Page 84 of Daydream

He pulls my underwear down my legs, lifting each foot by theankle so I can step out. Kissing up the inside of my thigh, he hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, and his head disappears beneath the skirt.

It’s hard not to wonder at what point my legs will just give out. Or my heart. Not sure which one will go first.

He spends time kissing and touching my inner thighs and ass, keeping me in place while I try not to wiggle away from him as the sensation of his evening stubble against sensitive skin makes me squirm.

His tongue parts me and my breath hitches, my head falling back as he licks and sucks. My skin feels like it’s fizzling and my hands grip the countertop behind me to keep me upright. Whimpering his name earns me a slap to my ass, and when I moan again, he slowly slips a finger inside, working me until he can add another.

Everything that follows seems to happen in a blink. Pleasure rolls through every bit of me, building and building while I get used to feeling so full. He moans as I squeeze around him, flicking his tongue against me at the perfect speed and pressure.

“Henry,” I moan. His free hand leaves its hold on my thigh, finding mine and letting me cling to him tightly.

My legs almost buckle as stars shoot behind my eyes; he’s careful as he lets me go, sensitive and swollen, pulling up my panties and standing up to face me.

I should say something, anything, maybe write him a thank-you letter or erect a monument in his honor. But I don’t need to, because the oven timer goes off, and the smug look on his face is all the appreciation he seems to need.

Chapter Twenty-FiveHALLE

THE NOISE FROM THE ARENAlobby is yet to die down even long after the game ended and people started to leave.

I managed to secure myself one of the tall tables and seats that border the room to attempt to draft a chapter. Henry tasked me with saying no more, which I’m putting into practice by tellingmyselfno when I try to do anything that isn’t working on my WIP now that Thanksgiving is done.

The manuscript was a good distraction from how sad I felt on Thursday after I got home from work to an empty house and Gigi and Maisie were too sleepy to talk. Mrs. Astor hosted her family and was sweet enough to leave me a plate in the fridge. She also stole my cat, but she did have the courtesy to forewarn me. One of her granddaughters is autistic and Joy helps her regulate at busy family events, so I don’t mind sharing her.

A work in progress at least needs to be in progress, and now the load feels lighter, even if it’s only temporarily. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself for being behind and actually do something about it.

I’ve been surprisingly—or unsurprisingly, depending on how you look at it—productive after my total meltdown. I realized Iwasn’t uninspired, something I previously struggled with; I’ve been distracted.

Sure, I doubt anyone would judge me for spending so much of my time under a sweet, hot hockey player, but still, I’m a woman with goals. I can have it all and I will, I just need to actually try. I can’t continue to be distracted by a pretty face and a stellar personality. Even if it istheprettiest face and themoststellar personality.

Speaking oftheprettiest face. Henry exits the door that now has two No Entry signs much to the happiness of the people still hanging around. There’s cheers all around when they spot him, and as happy as it makes me to see him be celebrated, I cringe for his sensitivity to loud noises.

I attempt to focus on planning how I’m going to make my make-believe people kiss and fight, instead of trying not to laugh at how unimpressed Henry looks as people stop to talk to him. When two women approach him, his name on the back of their jerseys, the ability to pay attention to my laptop gets that little bit harder.

I can hear one of them laughing loudly from across the room, and the other puts her hand on his arm. I don’t hear what Henry says, and I’m still pretending to be working when I spot him walking toward me in my peripheral vision. He stops next to me, the chair I’m sitting on putting us at similar heights so I can see how big his smile is when I turn to face him. “Hello. You won,” I say simply. “Two days in a row and I saw them both. Does that make me your biggest fan?”

“Of course I won.” He kisses me hard, dropping his bag on the floor to tangle his hands in the hair at the nape of my neck. He only breaks us apart when the passing hockey fans start whooping. He rests his forehead against mine. “You’re my lucky charm. I told you: science.”

Kissing in front of people is not something we do, even after the incident at the hotel, but as the two women in the Turner jerseysstorm off, I suspect maybe the kiss wasn’t for my benefit. “You can just reject people, y’know. You don’t need to put on a show for them.”

He leans back to look at me, his hands still resting on my neck. “What are you talking about?”

“Kissing me. The girls in the jerseys. Just tell them no.”

“I did. Then I came over here to celebrate our win.”

“Hmm,” I grumble. I still feel like he was using me to send a message to people he’s too tired to deal with. “If you say so.”

“Are you being unreasonable to start a fight?” he asks. “It’s fine if you are, but can you save your rage until we get home? If we’re going to fight about this, we should fight about it somewhere we can make up.”

I stare at his chest and shrug. “We’re not fighting, and I’m not being unreasonable.”

“My bad. I meant dramatic.” I mumble that I’m not and he tugs a little on my ponytail to force me to look up at him. “And you are.” He pecks my lips and I melt like the weak woman I am. “But I don’t mind. We haven’t had a fight yet. It’s a good experience for you.”

“If you tell me I’m dramatic one more time wearegoing to be fighting,” I drawl.

He grins, and after a losing streak, seeing him genuinely happy after a game is a dream. “You’re not doing a lot for your ‘I’m not dramatic’ case.”

“We’re officially fighting,” I declare. In my head I sound serious and intimidating, but he gives me that damn smirk and kisses the tip of my nose, and it’s clear he does not care one bit.

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