Page 71 of Icing the Enemy

Oakley’s Sweet Tangy Cream Sauce.

I can’t help but laugh at my thoughts, and she says, “What?”

“I was thinking we should bottle your sauce and sell it. You wouldn’t need your dad’s money or our money. You’d be rich.”

We burst out laughing, and she pulls me closer. “I don’t want anyone to know how I taste but you. Got it?”

“Don’t worry. You’re mine and only mine.”

She guides my erection and says, “Will you do a little slip and slide?”

I lift a questioning brow.

“When you slide your dick through my folds, hitting the firecracker. I love that. Can you do it again, like before?”

“Baby, I’ll do whatever makes you feel good. Always tell me your desires, so we do what each other enjoys.”

I lift my hips, gliding my dick back and forth, and she shuts her eyes, saying my name on repeat. Oakley’s legs stiffen for a moment. I look down in the candlelight, and my dick is glazed and glistening with my wife’s juices. Pressing into her slowly, our eyes lock while we make love. Long and slow. She winces a few times but assures me it feels good.

“Harder,” she pants and when I thrust into her with sweat dripping from my hair onto her face, she calls out, “I love you.”

I slow down and let her ride out her climax. Even in the dim, incandescent glow of the candlelight, I can see her face is red. “I love you too, my little thief.”

A few minutes go by, and I say, “Stay. I’ll be right back.” I walk into the suite’s kitchen, grab an ice cube, and take it into the bedroom. I spread her legs, place the ice cube in my mouth, and press it against her center. She jerks but then lets out a sigh of relief. Then I come back to her face and suck it into my mouth.

“No fair, I’m thirsty too,” she whimpers.

So we trade the ice cube back and forth until it’s melted, and it’s just our tongues dancing. I lean up and flip her over. “I want to see my number, thirteen, on your back as I enter you.”

I push my Notes jersey up on her back and inch inside her hot, juicy center. “Be easy,” she says, her voice laced with fear.

“I promise this will feel so good, you’ll want to do it this way every time.” I go slow and easy and once I’m fully inside her, I circle my hips to stretch her out so I can make us both feel the euphoria.

With my hands on her perfect hips and me on my knees, I pull her hips back to me as our skin slaps together, faster, and harder. “Yes. Yes,” she cries.

“Baby, I love being inside you.”

My body locks up, and I know I’m going to blow any second, but I don’t want to end in a position that feels likejustsex. I want to make sure she knows this is about our connection and the new beginning to our marriage. So, I push on her back to where she’s lying on her stomach and sneak one forearm under her waist. I play with her clit, and I move in and out at a snail’s pace.

Whispering how good she makes me feel—making love—to my wife. The little thief who stole my heart.

Afterwards, we take a shower and clean up. Before I leave for the arena, I give her a warm, long kiss and hand her a manila envelope.

“I had Becca rewrite our arrangement. It states that everything of mine is yours. If you want your trust fund, it won’t be a problem because I’m never dissolving this marriage. Look it over and make sure I’m what you want for a lifetime because I don’t want to go through what Becca is.”

“I don’t have to read it because I don’t want anything to do with my dad, certainly not his money. I trust you and love you.”

We can’t stop grinning at each other, but she opens the door to the presidential suite and says, “Go. The guys won’t let me live it down if you’re late because of me.”

“Love you. Wear my jersey.”

There aren’t too many feelings better than scoring during a hockey game but looking up in the crowd and seeing my wife in the stands tops it all.

I shake off a defender, slap the puck, and it rockets toward the net, slicing through the air. Anticipation surges in my gut as I watch it soar. The goalie doesn’t see it coming, and it floats into the back of the net.

The horn goes off, and I celebrate with my teammates before I look into the stands and see Oakley wearing my jersey, jumping with joy and her hands in the air, high fiving the other wives and girlfriends who made the trip.

It doesn’t take long for the noise to die down since we’re on the opponent’s ice. And I hear my girl yell, “That’s my husband!”

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