Page 45 of Hooking Up with the Hockey Player

“No.” Her short nails dig into the back of my neck, and I thrill at the bite. She’s not doing it on purpose. She just can’t control herself. “Just me.”

“Good.” I kiss the spot below her ear, then the place where her pulse hammers in her neck.

She groans, tipping her head, giving me all the access I want. I kiss my way down her neck, skimming my lips over her collarbone, enjoying the feel of her skin under my lips, the way her fingers rhythmically tighten and relax on my neck, almost like a massage, but nowhere near as deliberate.

Using the leverage of my grip on her hips, I hold her in place as I grind up into her, acting more on instinct at this point than the careful planning I started with. “Stop me when you want to,” I whisper into her neck. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for. But I’m ready for whatever you want to give me, so stop me before I go too far. Please.”

“Okay,” she breathes. When I hesitate, lifting my head to clarify what that means, she cups my cheeks and kisses me, and it takes my breath away. One of her hands closes over mine, and she moves it to her ass.

Taking the hint, I knead her flesh, groaning when she starts riding me.

But I want a clear go-ahead before I start getting clothes out of my way. “Can I—” I start, but she cuts me off with another kiss.

“Mmhmm. Whatever you want,” she whispers against my lips. “I’m good.”

I thrill at the words, but quickly tamp down my excitement. She might just think I mean this, not getting naked. But maybe she does? I’ll just move slowly, give her time to stop me if she wants to. Tentatively, I slide my fingers up her shorts again, and this time when I reach the edge of her panties, I slip beneath the edge, getting the tips of my fingers on the bare skin of her ass.

She moans, and I take the sound as encouragement.

My other hand finds its way under her shirt, and I sigh as I connect with bare skin.

She’s not content with that, though. If I’m touching skin, apparently she wants to as well, because she starts tugging at my shirt, pulling it up.

Taking the not-at-all-subtle hint, I relinquish my hold on her, leaning back to take my shirt off.

Her eyes are glued to my torso, and she almost gingerly reaches out and traces the lines of my abs which pop because of the way I’m holding myself up at this angle.

I shiver at the contact but otherwise don’t move, letting her look and touch her fill.

She skims the fingertips of one hand up my torso, flattening her palm over my pec, then she meets my eyes. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” My smile is genuine. I’ve had plenty of women compliment my body—both in real life and in weird comments on the internet—but for some reason it means a lot more coming from Anna in this moment. “So are you.” She blushes prettily again, and my grin pulls wider. “Why does it embarrass you when I compliment you?”

Biting her lip, she shakes her head. “Instead of delving into my weird hangups, why don’t you kiss me again?”

Chuckling softly, I do as she asks, reaching for her and bringing her mouth to mine. With our mouths fused together, I lie back, pulling her higher up my torso. At first, she holds herself over me stiffly, but after a second she begins to relax by degrees. And when my hand skates under her shirt, she sighs at the contact.

We kiss for long moments, tongues tangling, hands roaming, hips grinding together. It’s everything and not nearly enough.

Desperate for different, for more, I roll her beneath me, my hips lining up perfectly with hers, and I grind into her. Her shirt’s already lifted, revealing a strip of smooth skin above the waistband of her shorts. Reaching for her shirt, I pull it higher, revealing the entire expanse from below her breasts to her belly button.

With a frustrated sound, she pulls it up over her face, and then she lets out a weird, garbled, “Ack!”

“What’s happening?”

“My glasses! My shirt got caught on my glasses!”

Trying—and failing—to swallow back my laughter, I reach for her, but she just flips her shirt back down, strands of hair in her red face, her glasses askew. “Did I just ruin the moment?”

“God, no.” I’m sitting back on my knees, my hard dick trapped in my shorts, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. “You’re beautiful, Anna. And sexy and funny and adorable. Do you want help taking off your shirt?”

She glares at me. “No.” She sounds petulant. “I can undress myself, thank you very much.”

I dip my chin in a nod. “I’m sure you can. But it’s really fun to have someone else undress you sometimes too.”

That has her breath catching, and she silently mouths, “Oh.”

While she slides her glasses off and sets them on her nightstand, I gather her shirt, ready to take it off as soon as she’s done. She sits up, lifting her arms, and together we extract her from her shirt, leaving her in a smooth pink satin bra and her shorts.

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