Page 47 of Pucking the Team

Ryan stares at me, lips parted, the heat of the moment flushed across his skin. His intense brown eyes bore into mine, darkened with lust. He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my cheek, his touch igniting sparks across my skin.

He still hasn’t answered me, though.

I step closer, pressing my body against his muscular frame. A small gasp escapes my lips as I feel the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against my hip. I tilt my face up to his, our mouths a mere breath apart.

“I want you,” I whisper huskily. “I’ve wanted this all night.”

Ryan’s hands skim down my sides to grip my hips, his fingers digging in deliciously. A low groan rumbles in his chest.

“God, Emma. I want you too. So fucking much,” he rasps, his voice roughened with need.

I surge up on my tiptoes, capturing his lips in another searing kiss. Our mouths move together hungrily, tongues tangling, breath mingling. I pour all my pent-up longing into the kiss, my entire body lit up like a live wire.

Ryan kisses me back fiercely, desperately, like a man starved. His hands roam my curves, leaving trails of heat in their wake. I mold myself against him, aching to get closer, to feel his skin on mine.

But suddenly, Ryan pulls back, breaking our kiss. He takes a shuddering breath, his forehead resting against mine.

“Emma, wait,” he says softly. “I don’t think we should do this. Not yet.”

I blink up at him, confusion and disappointment piercing through the fog of desire. My brow furrows as I search his conflicted expression.

“Why not?” I ask, my voice small. Vulnerable. “I thought you wanted this too.”

My stomach twists with uncertainty. Did I completely misread the situation? The signals? I thought the attraction between us was mutual, undeniable.

Ryan cups my face tenderly, his calloused thumb stroking my cheekbone. The heat in his eyes softens into something deeper. Affection. Care.

“Believe me, I do want this, Emma. More than anything,” he says roughly. “But…”

He hesitates, and I hold my breath, both yearning for and dreading his next words. Suddenly, I’m terrified that he’s about to reject me, to say this was all a mistake.

Ryan sighs, running a hand through his hair. The action is endearingly boyish, reminding me that beneath the tough hockey exterior, he’s just a man. A man who cares about me.

“I don’t want to rush into this, not after everything we’ve been through,” he explains softly. “I care about you too much to risk messing this up. I want to do this right, to take our time and build something real.”

His words wash over me, soothing the sting of rejection. I’m touched by his sincerity and vulnerability. He’s not pushing me away, I realize. He’s trying to protect what we have, to nurture it.

As much as my body is screaming for his touch, I know he’s right. What’s between us…it’s special. Worth cherishing. Worth waiting for.

“Okay,” I whisper, leaning into his touch. “I understand. And I appreciate you looking out for us, for what we have.”

Relief and tenderness flood his handsome face. He dips his head, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. My eyes flutter closed at the sweet contact.

“I should go,” Ryan murmurs against my skin, “before I lose my resolve and stay the night anyway.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, light and giddy. The heavy moment breaks, replaced by the easy warmth that always flows between us. Hand in hand, I walk him to the end of the hall, already missing his presence.

We pause at the threshold of the stairwell, our eyes locking, unspoken longing between us. Slowly, Ryan leans down, capturing my lips in a burning kiss. It’s both a promise and a prelude, hinting at the passion to come.

All too soon, he pulls away. With a wink and a crooked grin, Ryan slips out down the stairs, the door clicking shut behind him. I slump against the wall, my knees weak.

Closing my eyes, I replay the date in my head—every perfect moment, every spark of connection. I’m giddy and frustrated all at once, my body thrumming with pent-up energy.

I know I should be satisfied. The date was everything I could have hoped for and more. But as I stand there in the darkened entryway, I’m keenly aware of the ache pulsing between my thighs, the need Ryan stoked to a fever pitch.

I’m happy. I’m grateful.

But damn, I’m not even close to satisfied.

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