'm always ready to be your hero.”

Blakely laughs, and it does wonders to chase away the worry crowding those blue-gray eyes of hers. “Always with the cheesy lines.”

“It doesn't make them untrue,” I say as we make our way to her apartment.

She hesitates a moment, then tears the note off of her door, glancing around the parking lot as if Brian might pop out of a bush or something. If that fucker is that prepared to cross boundaries, then he's going to lose a few teeth tonight. That's all there is to it.

She tucks the note underneath her arm, fiddling with her keys before she unlocks the door and we both go inside. I grab the roses and lock the door behind us.

“He doesn't have a key, does he?”

“He did,” she says. “But luckily my apartment manager is amazing, and he changed the locks for me the minute I broke up with Brian.”

“That's a relief,” I say, following her into her small kitchen. She flicks on the lights as we go. Her apartment is on the ground level though, with plenty of windows that could easily be shimmied open. I don’t point out this fact, not wanting to scare her further. I try to figure out how to calmly work it into a conversation. If she’s truly worried about this guy, investing in window sensors isn’t a bad idea.

“What would you like me to do with these?” I ask, holding up the roses.

I'm not sure if she hears me, because she’s opened the note that was taped to her door, her eyes skimming the words I can't make out from here.

She groans, rolling her eyes before she wads up the note and throws it in the trash. She stomps over to me, yanking the flowers out of my hands and throwing them—vase and all—into the garbage too. It completely fills up her bin, but I'm not going to say anything. I'll just make sure to take that trash out when I leave.

“He tried to get in,” she says, her palms splayed on the counter as she leans against it. “His note was an angry accusation about me changing the locks. Claiming that all he wanted to do was leave me a surprise. Fucking asshole .”

“Shit,” I say. “That's definitely crossing a line. Do you want to call the cops? Open up a case file so at least they know?”

Blakely considers for a few moments, worrying her plump bottom lip between her teeth. I immediately shut down all thoughts involving me worrying that lip for her, because this is so not the time.

“No,” she finally says. “It's fine. He’ll get the hint at some point. If I bring cops into it, it’ll be a whole mess and it’ll probably piss him off more because it’ll hurt his chances in the competitions, and I really don't need that on my hands. Especially because he didn't really do anything except for leave me a note and flowers.” She blows out a breath, raking her fingers through her long blonde hair that hangs over the Badgers jersey she's still wearing, a pair of black leggings tucked into a pair of yellow sneakers that make her look downright sexy and adorable, if that's possible.

“So much for a relaxing night,” she says, sounding more like she's talking to herself than me. “I'm so sorry I took you away from the party. I really appreciate you coming over, but you can totally get back to it now. I know you’d rather be celebrating with your team.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here, with you.” The admission is out before I can stop it, and I cringe a little at the vulnerability spilling out of me. I usually keep that shit locked up tight. But I quickly shrug at myself, knowing it’s the truth, and I’ve never apologized for telling the truth before, even when it’s not fun to hear.

“Really?” she asks skeptically. “You'd rather be here, checking my apartment for a stalker ex-boyfriend and listening to me whine about the situation? Rather watch Netflix and eat ice cream than celebrate your first preseason win with your team?”

“That depends on the ice cream, but I’m always down for Netflix.”

Blakely's laugh is infectious, and it brings a smile to my lips that I'm unable to stop.

She heads over to her freezer, opening it and then turning to me. “I've got triple chocolate chip, and pistachio.”

“Fuck yeah,” I say. “Grab them both and point me toward the TV.”

She laughs, grabbing the individual pints out of the freezer and two spoons as she heads over to me. “I usually watch Bridgerton in bed…in my PJ's.”

“That's even better,” I say, waggling my eyebrows just to get her to laugh again.

Which she does. And I feel like I've won tonight all over again.

I take the ice cream out of her hands and follow her through her small living room and down a short hallway into the one bedroom that she has.

It's simple and modern, with splashes of color in the form of pillows and a few pictures of art on her wall. Her bed is in the center of the room, pressed against the focal wall, and it almost takes up the entire space. A TV is nestled in between some do-it-yourself built-ins on the opposite side.

“Oh shit,” I say, checking out the setup. “You really do have the perfect room for marathoning shows.”

She laughs softly, nodding at the space. “I spent my college career barely even getting to sleep in my bed, let alone watch TV. Once I secured my job, I decided there was nothing I'd rather do in my downtime than this form of self-care.”

“I love self-care,” I say, setting the ice cream on a little nightstand next to her bed. “Are we about to do face masks?” I tease.

“I'm fresh out of those, but I can stock up for next time.” She grabs some clothes out of a drawer from a dresser inside her closet, and heads to what I can only assume is the en-suite bathroom.

“Next time? Already planning for when I’m back in your bed next?”

“Maybe,” she fires back, then closes the bathroom door behind her.

Jesus, she’s making it hard for me to focus on anything but getting in bed with her.

And even though I’m about to get into bed with this woman, I won’t be seducing her. She just got some creepy ass note from her ex, this is so not the time to continue our hot-as-fuck-saga that started in Kiplin's office.

I chuckle to myself as I find the remote to her TV, pulling up her Netflix and queuing season two of Bridgerton, not knowing which one she wanted to watch but seeing from her watch history that this was up next.

I kick off my shoes, grateful for my postgame sweatpants and T-shirt attire, and hop on the side of the bed that I assume isn’t hers, since the opposite nightstand indicates daily usage with pens and notebooks and other books scattered across it.

Is my girl into journaling? I'll have to ask her—except she isn’t really my anything. Yet here I am, after a game win ready to marathon a show instead of drinking celebratory beers with my teammates.

There’s at least some part of me that believes there’s way more to this than friendship and chemistry, but the other part of me is reminding myself that I don’t do relationships. They’re too complicated and put my career focus at risk.

But I can’t deny those risks seem a lot smaller when it comes to Blakely.

She opens the door to the bathroom, coming out fully changed in a pair of PJ’s that make my dick hard just from looking at her.

She wears a pair of cotton linen lavender pajama bottoms and a matching tank top hugging her supple breasts. It’s all I can do to not stare, and I force myself to look at the TV as she climbs into the bed next to me, grabbing the ice cream and handing me an open pint.

“Cheers,” she says, clinking her spoon against mine.

“Cheers,” I say, mimicking her movements, then I hit play on the show.

After twenty minutes, we've thrown in the towel with the ice cream, me rushing it back to the freezer and tossing the spoons in the dishwasher. When I come back, Blakely smiles at me.

“Thank you so much again for being here,” she says. “I know it's ridiculous, but it makes me feel less worried when you're around.”

“It's not ridiculous,” I say climbing back into bed. “I told you, there's nowhere I'd rather be.”

“What about Seattle?” she asks, arching a brow. “Weren’t you joking a few weeks ago that you’d rather be at the Sharks’ arena?”

I cringe, hissing through my teeth. “You heard that?”

“I’m a coach,” she says, shrugging. “I hear everything.”

I nod. “The Sharks have been my favorite team since I was a kid. Was I dreaming of being the one they drafted? Yes. Would I entertain a trade offer? Also, yes…but…”

“But?”

“I don’t know, we’re getting into a groove,” I say. “We’ve only just had our first preseason game, but there’s something about this team.” And there’s something about her, but I don’t add that fact.

“I know,” she says, smiling softly. “The Badgers have a way of growing on you.”

She stares at me for a long moment, something snapping between us that I can't exactly describe. I'm about to open my mouth and probably say something stupid, but she saves me, and hits play on the show again.

One episode rolls into the next, the two of us chatting and laughing in between certain scenes. By episode three, I’ve wrapped my arm around her and she’s leaning against my chest as we watch.

And while I’m enjoying the show, I'm more marveling at the fact that I'm having such a great time simply watching TV with her in my arms. I find myself excited to see how she responds to certain things, or what her favorite parts or characters are, anything that gives me more insight into who she is.

And I'm suddenly aware of how fucking lucky I am to be the one sitting right here with her in my arms.

I already knew she trusted me—there’s a level of trust in the agreement we struck—but it was fully sealed when she trusted me with her body.

But now it seems like she’s trusting me with more pieces of herself, things that were much more important than delivering a few orgasms. Not that I didn't want to do that. Not that I wouldn't if she turned to me right now and asked me to.

It isn't until episode five rolls into episode six that I realize Blakely fell asleep. I gently turn my head to look down at her, noticing how even her breathing is, her eyelashes dusting her cheeks. It's well past midnight, and after the game-winning adrenaline leaks out of my system, I'm more than exhausted too.

I know I should gently remove myself from her bed and head to her living room couch, but my muscles are too heavy to make the move, and before I can argue with my body, my lids fall closed.

The smell of honeysuckle surrounds me, and a warm, soft body is pressed against mine. I shift against the comfortable mattress, my mind slowly coming up from sleep when that warmth shifts against me again.

I peel open my eyes, noting the darkness of the room, and it takes me a minute to remember that I'm not at my place.

I glance down, fire licking through my veins.

Blakely is completely entangled with me. One leg is wrapped around my hip, her breasts brushing my chest, and one of her arms is tucked between us while the other rests on my side. She's moving... stretching while also pulling me closer, her head tilting upward as her lips graze the base of my neck.

Fucking hell, this isn't a dream.

But is she awake?

My arms are around her, one beneath her head, and the other gently stroking the hip of the leg she’s thrown over me. “Blakely, baby,” I whisper, groaning as she rocks against me, her body seeking mine. “Are you awake?”

“Definitely not awake,” she whispers back with crystal-clear clarity, yet her eyes are still closed. Her lips work their way up to the line of my jaw as she pulls me closer.

She rolls against me again, this time gasping when she feels just how fucking hard I am for her. That hand tucked between us teases the line of my cock over my sweats, and I instinctively thrust into it.

“Fuck,” I whisper, wondering how the hell some over-the-clothes touching can feel so damn good. I gently squeeze her hip, dragging my hand up to her cheek as she kisses her way toward my lips. “Baby, you’ve got to tell me you're awake.”

“If I was awake, I don't think I’d have the courage to do what I'm doing,” she says, her mouth finding mine.

The kiss is slow, almost lazy, like we have nothing but time, but it’s no less hot.

I hesitate to take the reins, my body knowing she’s awake, but my mind needing more confirmation.

She strokes my cock again, moaning into my mouth as the little tease slips her tongue between my lips and rubs it against my own.

“If I was awake,” she continues, working her way to my ear and nibbling slightly on the lobe.

I groan, yanking her tighter against me, earning the sweetest little sigh from her.

“I definitely wouldn't be as bold to do this.” She moves against me, and I fall back the way that she's urging me, damn near growling when the vixen straddles me, leaving me on my back to look up at her.

Her eyes are finally open, looking down at me, all lust hazy and wanting.

I can't stop my hands from flying to her hips, from holding onto her as she rocks over my hard length, the thinness of her pajama bottoms doing nothing to hide how hot she feels.

“Fuck, Blakely,” I groan, lifting up to meet her face to face, needing her mouth on mine.

The position brings us flush, and she gasps as I take her mouth in a quick and intense kiss before pulling back.

“Tell me you're awake,” I say, cupping one of her cheeks. “Tell me you want this. Want me .” I know she’s awake, but verbal consent is just as important to me as body language consent.

She gives me a sleepy smile and rolls her hips against me. “What do you think, hero?”

I growl, low and rumbly. “I think you're a wicked little damsel. One who woke up with a need only I can satisfy.”

She kisses me quickly, then pulls back. “What else is a girl to do when she wakes up with Lawson Wolfe in her bed?”

I nip at her bottom lip, gliding my hands over her body until I'm clutching the globes of her ass. I move her on me, dragging her center right over my hard cock in a long, hot tease. She gasps, trembling as her head falls back.

“Do that again,” she says. “Please.”

“Only if you tell me you're awake and you want this.”

Her eyes find mine again in the darkness, and she slides her fingers through my hair, gripping the strands just tight enough to sting. “I'm awake, Lawson,” she says, her voice breathless. “And I want you. Do you want me?”

The way the seriousness cuts into her last question nearly breaks my fucking heart. I move her on me again, never losing her gaze. “Can't you tell how badly I want you?”

“Then you have me,” she says. “No strings?”

I don't understand the ripple of disappointment that flies through me, but it’s quickly replaced when her mouth falls on mine. “No strings,” I say against her lips.

Those words have some kind of unleashing effect on her because she breaks our kiss and rids herself of her top, revealing that she’s not wearing a bra. If I hadn’t been sitting down, I would’ve fallen, because fuck me she's gorgeous.

“Goddamn, you're beautiful,” I say, immediately cupping her breasts, massaging them before I move to suck one of her pink nipples into my mouth. I do it hard enough that she gasps, then I soothe the sting with a few laps of my tongue until she's pert for me. I repeat the process on the next one, a bead of precome gathering on the tip of my cock even though we're just getting started.

“Lawson,” Blakely breathes my name as I kiss every inch of skin I can reach. “I...I...”

I lift her, gently spinning her so she's on her back and I'm between her thighs. I gauge her reaction as I hook my fingers into the band of her pajama bottoms, then give her a delightful growl when she lifts that perfect ass off the bed, silently allowing me to drag those pants off her legs and toss them behind me.

I'm on my knees before her, looking down and drinking in the perfection. It's dark in here, but a little bit of moonlight is all I need to know she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. A strip of blonde curls covers her glistening pussy, and I damn near go weak at the knees at the sight of her.

I gather my shirt and pull it over my head, tossing it to join her clothes on her floor. I make quick work of the sweats, only then realizing one major problem.

“Fuck,” I growl. “Condom.” I murmur the word as I dip down and kiss her again, working my way down her chest and over the soft plains of her stomach.

“Nightstand,” she says breathlessly.

I don't hesitate to go where she glances and find the delightful foil packet resting among a whole pack in her drawer.

“Good,” I say. “Smart girl.”

“I bought them after Clay's party,” she says, and her words resonate in every inch of my body.

“You bought these for me?” I ask, glancing down at her.

She nods, a flash of nervousness spilling over her features.

I lean over her, kissing her gently before pulling back. “We don't have to do this,” I say. Even as rock hard and aching as I am to sink into her perfect body, I’ll never do anything that makes her uncomfortable.

“No, please don't stop,” she says, her hands flying between us to stroke my bare cock.

I groan, thrusting into her delicate hands, loving the way she squeezes me.

“I just...” She hesitates again, and I tilt my head, trying hard as hell to focus on what she's saying, but it's hard when she's stroking me like she is. “You know my history,” she says. “I don't know as much as you. What if I do something wrong?”

“Oh, fuck,” I say, relief barreling through me. Is that all she’s worried about? “Blakely,” I continue. “You could never do anything wrong. I’m turned on by every single thing you do. You focus on doing whatever feels good to you and tell me if you want me to stop. That's all you have to do. Do you trust me?”

She nods. “I trust you.”

Pride and nerves streak through me, joining the overwhelming amount of need coursing through my body. As far as sex goes, this is the most intimate I've ever been with a woman, and I'm suddenly aware of how important it is, crossing this line between us.

We may have said no strings, and that's fine, but this is more than a one-night stand. I like this girl. I’m friends with this girl. I’m about to deliver many orgasms to this girl. As many as she can handle until her body goes limp.

And it’s time to get to work.

I kiss my way down her chest, giving her breasts attention while I slide my fingers through her slit.

“Lawson,” she breathes my name again, and it makes me harder, if that's possible.

“Do you like this?” I ask, sliding two fingers into her heat. She's a goddamn dream . A dream folded into a fantasy and finished off with an outer-world experience.

“Yes,” she says, her hips arching into my touch. “Omigod,” she moans as I pump my fingers insider her, stretching her, feeling her, learning what makes her flutter, what makes her slick.

Fucking hell, I could die here a happy man.

“You're going to come on my fingers now,” I say, my free hand gently massaging her thigh as I grind the heel of my palm into her swollen clit?—

“Lawson!” she cries out, her thighs trembling.

“Fuck, you're amazing,” I say, drawing back enough to reach for the foil packet and tearing it open. I roll it over my aching cock and settle myself between her thighs. “Fucking perfection,” I say as I tease her oversensitive pussy with the tip of my cock.

“You want more?” I ask, always wanting her to know that she’s in control. That she can tell me right now that she changed her mind, and I will climb off of her and go take an ice-cold shower.

Instead of answering, she reaches up to cup my face, drawing my mouth to hers before releasing me, and reaching down between us. She grabs my cock and guides it to her entrance, arching her hips so I sink in just an inch.

“Fuck, Blakely,” I groan through clenched teeth, doing my best to hold still as she does her best to get me inside her searing heat. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“I want you to fuck me,” she says, and her sweet voice wrapping around such a dirty demand has me gliding inside her until I bottom out.

She moans, her hands flying around my back, squeezing the muscles there as I hold myself steady.

I know she's not a virgin, but I also know she wasn't well taken care of, and I'm not exactly average size. I give her the time she needs to adjust to me, but before I know it, she's arching her hips off the bed, moving on me despite me holding perfectly still.

“Omigod, you feel so good,” she breathes the words, and they go straight to my hungry ego.

I meet one of her hip rolls with a thrust, and I'm rewarded with the sweetest little moan, her nails digging into my back. “You're so hot and wet,” I say, pulling all the way out only to slam home again. “Hugging my cock like you were made for it.” I pull out and then slam home again. Each time Blakely raises her hips to meet my thrust, the two of us falling into a rhythm that I’m quickly losing myself in.

I capture her mouth with mine, never once breaking our rhythm as I kiss her, one arm holding me up above her, the other roaming over every inch of her body I can reach. Somehow, I'm inside her and it's not enough.

I need more.

I need to feel more of her.

I need to claim more of her.

She's a fucking goddess, and I'm the man dead set on worshipping her.

“Lawson,” she moans into my mouth, her body tightening.

“Already, damsel?” I grin, pure male pride rippling through me as I realize she’s about to come again.

I raise up enough so that I can watch her face, gliding into her over and over again in the exact way that makes her moans grow louder.

And then her lips part, a gasp ripping past them as her thighs tighten around my hips and her pussy flutters around my cock.

Watching her come is fucking beautiful, and I work her right through the crest of it, only slowing when she’s breathless and panting.

“Omigod,” she says. “Omigod.”

I dip down and kiss her again, sliding my free arm beneath her lower back and hefting her up higher so I can fuck her at a deeper angle. “We're not finished yet,” I say, and her eyes flare wide like she's shocked I haven't come yet.

Slowly, I slide my aching cock in inch by inch until I bottom out inside her again. She's slick, and the sounds of our sex fill her quiet room. She's shaking now, trembling but moving on me as if she just can't help but want more .

It's sexy as hell, and it pushes me right over the edge. I keep my eyes on her face as I up my pace, pumping into her fast and deep, each quick thrust ensuring my pelvic bone hits her oversensitive and swollen clit.

Her eyes flutter closed, her lips parting as she digs her nails into my back. She wraps her legs around me, fully submitting herself to this position, giving me complete control of the pace with the sort of trust that usually takes months to gain.

I can't believe I’ve earned it, but I don't waste it, ensuring that I hit that spot deep inside her over and over again. Every time I plunge into her hot, slick pussy, it sends me closer and closer to that sharp edge of release that I know is coming.

I can't fucking wait and wish it wouldn't come at the same time.

I never want this moment to end. This perfect little bliss bubble we're living inside that has no concern for the reality awaiting us when daylight breaks.

I shove that thought away, burying it deep between her thighs with every thrust.

Sparks erupt down my spine when her pussy flutters around me again, her moans of my name flying from her mouth as she comes.

She takes me right over the edge with her, and I black out for a few seconds as my pace increases as I come.

I catch my breath, ensuring I’m still holding myself up above her, not wanting to crush her as I look down at her.

Her arms fall limp on either side of her head, the most luscious smile shaping her lips as she looks up at me.

“That was amazing,” she says. “You’re amazing.”

I grin down at her, planting a gentle kiss on her lips before I carefully ease out of her and go to the restroom, doing the proper cleanup as quickly as possible before I return to her.

I slide in under the covers instead of doing my usual dance, which is grab my clothes and head out. Instead of reaching for the door handle, I'm wrapping an arm around her, bringing her spine flush with my chest, and tucking my head over her shoulder as I plant soft kisses along her neck.

“Don't go,” she says, her voice sleepy as she lays her arm over mine. “Please stay.”

Couldn't she tell I already was?

I suppose my reputation is well reported on, but she's not a girl who wanted a quick roll with an NHL player.

“I'll stay,” I assure her, kissing her neck again. “I'm not going anywhere.”