Page 35 of Pucks and Likes

Each other.

I spent all night tossing and turning, trying to answer all my questions myself. I understand her fear. Though she’s never told me, I know she’s been hurt. More than once. I know she doesn’t have a relationship with her mom and dad, only her sisters. So, I’m sure there’s some parental trauma there, and while I have my own, hers seems a bit more gut-wrenching. I don’t think she’s ever been loved correctly by a man. I highly suspect she doesn’t know what love from a man is like, and while I’m not a pro, I want to be.

For her.

I gaze at the door, my hand still hanging there as I will myself to knock. I have all these needs inside me. Desires that are overwhelming. I want to touch her and feel my child kick. I want to be there when she finds out what we are having. I want to help buy things and decorate our child’s space. I have all these dreams of what I’ll do if it’s a boy—teach him hockey. And if it’s a girl—teach her hockey. I want to do all the things my father didn’t do, but most of all, I want to be in love with my child’s mother.

I don’t do dreams; I make memories.

But I don’t know if Elliot will allow me, or even herself, to make them.

I let my eyes drift shut, and then I knock, knowing I’m unable to hold off any longer. I hear movement before the door opens, and she stands before me. Her long, rich brown hair is down in wavy curls, flowing along her shoulders. She wears no makeup, but I know she’s used some ChapStick because her lips are shiny. She has on a dress that is flowy, but unlike everything else I’ve seen her in, this dress allows her stomach to show. Just barely, but I can see it.

My baby.

I swallow past the lump in my throat as I meet her hazel eyes. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip before she murmurs, “Hey. Come on in.”

She steps back, but instead of walking past her, I move toward her, crowding her space. She looks up at me, her neck craning back as I capture her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “You are so beautiful.”

Her face flushes. “Alex.”

She says my name like a prayer, so soft, so sweet, and I’m a goner for the way she utters the word.

“What, mami? Surely you know that I spent the night thinking of only you.”

Her eyes hold mine. “Same.”

Heat burns in those hazel depths, and I can’t take it. I lean down without hesitation or even permission before I touch my lips to hers. Her hand comes up, her fingers wrapping around my wrist, and I mold my body to hers. Her breasts press to my chest, her stomach into mine, and I need more. I move my tongue along the seam of her lips, and by the grace of God, she opens that succulent mouth. I groan when my tongue touches hers, and then she brings her hand up to cup my cheek.

Everything explodes inside me.

Our tongues clash—they play, they dance, they devour. When we part for breath, we’re both panting as I open my eyes to find hers still closed. I pepper kisses along her bottom lip, my eyes trained on her lids as I wait for her to open them. Instead, she whispers, “Alex, what are you doing?”

“You,” I answer with no hesitation. “I’m done with words, Elliot.”

Her eyes open, and heat burns in her hazel depths. “We can’t.”

“Oh, we most certainly fucking can,” I say, dropping my hand from her chin and scooping her up in my free arm.

She wraps her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist, and I almost combust from the pure rightness of her in my arms.

“But we need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” I say, kicking the door behind me. The counter isn’t far from the door, so I set the food down first. “I want to make you feel.”

Her eyes burn into mine. “Feel what?”

“Everything.”

Her breath catches, her eyes going hooded, and thank fuck she rubs that hot center of hers against the front of my jeans. My cock throbs for her, and while I’m not sure it was intentional, I don’t give two fucks. I carry her to the bed but don’t lay her on it. Instead, I put her to her feet and then turn her, pressing her back to my front. I move her hair to the side and kiss along her ear, the spot below her lobe, then her neck. I lick the heated flesh and drop kisses on her bare shoulder.

Her breathing is labored, and she brings her hands back to grasp my hips as I continue to taste her shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a full-length mirror, and my heart crashes into my ribs. I walk her toward it, her head dropping back into my chest as I eat at her neck, nibbling and licking her flesh. When we’re positioned in front of the mirror, I reach for the bottom of her dress and pull it up with ease.

When I see Elliot’s body, time stops.

My mouth goes dry, my cock weeps for her, and I know I want nothing more than this woman in my arms.

She isn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples are fucking hard as hell. Her breasts are full, and I’d say that’s the biggest difference in her body, but it’s not. It’s the curve of her belly, the fact that her belly button isn’t an innie anymore but an outie. Her thighs are a bit thicker, but nothing can hide their apex, her purple panties giving away how aroused she is. I growl against her ear, nipping at it as I drink her in.

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