“Ava.” His voice was strained. “I’m going to—you should?—”
I didn’t pull back. I’d become addicted to the taste of him since that first time.
He came with a groan that sounded like it was torn from somewhere deep in his chest, and I worked him through it, swallowing everything he gave me until his body stopped shaking and he sagged against the mirror behind him.
I sat back on my heels, wiping my mouth with my handand grinning up at him while he rubbed his hand over the top of his head.
“Goddamn, Sunshine.”
“So,” I said. “How’d I do? As a teacher.”
He stared at me for a moment, chest heaving, looking absolutely destroyed.
“A-plus,” he managed. “Top of the class. I’m never taking lessons from anyone else.”
I laughed, and he reached down to pull me to my feet, hauling me against his chest and kissing me so thoroughly it was easy to forget that we’d just crossed role-playing off my list.
Only one left to go.
THIRTY-SEVEN
We were playing with fire and I didn’t even care anymore. All I knew was that I was desperate to have another taste of her, which was why I convinced her to meet me early before the game.
And why we were currently tucked into a supply closet at the rink an hour before puck drop, her back pressed against a shelf while I locked the door behind us.
“This is insane,” she whispered, but she was already pulling me closer by the front of my jersey. “Anyone could?—”
“No one’s going to find us.” I backed her farther into the closet, away from the door. “Half the team isn’t even here yet, and the ones who are will be in the locker room. We have time.”
Her fingers ran over the number 27 on my jersey longingly. “I hate that I can’t wear your jersey,” she said quietly. We didn’t have names on our jerseys since we were a club team, but everyone knew my number, and girlfriends of players frequently wore our alternate jerseys to games. The thought of Ava wearing mine made me even harder.
The truth was I hated it too. I hated that she had to sit in the stands in her regular clothes while other girlfriends wore their boyfriends’ numbers.
I hated that we were still hiding. That I couldn’t just claim her the way every instinct in my body was screaming at me to do.
Maybe she couldn’t wear my spare jersey out there, but there was something else she could do—something I’d thought about far too many times since we’d started hooking up.
“Take off your clothes,” I said.
She blinked. “What?”
I was already reaching for the neck of my jersey—the one I’d thrown on when I’d been sitting in the locker room early and she’d agreed to meet me. “Take off your clothes. I want to see you in this. We have enough time.” I pulled the jersey over my head and held it out to her, lowering my voice. “I want you wearing this while I fuck you. And then when I’m out there playing, it’ll smell like both of us. You’ll have your claim on me even if no one else can see it. I’ll know.”
Her expression softened, and something that looked dangerously close to longing crossed her face. Then she reached for the hem of her sweater.
I watched her strip down quickly, and when she was naked, I slid my jersey over her head.
Seeing her in my jersey sent a possessive streak through me. I’d never let a girl wear my jersey before. It was fitting that she was the first when I couldn’t imagine anyone else ever being worthy of it.
It swallowed her whole with the hem falling past her mid-thigh and the sleeves hanging over her hands. But itwasmynumber stretched across her chest, and that made me puff up with pride.
She looked ridiculous.
And perfect.
And fuckingmine.
I stepped closer, crowding her against the shelf. “This image is going to be burned into my brain while I’m on the ice.”
