Page 50 of Slapshot Bride

I take it slowly because she's small under me and because I want her to feel every second of this.

Her hands are in my hair. Her mouth is at my throat. She makes a sound against my neck that drives me on and I soon find a rhythm she likes and I keep it, and somewhere in the middle of it she says my name, the way I have wanted her to say it since I picked her up at a red light, and I almost lose it right there.

My hand snakes between us and I find her clit. My thumb presses against it, and she bucks against me. My free hand wraps around her waist, pulling her close, and my mouth closes around a nipple.

“Oh god… please…” she whimpers, pushing at my shoulders.

I increase my pace and thrust deeper, hitting that sweet spot. And with my thumb on her clit, she convulses around me, her core gripping my cock, ready to milk it.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let it go… all of it…”

“Easton…” She cries out, coming apart in my hands.

Her body goes taut beneath me and then loose, and I follow her a minute later with my face buried in the warm crook of her neck and her name pressed into her skin where I can't stop it from getting out this time.

For a long minute, neither of us moves. The credits on the TV are gone, leaving it with just the dark blue hue, which I'm noticing for the first time since she looked into my eyes and asked me to take her.

Our breath comes out ragged, but we don’t move for another few minutes.

I shift, eventually. I deal with the condom, come back to her and pull the blanket up over both of us, flipping her so she’s lying on my chest. She's already half asleep, her face buried in my neck.

“Stay,” she says, drowsy.

“Yeah.”

I lie there for a long time after she's asleep.

Right there, I know I have crossed a line I'm not going to be able to walk back from. I don't particularly want to walk it back.

Those are two separate problems with the same answer.

Eventually I scoop her up off the couch. She doesn't wake. She makes a small sound and tucks her face back into my neck, as I carry her up the stairs the way she was apparently planning to carry me.

I lay her in my bed because the guest room feels like a lie tonight, and I lie down next to her on top of the covers. I close my eyes but sleep evades me.

The truth stares at me in the dark.

No matter what happens, Preston Sinclair isn’t getting this woman back.

I don’t know how long I stay awake, just watching her and listening to her peaceful slumber but just before dawn, my phone lights up on the nightstand.

I read it without sitting up.

Mason:

Drinks this week? It’s been forever.

I’m asleep before I can send a response, arms locked on Riley, the covers thrown over us, her small body fitting perfectly against mine, like she was made for me.

My very own temptation.

10

RILEY

What Have I Done?

The room is warm when I wake up. And it smells different too.