"I love you, too, even when I hate you."
I laugh through the emotion clogging my throat. "Fair."
"If you ever—and I mean ever—dismiss my instincts again?—"
"I won't. I swear. I'll listen. I'll pay attention. I'll take every concern seriously."
"Good." She slides her arms around my neck. "Now kiss me before I change my mind."
I don't need to be told twice.
I kiss her like I'm drowning and she's oxygen.
She kisses me back just as desperately, her fingers tangling in my sweaty hair, pulling me closer.
I forget we're on the ice. Forget I'm still wearing skates. Forget everything except the feeling of her in my arms.
"Locker room," she breathes against my mouth. "Now."
I don't question it. Don't hesitate.
I grab her hand and pull her toward the bench. I step off the ice and walk with her to the locker room.
The locker room is empty. Dark except for the emergency lighting.
The second we're through the door, she's on me again.
I back her against the wall, my mouth finding hers. Her hands slide under my practice jersey, her fingers cold against my overheated skin.
“Maybe we should get my skates off,” I whisper.
“Sit.”
I do, and she kneels in front of me, jerking at the laces. I cup her face, forcing her to look up at me and damn near weep with relief.
With my skates off, it’s game on.
We strip quickly. Frantically. Her sweatshirt. My compression shirt. Her jeans. My practice pants.
I've never needed anything more than I need her right now.
When she's finally in just her bra and underwear, I pull her onto my lap on the bench. She straddles me, her thighs bracketing mine. The feel of her skin against mine makes me groan.
"I missed you," I murmur against her throat, trailing kisses down to her collarbone. "I missed this. Missed us."
"Show me." Her voice is breathy. Demanding. "Show me how much."
My hands slide up her back, finding the clasp of her bra. I unhook it and let it fall away. I take my time, relearning every curve, every soft place I've been dying to touch for nearly a week that felt like three years.
She arches into me as my mouth finds her breast, her fingers threading through my hair. The small sounds she makes drive me insane—little gasps and sighs that tell me exactly what she likes.
"Declan." My name is a plea on her lips.
I hook my fingers in the sides of her thong, sliding it down as much as I can with her sitting on me. She lifts up, helping me remove them completely, and then she's reaching for my boxer briefs.
I lift my hips, and she helps me push my boxer briefs down. The second I'm free, she's positioning herself over me, her eyes locked on mine.
"I love you," I say, needing her to hear it again.
