Page 76 of Hockey Wife

She’d buried her face into his neck, her lips a dick-raising suction against his throat.

And the heat? The covers were half off, so he should be freezing, but not with Georgia giving off nuclear levels of thermal energy.

He managed to shift his head slightly, just so he could dip his gaze down his body. As suspected, he was standing to attention, his dick tenting his briefs, daring him to move and find delicious friction.

Using the hand not trapped by the temptation in his bed, he pulled the cover up and over his erection. Not that it solved anything but at least it wouldn’t look so bad.

Sure, because appearances were what mattered right now.

He did a check-in with the rest of his body. His pulse was running a sprint, his skin burned with sensation, but apart from his irrepressible cock, his biggest problem was her shoulder.

It was right there within a whisper of his lips. All he had to do was turn his head and brush his mouth over her skin. He could play it off as an accident. As if her shoulder had pushed its way into his mouth and that sweet patch of flesh was his for a brief second.

But he didn’t have permission to do that. As things stood, he didn’t have permission to even be thinking about doing it.

He needed to get out of here. A cold shower, a double shot of espresso, ten hours in the gym. This was not the way to prepare for Game 1 of the series.

He shifted an inch. Then another. But that was a mistake because it got her body’s attention. Her knee bent further and came perilously close to—fuck, it brushed his dick and made him jerk. (Not the jerk he’d have preferred, but a body spasm that rocked the bed.)

Her eyes fluttered open, and she took far too long, but not long enough, to realize where she was.

“Oh—oh, hi!”

“Morning,” he gruffed out.

Any second now she’d move away, taking all that heat and softness away from him. Any second now, he’d groan because of what he couldn’t have, which was for the best. Because if she stayed in this position, pretzeled around his body, he might not be responsible.

She didn’t move. It was like she was frozen in place, terrified.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” he said at the same time she uttered, “No, it’s okay.”

She stayed still, as if knowing a millimeter either direction would detonate the bomb of desire in the bed.

She turned her head slightly, seemed to burrow in even more. Fuck.

“This is what it was like before.” Her voice was tiny, almost timid.

“Before?”

“The morning after.”

That before.

He swallowed. “I don’t remember. You were gone when I woke up.”

“I know.”

Silence, but also not. Volumes were spoken, as they said.

“Why did you leave?”

He already knew the answer. She’d awoken in the arms—he assumed—of a stranger, a man with muscles that could crush her. Who was far too old for her. Of course she was going to bolt.

“I was scared.”

Well, that confirmed it. Still, he couldn’t resist probing for more evidence against him.

“Of me?”

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