“How’s your head?” I say, desperate for something, anything at all to say to him.
He glances over his shoulder from where he’s looking through the office window. “Improving. I have to wait until symptoms are completely gone before I’m cleared to play again. They expect it will take several weeks. I hope to be back before the playoffs begin.”
That’s a month and a half or so from now.
“I’m sorry I came to the hospital. I know you didn’t want to see me—”
“It’s fine,” he cuts me off.
“I just needed you to see it. I knew I wanted out when you confronted me at the beach, but I hadn’t figured out how to fix things yet. I knew I’d only have one shot. I’m sorry that I didn’t have an explanation for you then.”
Something hardens in his expression. “When did you know you wanted out?”
Suddenly the lump in my throat is so big I don’t know if I can swallow it. “Before I knew he’d made the deal with Eros,” I finally manage. “I couldn’t knowingly do that to you. Or to the team.”
I struggle to keep my breath even.
He surprises me by coming closer—so close his feet are just a short width from mine. I force myself to look him in the eye.
“I resent what you did, but I think I can understand why you did it. You didn’t make it easy for yourself, either. Your family is going to be very upset with you,” he says quietly, his gaze trailing over my face. I breathe in the cold, piney scent of him.
“They’ll get over it,” I whisper.
He steps forward then, surprising me by weaving a hand into my hair, gripping it at the roots.
“You’re a terrible decision, you know,” he says, his mouth hovering over mine. It sends a spark of heat straight to my core, and I feel myself clench. My heart is a caged bird, fluttering against my ribs.
“You should probably just stay away,” I breathe.
“I think it’s too late for that,” he replies, his accent thicker than usual.
Then he kisses me, and I ignite. His fingers fist against my scalp and I gasp, my lips parting against his. A moan escapes me, which only makes him pull me closer, his hips grinding against mine.
I can feel him, thick and hard against my thigh and I let out a helpless sound, my eyes rolling back as he kisses my throat. I’ve never been kissed like this.
Desperate. Demanding.
Savoring.
His large, calloused hands lift to the bow at the nape of my neck, undoing it slowly, his fingers brushing against my skin and sending chills down my spine. I’m not wearing a bra, and when the halter falls down, revealing my chest, his mouth goes slack. I watch as his pupils blow wide, eclipsing pale blue. Then he pulls me to him, catching one breast in his mouth as he backs me against the wall. When he sucks my tit against his tongue, it sends fire straight to my core. The ache between my legs grows agonizing, all my nerves ablaze.
Breath ragged, I spare a glance over my shoulder, to make sure no one is downstairs, but the rink is empty and it’s dim in my office.
“Have you missed me?” he whispers, lifting his head to plant another open-mouthed kiss against the crook of my neck.
“I’ve thought about you every day,” I gasp.
Catching my mouth with his again, he sucks my bottom lip, and it’s obvious he couldn’t care less who sees us. If I wasn’t soaked before, I am now. I arch into him when his palm slides down my side to the curve of my hip bone, pulling me against him, pressing me into the wall.
I need more.
I reach for the button of his slacks, but he tucks my hand back at my side, his own hands moving to lift the hem of my dress and pull it over my head, discarding it to the floor. I’m standing in nothing but my thin, cotton underwear, clenching hard at the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something to be devoured.
I die a little inside as he gets down on his knees, and I swear I’m wetter than I’ve ever been in my life. The air smells like me, and I know he can smell it, too. My pulse thuds between my legs as he reaches a hand around my hip, forcing me closer to his face. Then he drags his tongue along my slit over the fabric, his lips sucking at my clit, and I’m nearly undone. His finger slips beneath the hem, then dips inside me, and I gasp, burning to be filled.
“I missed the way you taste,” he murmurs against my cunt. He lavishes me, keeping my panties pulled aside with one hooked finger, dragging several long, consecutive licks over my core, the tip of his tongue dipping between my folds, and I think I might cry.
Or come. Probably both.
