Page 53 of Hat Trick

Literally, that’s all I have foryou.

Oh. My.God.

I think it when he skims his hand down my leg, wraps it around my ankle, and then positions the sole of my shoe on hisknee.

I think it when I realize that he’s just put me on open display. My panties are wet and I’ve never been more thankful for dim lights in mylife.

His kiss devours me, demanding entrance. I give it to him freely and am praised with the smooth stroke of his tongue against my own. Hard, needy, raw—and then the kiss turns languid, like we have all the time in the world to make up for the lost years where I was stupid and stubborn and a million other things I don’t care to think about rightnow.

He tears his mouth from mine to place a kiss to the leaping pulse just below my jaw. “Do you have any idea how much I craved this?” he demands in a gravel-pitched voice. “Do you have any idea how much I wanted to know the taste of your lips? The way you felt under myfingers?”

At the contact of his fingers brushing my inner thigh, I’m not ashamed to say that I act like a complete hussy. I drop my knee to the seat in front of us, giving Marshall ample room should he wantit.

And, oh boy, doeshe.

He cups the apex of my thighs, rubbing the heel of his palm in tight little circles against myclit.

Oh. My.God.

Marshall groans. “Fuck, I can already feel how wet you are forme.”

His name escapes me on a gasp, and I plant my elbow down on the armrest, leveraging myself upward so that I can see everything. I need to see him just as I need to feel him, and when he presses a single finger over my core, I nearlysnap.

Please.

I don’t even realize that I’ve spoken out loud until Marshall is lifting my chin with his opposite hand, so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Please, what?” Eyes narrowed, he looks exactly how I’ve seen him on the ice—he’s looking toscore.

And I plan to lethim.

Blunt fingers brush aside myunderwear.

“Please, what, Gwen?” I feel the heat of his palm so close to where I need his touch. It makes me desperate, needy, and I lift my hips in the hope to close the difference and satisfy the ache between mylegs.

“Marshall.”

His name is a plea and a prayer. He doesn’t answer the call—not the way I expect him to,anyway.

“Answer the question.” His free hand coasts up my body, brushing the tips of my breasts, and then curls around the back of my neck. “What do you want, Gwen? Do you want me to tear your panties right off you?” He doesn’t play fair, choosing that moment to sink a finger insideme.

My toes curl in my stilettos as I throw my head back against the headrest. I don’t know if I can do this. The sensations sparking through me are sharp, poignant, nothing like I’ve ever felt before. Every nerve is too sensitive; every breath I take too loud and toojagged.

Marshall’s thumb makes contact with my clit, eliciting a whimper from mylips.

“Is this what you want?” he asks roughly, playing my body like an instrument only he knows. “Or maybe it’s that you want something elsecompletely?”

I feel his absence immediately. His hand pulls away from my core, and his other disappears from the back of my head. And then all I feel are his big hands at my hips, dragging me up onto the armrest that separates our two seats. I plant a hand on the back of the chair to stabilize myweight.

“Feet here,” he commands, and then proceeds to move me exactly how he wantsme.

Hips tilted forward, one foot digging into the cushioned seat—I worry that my sharp heel will puncture the leather but Marshall doesn’t say a word about it. His seats, his rules.His—

Shripppp!

My mouth falls open. “You just ripped myunderwear.”

Marshall grins wickedly. “Guilty.”

Like a white flag of surrender, he holds the fabric up and then tosses it over hisshoulder.

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