His fingers move with devastating purpose as his mouth works along my neck, sucking and tasting. I can only clutch at his shoulders, panting, riding the wave he’s building inside me.
Then his fingers and lips leave me at once, and I whimper at the loss.
Miles drops to his knees and lifts one of my legs over his shoulder. A ragged moan rips out of me the moment his mouth finds me, his tongue circling exactly where I need him most.
“Oh, yes,” I cry, fingers sliding into his hair. “Please don’t stop.”
Colors burst behind my closed eyes as he adds two fingers, stroking the front wall in a firm, relentless rhythm while his tongue flicks in an agonizing tempo. I’m undone—I fall into that place where thought no longer exists, only raw need and unrestrained pleasure.
I scream as my body convulses. I’m barely aware of Miles pressing a steadying hand against my chest, pinning me to the wall so I don’t collapse.
My trembling slows as his tongue eases, leaving me breathing hard, flushed, and deliciously wrecked.
Miles’s hands slide beneath my ass, lifting me effortlessly. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around him just as he thrusts into me—hard, deep, perfect. My back thumps gently against the wall in a rhythm that's just on the edge of uncomfortable yet feels unbelievably good.
I’m limp with pleasure, every muscle boneless, but I feel him everywhere—his grunts, the heat of his breath against my neck, the slick glide of his skin beneath my hands. I cling to him as the world narrows to nothing but him.
The connection Miles and I share is so intense it’s addictive. I’m chasing my next release even as I know—when it hits, I’ll crave another.
Miles drives into me harder, faster. His groans deepen, and the intensity sends me crashing over the edge again. He follows right behind me, shuddering as he releases, the sound of it drawing out my own climax.
We cling to each other, two sweaty, trembling bodies struggling for breath in the aftermath. He keeps holding me, my legs still wrapped around him, my back pressed to the wall.
When I finally open my eyes, I find Miles looking at me like I’m something unreal.
“I love you, Miranda Sinclair,” he says on a breathless, elated sigh.
“I love you, Miles Keller.”
He kisses me softly—slow, sweet, full of everything we didn’t say.
Here, wrapped in his arms, kissing him breathless, I know one truth with absolute certainty—I never want to be anywhere else but here, loving him back.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
MIRANDA
Iswear my heart hasn’t stopped racing since puck drop.
The Cranes home arena feels like the center of the universe tonight—every fan in the building vibrating with nerves and hope as the team battles Colorado in game five of the Stanley Cup Finals. Three wins down, one to go. If the boys take tonight’s game, they’re champions again.
It’s unreal.
Even up here in the enclosed VIP suite, the energy buzzes like electricity under my skin. Fans pound the glass. Signs wave. The announcer’s voice booms through the chaos. My hands are shaking, and I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
I glance toward the ice and spot Miles on the bench, suited up in all his gear, helmet on, leaning forward with his glove propped on the boards. He isn’t out for every shift—he and Finn are the newest guys, so they’re being rotated in sparingly—but the fire in his eyes is unmistakable. He wants this win as badly as anyone out there.
Beside me, Anna squeezes my arm. “You okay?”
“No,” I whisper, pressing a hand to my stomach.
She laughs. “Me either.”
Down on the ice, Max is everywhere. He and Jaden read each other flawlessly, Cade is flying, Bash is bulldozing like a machine, and Gunner—good Lord—nothing rattles that man in the net.
They’re playing like champions.
