It doesn’t take long for reality to slam back in, and I shove him away. “We need to talk.”
He drops onto the couch before tugging me onto his lap. His arm bands tight around my waist as his heat seeps into me until I want to squirm closer instead of away.
I hate how much I love the feel of his hands on me and his hard body beneath mine.
“About what, baby?” His voice is lazy, teasing. “What do we need to talk about?”
I stare at him, trying to get a grasp on my thoughts.
Why does he have to be so damn gorgeous?
That chiseled jawline and wicked mouth, the way his thighs spread wide beneath me like he’s already claimed the couch, the room, and me right along with it.
And his dick… Ugh.
I really hate how good it is.
How good he is with it.
The man’s talented.
And not just on the ice.
Every time I swear I’ll resist, then he touches me and I melt into a useless puddle.
I steel myself. “We?—”
“Actually, what we really need to talk about is how you owe me.”
I blink, thrown off by the comment. “Excuse me?”
His grin widens, all cocky confidence. “Do I really need to remind you how I got you off earlier? I’ve been walking around all day with a raging hard-on. Looks like it’s your turn to return the favor.”
A startled laugh slips free. “Are you being serious?”
“As a heart attack.” His hand snakes up my thigh. “Fair’s fair.”
I arch a brow as heat pools in my belly. “And what exactly is it that you want?”
He shifts, rolling his hips until the hard press of him grinds against me, ripping any sense of composure from my body.
His tone turns dark and hungry. “Pretty sure you can figure that out all on your own, baby.”
Unable to resist, I arch closer, chasing more of what I swore I wouldn’t. Triumph flares in his eyes as his mouth ghosts over mine again, softer this time.
It’s more of a whisper that’s equal parts tease and threat.
My head is screaming at me to shove him away and end this before I tumble any deeper.
But my heart and traitorous body?
They only want one thing.
Oliver Van Doren.
8
Oliver
