Page 70 of Trust Me

“Moaning for me already, dolcezza?” Elio’s voice makes me jump, as I didn’t hear him enter.

He leans against the island, looking all too cocky and sinful in that damn suit, the top buttons undone now. It’s then that I remember I’m mad at him.

“Wait, why were you crying?” He straightens and comes over to me, taking my face in his hands softly as his eyes search mine.

This damn man. Nothing passes by him.

“I miss my grandma, that’s all,” I tell him, failing to avoid leaning into his touch despite being annoyed with him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as his thumb gently rubs circles on my jaw.

I step back and his hands fall from my face, a frown on his lips. “I’m mad at you.”

“What, why?” He looks genuinely confused.

“I know you sent Grant over to Jacobson. You didn’t need to do that. I can handle myself. Involving players because you’re possessive isn’t cool.”

Elio’s eyebrows dip inward, and his steps slow as he walks toward me. My butt hits the island, and I put my hand on his chest, stopping him.

He grabs my hand on his chest and brings it to his lips before letting it fall at our sides.

“Dolcezza, you got it all wrong. I told Grant to take him out if he messes with our guys, and Jacobson did. He was playing dirty with that fucking slash on Isaiah, which went unnoticed by the refs. Did I make a point of saying it after what he said to you? Yes, because you’re my girl and no one messes with what’s mine. He had it coming to him anyway after the shit he was pulling all game.”

I struggle with how to feel because I get what he’s saying. Hockey is a cutthroat sport, one of the only team sports where fighting is allowed. I know Jacobson played dirty, but part of me feels bad.

“I don’t want to be the reason he got hurt,” I murmur.

“You’re not, and he’s fine. A minor concussion,” he assures me. “Do you think he cares about the way he spoke to you? Why do you feel so bad when he didn’t give a fuck about being a complete douchebag?”

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out because he’s not wrong.

“If I was on the ice and his age, I would’ve done much worse to him. He got off easy,” he scoffs. Elio’s hand grips my hip, fingertips digging into my sides. “I care about you so fucking much, it’s scary.”

My hands reach up to his jaw, pulling his head down to mine, our foreheads resting on one another’s. “I know the feeling,” I whisper, my fingers moving to pull at the hair on the back of his neck. He’s my first everything, and I want him to be my last. Anytime I think about us breaking up, a painful ache fills my body.

I lean up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his, telling him how much I care about him. It’s consuming, like our kiss is. I give and he takes all I’m giving, matching me stride for stride as our lips meld perfectly together.

Elio lifts me on the counter, causing me to inhale sharply. He quickly tears off my sweater and chucks it on the ground. His green eyes darken as they take in my black lace bralette.

“Fuck, these tits,” he praises, his hands coming up to grip them. My teeth dig into my bottom lip, a moan slipping through them when his thumbs brush over my nipples.

With my eyes on his, I slip the straps down and yank the bralette down, exposing my breasts to him. Elio likes to be in charge, but so do I at times. His lips are on my nipple in rapid timing, sucking and biting, making my back arch as pleasure dances up my spine.

Elio pulls back, a devious glint in his eyes. I eye him curiously, watching as he brings the bottle of maple syrup over and squeezes it onto my breasts.

“What are you doing?” I pant as he smears the syrup around.

“Having a treat,” he says nonchalantly, then leans down, his tongue sucking and lapping up the sticky syrup.

His lips latch onto my nipple, sucking and swirling. My thighs grow slicker at each brush of his mouth over me, and I can’t help but moan his name either.

“Elio, fuck,” I rasp, gripping onto the counter.

“Maple syrup is good, but on you? It tastes even better,” he hums, eyes on me as he takes my other nipple into his mouth.

My lower stomach churns with pleasure, the warmth flooding my body as it builds closer to my orgasm.

“I-I’m going to come.”

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