Page 69 of Lace 'em Up

I hid who I was once.

I’m not doing it again.

The bracelet is staying, no matter what.

Warm fingers wrap around my hand, and King draws it up to his mouth, presses his lips to the back of it. “Perfect fit,” he murmurs, and those words echoed back to me, glide like silk over my skin, the gentlest of kisses.

I throw my arms around his shoulders, press my body flush to his, and I kiss him.

Not gently.

Not gliding my lips over his flesh.

Instead, I kiss him with every bit of longing that’s been inside me since the moment I first saw the gossipy TikTok about him, about King Bang, the bachelor hockey player. The blogger had expounded on all of his talents (which were more about the way he looked and who he’d dated and less about his skills on the ice).

Not that I know much about the sport even now.

I’m learning, and Chrissy and Jean-Michel are good teachers.

But…a bunch of giants swinging sticks at a little rubber disc doesn’t appeal to me all that much, and it probably won’t ever.

I like it when they score.

And when they fight.

And—

A soft growl against my mouth.

“Pay attention,” King orders fiercely, arm wrapping around my waist and dragging me flush against him. He nips at my bottom lip, making me gasp, and then promptly takes advantage of my distraction to slip his tongue in, teasing mine, kissing me until my head is spinning and my knees are jelly.

Something he must sense because that arm around my middle tightens and he lifts me, setting me on the counter.

I gasp, but it’s surprise mixed with heat, frenzy with pleasure, need with beauty.

I’m not thinking straight—clearly, because who in their right mind could be thinking straight with a man like Kingston Bang surrounding her, touching and stroking, kissing and tasting?

And that’s why I don’t realize.

Why I don’t sense the metal clasp of my bracelet catching on the fabric of his shirt until it’s too late.

We’re both too far gone in the kiss, both too wrapped up in each other, in the moment, in the kiss that’s sparked like fire through my veins.

I encounter resistance, my first sign, but I don’t process it quickly enough, stilling as he’s moving, those big muscles flexing, all of the strength in his athletic body already in motion.

He grips my hips and tugs me toward the lip of the counter, ass resting on the edge.

But my body is moving the other way, seeking purchase in the stability of the granite surface.

And…my bracelet, the cheap, tarnished silver that a little girl loved—loves—so deeply…

Gives way.

Metal flexes, snaps.

Charms slide from the thin chain, scattering this way and that in a cacophony of broken memories that wake Zeus from his deep, past-his-bedtime slumber and sends him from his bed in a mess of nails clawing the floor to find purchase, barks to fend off the imaginary scary intruder, and then—almost as rapidly—excitement in realizing he’d slept through his master’s arrival.

“Wait,” King orders through the chaos, steadying me, nudging me back so that I don’t topple from the counter. “Zeus, wait.”

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