Page 45 of Puck & Make Up

My eyes fly open, and I realize that Fox has me cradled against his chest and is carrying me upstairs.

“Shh, sugar,” he murmurs, holding me a little tighter. “I’ll tuck you in bed then go sleep downstairs. Don’t worry.”

“I can make it home,” I say.

“I know you can.” He bends and settles me on something soft—a bed, I deduce with my excellent reasoning skills. “But it’s a long drive and I’ll worry. So, you’re going to stay and sleep here.”

“Is that an order?”

He flicks on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room with softly glowing light. He’s smiling but there’s a thread of steel in his eyes, and I know he’ll fight me on this…because he cares. “Do I need to make it one?” he asks quietly.

“Do you like playing dangerous games?” I counter.

Now his smile turns wicked. “Only with you.”

My pussy spasms. “Fox.”

A hand on my cheek. “Sleep, sugar lips,” he says—or rather orders (and settles warmly against my heart, same as the previous one). “I’ll see you in the morning.” He tugs the blankets up and over me. “Night.”

I catch his hand before he can leave. “Or you could stay,” I say softly. “Stay and sleep with me.”

Heat in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to just sleep, sugar.”

Another spasm, heat and desire gathering between my legs. “That’s okay,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t be able tojust sleepeither.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

Then his fingers tighten around mine, our gazes connect, and the need in his deep brown eyes steals the last of the air from my lungs. “You sure?” he asks gruffly.

In answer, I use my free hand to find the corner of the blanket he tucked over me and toss it back.

“Kind of need the words, sugar,” he says, his fingers flexing around mine, his body tense and poised on razor’s edge.

I don’t even have a moment of hesitation before I tell him, “I’m sure.”

For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move—but then…hedoes.

His body comes over mine, pressing me into the mattress. He’s heavy—not unpleasantly so, especially when he braces himself on his elbows, one on either side of my head, and his legs settle between mine.

“Oh,” I whisper when I find my pelvis suddenly cradling his.

So that I feelallof him.

It’s glorious.

And big.

Andmine.

“Like that, sugar?” he asks with a wicked smile.

“Yes”—I hook a leg around his hip—“though I’m hoping it’s going to get better.”

“Oh, it’s going toget better.” He shifts so that one of his hands is free and trails it up along my side. At the same time, he drops his head, pressing our mouths together, and the kiss he gives me makes me forget to breathe, makes me forget to think, makes me forget to do anything except towant.

“God, sugar,” he rumbles as his fingers find the hem of my T-shirt and slip beneath the fabric to caress my side. “Your skin is like silk.”

His fingertips are rough, the calluses from hockey abrading my skin in the best way. I shiver, goose bumps rising on my flesh, but he doesn’t stop, just continues shoving the fabric of my shirt up, exposing more and more of my flesh to that heated gaze of his.

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