I can’t. I’m already fisting the front of his hoodie, dragging him closer, needing more. His thumb strokes along my jaw, his other hand inches under my sweater.
“I can’t,” I gasp, and the sound barely leaves my mouth before he takes it with another kiss.
It’s slow. It’s rushed. It’s everything I’ve been pretending I didn’t want.
“You drive me insane, Princess,” he whispers, his mouth trailing down my throat, kissing and biting his way lower.
“But I can’t stop wanting every part of you,” he says, his voice rough with need.
Finally, finally I feel all the tension inside me loosen.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and drag him closer, my hips bucking to meet his.
He answers by grinding his hips into mine, his erection pressing right against my center. Shamelessly, I move with him, dry humping him as I chase the rush of being this close with him and touching him the way I always fantasized.
Fuck. This feels better than it should.
We’re in a freaking ice rink, but I swear I’m going to melt into nothing if Scotty keeps touching me.
He pushes my sweater up higher until the cold rink air bites at my newly exposed skin. I gasp, shivering as goosebumps break out everywhere he uncovers.
He notices.
His gloved fingers trace the line of my leggings, his touch warm against the cold. Then he drags his knuckles up my ribs, all the way to my black sports bra.
I arch my back, giving him permission to slip his hand under. The second his hand palms my breast, I gasp.
“Scotty,” I breathe out, desperately asking for something but too afraid to say it out loud, and too dizzy to think straight.
One of his gloved hands settles back on my hip, guiding my body to writhe against his.
It’s only when I’m trembling under him that he drops his hand between my legs and cups me through my clothes.
I moan, the sound reverberating off the rink walls.
“That’s it,” he husks out, his fingers pressing into the fabric of my leggings, only making me want more. “Tell me you like this.”
I bite down on my bottom lip just as his thumb puts a little pressure on my clit.
“It’s not enough,” I squeak out with my eyes closed. “I need more,” I whisper, threading my hands through his hair.
He pulls back, making me open my eyes and meet his.
“You sure about that, Princess?” he asks just as his thumb presses harder against my clit.
My hips jerk, my head falls back against the boards, and that’s all the answer he needs.
He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t even bother removing his glove as he slides his hand past the waistband of my leggings, then under my panties.
I gasp, my whole body arching because the rough fabric of his glove is cold against my skin. I try to squirm away from the shock of it, but he catches my mouth in a kiss, swallowing the sound, the nerves, the anticipation…everything as his gloved fingers stroke over my clit for the first time.
It’s unreal.
The friction of the fabric—cool, textured—over a place that’s been starving for him, waiting for him. My breath leaves in a strangled noise, and my legs nearly buckle.
“Scotty—” is all I can get out.
He doesn’t stop.
