Page 25 of Fate on the Ice

At all.

I just want her. Good, bad, ugly, whatever it is. I just want Grace.

Sliding my palms against her cheek, I hold her face in my hands, then I shift forward to touch my mouth to hers and kiss her. It’s long and wet. I try to take my time. I need to take my time. She isn’t some puck bunny who I’m going to fuck and then forget in the morning.

Grace is someone I never want to forget.

Not in a million fucking years.

Breaking the kiss, I rest my forehead against hers, sliding my hands from her cheeks. I glide them down her arms and her waist and then find the hem of her tank top. I almost ask her if this is okay if I undress her and worship every inch of her body, but I decide against it.

If she protests, that’s different, but I want her, and I’m going to woo her.

My lips travel down her throat, licking and nipping her there as I glide her tank top slowly up her stomach. I’m going to see her, all of her. Lifting my head, I tug her shirt all the way off and toss it to the floor.

Her eyes find mine almost instantly.

Grace is in front of me in just her bra, her eyes wide, her lips parted as she breathes heavily. I watch her chest rise and fall as she pants. Fucking beautiful. Her tits look like they might burst out of her bra. I wouldn’t mind that.

Then she reaches behind her and unhooks said bra. If I thought she was going to protest at all, that thought vanishes as soon as she takes her bra off and tosses it to the floor to join her top.

She exposes herself for me, and my mouth goes dry at the sight. I always thought the perfect tits were whichever ones were naked in front of you, but that’s just not true. I know that now.

Because Grace’s tits are absolute perfection. I’ve never seen such a thing. Perfection exists and does so in her tits.

Reaching out, I cup them, sliding my thumbs along her nipples and watching them harden immediately. Bending slightly, I touch my mouth to one, sliding my tongue along the hardened bud, and then I do the same to the other.

Fuck me.

But this is going to happen. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything, aside from hockey, this much in my entire goddamn life.

Chapter

Twelve

OTTO

Grace trembles against my fingertips as I guide them down to the waistband of her shorts. Popping open the first button, I release her breast, then shift back slightly.

Slowly, I unzip her shorts, my gaze never leaving hers. I can hear her panting breaths grow louder, faster, harder as her shorts pool at her ankles.

As I slip my fingers beneath the waist of her panties, my eyes stay focused. I want to look down, to take in every inch of her, but there will be time for that. This first time, she needs my eyes, and I need hers.

Everything Grace feels is in her gaze, and I have to know that she’s good every step of the way. Every single step of the way. The soft cotton of her panties makes my balls ache. I need her. More than I’ve ever needed anything in my life.

This is all I can think about, all I can focus on. Her body and mine—finally together.

I glide her panties down her thighs, they meet her shorts at her ankles, and only then do I take another step backward and appraise her body. And what a body it is. I take her in. Every fucking inch of her is spectacular.

Tanned smooth skin, long, lean legs, and curves that would make any man weak in the knees. And I’m just that. Completely and totally weak for her. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, sucking air through my teeth as I stare at all that is Grace.

“Otto,” she breathes.

She lifts her arms, covering her chest when I don’t speak immediately. Reaching out, I wrap my fingers around her wrists and tug her hands down to her sides, keeping them there as I lift my gaze to meet hers again.

“You should be worshiped, Grace. Long and hard. Every single day.”

She sucks in a breath, her chest rising as she holds it, then she lets it out slowly. I watch her in silence, wondering what exactly she’s going to say because she’s got something on the tip of her tongue.

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