If he didn’t keep saying my name, I was sure I could be anyone.
I pitch forward, slotting my knee between his thighs, my chest against his. I mold my body to him, and it’s when I press my lips against his neck that I know I have him. Or he has me.
A soft moan echoes from him, and I won’t stop myself. I roll my hips, testing the waters, loving how even the slightest thrust makes his head fall back as a high moan escapes him.
I brush my tongue from the dip in his collarbone, up to his Adam’s apple, savoring the strong hit of coffee sweat, and the vibration of his moan that hums on my tongue.
“Kane,” he groans as I softly kiss his Adam’s apple. His taste is so sharp, and I can’t wait to see how strong it is in other places.
His thick fingers dig into me, and the way he sighs is so incredibly perfect that I pull my lips back from his neck.
“Don’t stop, Kane. You have to make it better,” he says, blinking heavily as he drops his chin.
“I only stopped so I could do this,” I say as I grab the front of his shirt and yank him forward into a kiss.
Coffee burns on my tongue, and he moans, his hips instantly jerking against mine. I plunge further into his mouth, and he buckles under me. Sparks fly through me as he parts his lips further, letting me explore him with everything I have. Every lick over his tongue, every tug of his lips, the way I stroke his nipples and grind hard against him as the dumpster rattles behind us; it’s the best.
The only thing that makes it more perfect is the tiny moans he gives as he clings desperately to me.
I never thought making an older guy collapse under me would be so insanely sexy.
“You taste good,” he slurs as I pull back from the kiss. The haze in his eyes grows stronger, but the lust in his voice is the same. “You taste amazing. I didn’t know alphas could ever taste so good.”
I’m sure he’s lost his sense of smell. There’s been this whole thing in the news about how he can’t taste anything either, along with all that drama still going on with his divorce. I can’t figure it out because Timber refuses to do interviews, but his wife has been on chat shows for years ‘representing’ Timber. My inner bullshit alarm goes off whenever I see her talking.
For someone who storms the ice when he plays, he holds me so softly. His moan is gentle as he takes my lips, making me fall for him even harder.
I’m meant to be the one who’s kissing him, but he’s taken me over. His other hand sweeps to my lower back and holds me tight, leaning over me to deepen the kiss.
I sink into the sensation of his stubble scratching my cheeks, his hot taste, his moans vibrating through me as he drinks me in.
“Kane,” he slurs my name, looking deep into my eyes, and stealing my heart in one second.
I grind my cock against him again, and his eyes flutter closed.
“Yes, like that,” he groans, answering me with a rub of his own before his hand slips down to cup my ass. I throw myself back into the kiss, stealing his breath as our tongues meet in the middle.
“Hey, Kane! Hurry up! The taxi’s waiting!” A teammate calls out from the street, totally ignoring how we’re dry humping against the dumpster, and I seriously don’t want to be disturbed.
But that’s where the dream ripples, and I’m sent back a year to the day that changed everything.
The pleasure of kissing Timber, of tasting him, of running my hands under his waistband so I can grab his bare ass and spread his cheeks while he gasps and moans for me in the dark alley, it blurs and changes into bright lights and noise of a rink, and pure white ice as I skate as hard as I can down the inner line to reach the puck.
My heart pounds, and the cut of the ice under my skates sounds amazing.
I'm nineteen, it’s my first season as a professional athlete with the Rochester Rutters, playing against the Scented Scorpions, and I’m flying high.
I get to skate with my idols. I’ve always wanted to join the Scorpions, and every time Timber Holtz is on the ice, my bodypulses with excitement. I had a huge poster of the team in my room when I was in high school, and Timber was front and center.
We’re halfway through the game, and it’s the most fun I’ve had in my life.
Until I hit the puck, aiming straight for the goal, and someone dashes in front of me.
Everything that could go wrong does. The puck’s at the perfect angle to hit the side of his visor, the guard is loose enough to snap, and the puck smashes straight into his face.
It’s instant.
Blood explodes from Timber as he goes down. A high scream splits the air, and Timber looks as shocked as me as his skates slip from under him and he topples over.
