A shy nod is what I get from her. “If you want me to.”
“I do.” Reaching out, I take her hand in mine. “I really do.”
We both turn to the television to watch Chicago take the puck down the ice to New York’s goal.
“Can you start with some rules, the object of the game, you know, things of that nature?”
“Things of that nature?” I chuckle again and add, just in case, “You’re fucking adorable.” Emma blushes a pretty shade of pink, and smiles.
As we watch, she asks questions now and then and I answer them. Her questions are a little out of the ordinary but so is she. For example, she points the television. “So, the goal minder doesn’t leave his spot at his end of the ice?”
Goal minder?“Nope. Unless he’s called back to the bench…” but that’s getting into a whole thing about being behind at the end of the game. “He stays put.”
“And your dad was a goal minder?”
“Goaltender. Yes.” God, she makes me smile.
“And you play which position?”
“Defender.”
She points to the TV again. “Which of those guys is a defender?”
“There are usually two defenders on the ice at all times. One on the left and one on the right side.”
“Oh.” She blinks as she watches the game. “What are the other guys called?”
“Forwards.”
“And they do all the scoring?”
“Hell no,” I snap. It catches her off guard, so I squeeze the hand that’s wrapped in mine. “No,” I say, softer this time. “We can all score if we get the chance. But defensemen are typically responsible for giving our own goalie more protection. We do our best to keep the other team from scoring.”
“Okay.” She nods. “Sounds pretty straightforward.”
“Straightforward.” I throw my head back and laugh.
“What? Why are you laughing? Isn’t it straightforward?”
I shake my head.
Emma scoots up to the front edge of the couch, pulling our hands apart as she goes. “It is very straightforward.” She points at the TV. “There are six players on the ice. Five of whom score and three who try to keep the puck away from the netty-thing.”
The netty-thing. I laugh some more. Reaching out for her, I wrap her up in my arms and pull her close. I think I catch her by surprise because her body falls easily against mine. I slide my left hand beneath her knees and lift her until she’s on my lap. She’s not giving in on her argument even though she’s now on top of me.
I love it.
“You need to quit laughing at everything I say. You’re making me feel self-conscious.”
I stop laughing. For one because I don’t want her to feel like that and two, feeling her ass on my lap is making me hard again. I think she notices because she’s got a very serious look on her face.
“Eli?”
“Give me a kiss, sweetheart.”
And what do you know…? She does it. She leans in slowly, until our lips touch. I slide my fingers into her hair and let them run through the silky strands. My tongue enters her mouth as she opens for me.
God. I could live inside this girl. She’s so warm and soft and, and… well, she’severything. Moving my arms until they’re wrapped around her middle, I pull her closer so her chest is against mine. I run my palm up and down her back, then further until both hands are resting on her butt. Her ass. It’s a perfectly round and not too firm ass. It’s just right. When I give it a little squeeze, she squirms on top of me.
