“It’s not a nightlight, but it’s not like a real light. It’s kind of useless really but it’s a fleur-de-lis,” I explain even though it’s obvious. “and I rarely see those around New York and it reminded me of you. If you don’t want it, I’ll keep it.”
“I’m keeping it,” he replies quickly and turns it over and pushes the little switch on the back. The tiny lights come on. “It’s perfect. I use ambient light all the time. I don’t sleep in the dark.”
He points and I follow his hand and notice a tiny light in a socket in the corner of the living room. I force my face to remain neutral but holy shit, is this big, hulking, man afraid of the dark? Once again he’s making my heart ache. He turns it over and stares at the lights twinkling off the metal.
“People don’t buy me things,” he mumbles softly.
I look around at the sparsely furnished apartment. There’s a sectional, an ottoman, but no chairs, bookcases or pictures. The nook for his bedroom only contains one three-drawer dresser. His bedside lamp is on the floor beside the bed because it doesn’t have night tables. “You don’t seem to like things.”
He shrugs and those deep blue eyes find mine. “I don’t have a lot of things from my past worth holding on to.”
Oh this man…I reach up and gently cup the side of his face. He reaches up and grasps my hand and I think he’s going to pull it away but he doesn’t. He holds it to his face and pushes into it. He’s like a puppy looking for love and I want desperately to give it to him. But he won’t let me. “And you seem to want to throw away things now that are worth holding on to.”
I force myself to step back and start walking toward the front door because if I don’t leave now I’ll let things happen that are going to mean more to me than they should. Than he wants them to. But he speaks and his words stop me in my tracks.
“I don’t know how to be a boyfriend, Brie.” The look of pure confusion on his face would be comical if we were still talking about dishwashers. But we’re talking about feelings here. “The only thing I’ve ever committed to was hockey and even it tried to reject me. Hell, in a way every time I get traded I feel like it still is. But it’s a thing, not a person, and I can force hockey to stay in my life simply by working harder and finding my niche. Right now I’m a third line center. Then I’ll be a fourth line. Then I’ll find a coaching job somewhere. Hockey is staying in my life whether it likes it or not. It doesn’t have a choice, but you do.”
I start to walk back into the kitchen as he turns away from me to look out the window. “People who have had the choice to keep me in their lives never have.”
Thank God he’s turned away because I actually press my palm to my heart at that statement to keep it from cracking. Holy shit. I have no idea how anyone would walk away from him—the man and his big, broken heart—because what I want to do is run to him. “Give me that choice and I’ll change that track record.”
He grunts at that and turns back to face me. His smile is weary, his eyes filled with disbelief. “You’re this amazing, stubborn, gorgeous woman who wants more than the one thing I know I can give. And as much as I suddenly, for the first time in my life, want to try and give more, I’m also so fucking clueless as to how.”
I walk right up to him so we’re toe to toe. “You want to know how? You just do it. You let me in. You take the chance, like you do every time you step onto the ice. You don’t know if you’ll win or lose, but you play the game anyway and you take the shots on net even if you don’t know if you’re going to score. So tell me you want this. Take the shot.”
He nuzzles my hand and but then turns his face and kisses my palm. When he turns back to me he looks so serious it’s startling. “I want this.”
I feel my smile from my toes to the roots of my hair. “Game on?”
He smiles back, raw but darkly playful. “Game on.”
I step into him and up onto my toes and then I use my hand to guide his face down to mine. When our lips connect again it’s as perfect and sensuous as it was last time. Except this time, he has no hesitation. He quickly takes control and uses his lips to open my mouth and slip his tongue inside.
He holds my head, hands tangling in my hair and pushes me until I’m pressed against the island. All I feel is his hard, warm body pressed into me, the urgent push of his tongue against mine and the gentle but forceful tug of his hands in my hair.
But I also feel the hesitation start to seep back in. His tongue pulls away, his lips start to leave mine and his fingers start to slip out of my hair. I circle his neck with my arms and hold him in place. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
“I’m not just going to kiss you.”
“Good.”
The next several minutes we’re like horny teenagers in a dark corner of the prom—making out, groping, grinding. He grabs my hips and lifts me like I’m made of paper, dropping my ass on his island. He pushes my knees apart as his perfect and skilled mouth finds its way to my neck. Holy shit, the roughness of his stubble and the softness of his mouth together, at once, are sending direct pulses of pleasure to my clit.
I tip my head to give him better access. My God, I had no idea someone’s lips on my neck could feel like this. I feel his teeth gently tug my earlobe. I reach for the bottom of his shirt and start undoing the buttons as fast as my fingers can. I’m quaking with anticipation. I want to feel his skin against mine. With every button I undo, I pause and touch the skin exposed. His stomach is warm and hard and my fingertips graze over his treasure trail. It makes him suck harder on the skin just above my collarbone, which then makes me arch my back.
He moves his hands around my lower back and under the hem of my sweater. I feel his palms splay out across my back, warm and strong. He yanks me closer, to the edge of the counter and I panic he might be pulling me off the counter and to my feet—and be ending this. So I wrap my legs around his waist, keeping both of us in place. I manage to get the last button on his shirt undone and slip my hands inside it, wrapping them around his back
We’re hugging now—tightly—and it feels overwhelmingly right. I’m flooded with warm contentment, security and affection. But also lust. The feel of his skin, pressed against me, even through my sweater is intoxicating. I need more of it. I pull away only enough to be able to take off my sweater. I drop it to the floor next to the island and cup the back of his head and claim his mouth again.
His hands slide down my back, stopping to unhook my bra, and then continue lower to cup the top of my ass and hold me on the edge of the counter. His hips shift forward, pressing into me, and I can feel he’s thick and long and so incredibly hard. “You want me.”
I didn’t mean to say it and I definitely didn’t want it to sound so damn surprised. He pulls back and covers the side of my jaw with his palm and says in more of a growl than a whisper, “I want you.”
“I want you too.” I move my shoulder, my bra straps slipping down my arms. His gaze slips with them, from my face down to my bare breasts. The weight of his stare makes my skin prickle and my nipples raise. He cups them, running his thumbs over them before he kisses and sucks each. My hands curl in his hair and my head falls back.
He’s worshipping me, there’s no other word for it, and I get why this man has women swooning. He is pure desire, lust and sex. Everything he does makes me feel sensual and sexy and fills me with hunger.
I slip my hands over his shoulders, pushing his shirt off him and onto the floor. He lifts his face from my breasts and covers my mouth with his. His hands move to grab my ass and, because my legs are still hooked behind his back, he easily lifts me off the counter and starts walking us back to his bed. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck so our torsos are pressed into each other and I can feel all his delicious skin. I can’t get enough contact. I want to touch him every second, everywhere. So I tell him.
