Page 89 of Body Check

“No faster than mine.” Slowly, I bring her back up until her weight is completely on the wall. Her cheeks are flushed pink, lips parted on a heavy breath. Beautiful. Cutting my gaze from hers, I take her hand and fold it over my heart. “I like to think of this as theTitanicAdrenaline High, where Leo’s holding Rose on the bow of the ship.”

“Jack.”

“What?”

“It’s Jack in the movie. That’s his name. Leo’s hisrealname.” She eyes me for a second, then laughs softly. “Never mind, continue.”

Jack . . . Leonardo DiCaprio. Shit, right. Well, doesn’t matter. Not like he’ll be banging on my door anytime soon to get his comeuppance. Unlike our football counterparts, pro hockey players tend to stay out of Hollywood for the most apart.

Although if TMZ keeps up their elite-level of stalking, that might not be the case for long.

The thought alone makes my dick shrivel in dread.

“Babe?”

It’s the second time she’s used the endearment today, and it feels no less sweet than the first time around.

“Kiss me.”

Holly visibly swallows at my soft demand. Her blue eyes skirt to the right, to the left, before zeroing in on my mouth. One slender hand smooths up to cradle the back of my head, while the other remains firmly planted on my chest over my heart.

“Never let it be said I wasn’t a rule follower,” she whispers, then closes the distance between us.

The first taste rocks me to my core. It teases more than it satisfies. I let her take the lead, willing to go where she blazes the trail she desires, knowing I’ll still go up in flames no matter what pace she sets.

And the pace is slow.

Heart-wrenching, like she’s trying to deliver some secret message only for me to find out she’s used invisible ink. But I follow anyway, opening my mouth when she touches her tongue to my bottom lip, letting her wrestle all control from me.

With the sounds of the waves crashing over the shore and the wind whistling past us, I let Holly steal my breath and give me back some of the man I used to be. The man only she had access to.

I groan into her mouth.

Then pull away.

She protests with a whimper.

My hard-on protests just by existing when there’s not a damn thing I can do to come.

I swallow, hard, and mutter, “The second type of adrenaline high.” I sink one hand under the hem of her T-shirt solely so I can feel her naked skin. “A junkie who knows what’s coming next. It’s choreography that’s been done before.” For fourteen years, it’s a choreography I’ve only ever known with Holly. My gaze latches on to the rise and fall of her chest. “The thrill isn’t in the unknown but in the familiar, the sense that you’re coming home.”

Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt. “Is there a third?” she asks, voice raspy with need.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

As gently as I can, I drag her off her perch atop the stone wall and let her slide down the length of my body. When my cock collides with the apex of her thighs, we both release a groan.

Not now, man. Not right now.

Once she’s on the ground, I step back and unzip the backpack she’s brought with her. The one I’ve seen hooked over her shoulder for so many years that, to see her without it, feels abnormal.

Fingers brushing over the white tab on the interior of the bag, my gaze lingers on the now faded black writing.

Dream big, sweetheart. Love, Jackson.

In the rink, I may as well be composed of ice. No one gets through me. No one breaks through my outer wall, not a heckler, not an asshole on the other team, no one.

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