Page 36 of Bound

But neither of us move for a long moment.

At least until I lift a hand to my mouth. “My lips are tingling.”

He grins then sobers, eyes gentling. “Like I said…perfect.”

My heart skips a beat.

“Do I need to come in there?” Smitty booms through the door.

Jackson groans, his head dropping back. But then he straightens and meets my eyes, his smile rueful now.

“I’ll see you after the game?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Jackson

I eat my sandwich late, but for once, it doesn’t affect my game play.

Probably because I’m already fixated on lithe curves, floral-scented shampoo, and a woman who tastes of sweet innocence and dangerous temptation.

I shouldn’t be the one to corrupt her.

But I’m going to do it anyway.

Ihaveto.

It’s less want than obsession and?—

I’m not good. I’m done pretending to be, trying to be, desperate to be.

I’m going to take what I want and keep taking it until she sends me away.

I scoop up the puck, even though it’s bouncing and not all that great of a pass, corralling it on the blade of my stick, and sprinting up the ice. I’m skating harder, moving faster and with more confidence than normal.

And I know it’s because Claire is watching.

Because the ego in me wants to impress her—needsto impress her.

I can still feel those curves against my front, still taste her on my tongue, still hear her soft moans in my ears.

A sharp slash across my hands focuses me. I lose the puck for a second and have to scramble to regain control as I sprint through the neutral zone and try to make my way into the net. It’s not easy and I spend what feels like an eternity just holding on to the puck and looking for an option.

Drive to the net?

Thread a pass through the center.

Back to my point?

The corner and behind the net?

Nothing is great at the moment, so I dance around the other team, dish the puck to myself with a pass off the boards, and try to be patience and creative and…effective.

Effectiveends up being bringing the puck to the boards, holding it there, waiting for Aiden to come bail me out.

Grunting, keeping my feet under me by pure dint, grinding my teeth together when I get a crosscheck to the back but not rising to the bait they’re trying to create, I slap a lid on my temper, hold fast and?—

“Boxie.”

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