Page 52 of Playoff

I know it’s a mistake.

But one night—to erase the pain and hurt and bad memories—isn’t the worst idea in the world.

“It can only be one time,” I whisper.

“I know.” His eyes are practically burning into mine.

“Kiss me, Blake.”

SIXTEEN

Blake

Her lips areas sweet as I remember, soft and warm and pliable. They yield to mine as I take a moment to savor the connection. She’s familiar but also new, an older, more mature version of the teenage girl I once loved so fiercely.

And it all comes back as I nibble her lower lip, something she used to love.

I don’t know how or why I remember that, but it feels like the right move, taking my time as I rediscover the Rowan I knew.

Her lips part as she shifts, and I tug her onto my lap.

“There. That’s more comfortable.” I wrap an arm around her waist and drop my mouth back to hers, continuing to skim and tease and nibble. I’ve never been the kind of guy to just stuff my tongue in someone’s mouth. There’s an art to kissing, and while there’s obviously a time for passion, it’s about more than that. It’s about letting a woman know you value her—whether it’s for the night or the week or forever.

“Blake…” Her breath is warm against my face.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You?” I pause to look into her eyes. As much as I want this, I only want it if she does too.

“I do. I just… don’t want things to go bad.”

“They won’t. I promise. If you want me to go back to Phoenix and not look back, I will. You have my word.”

Instead of responding, she presses her lips to mine and this time there’s nothing exploratory or playful—she knows what she wants and she needs me to give it to her. I slide my tongue between her lips and coax hers out. The moment they collide it’s like a simmering ember explodes into flames.

I’d all but forgotten how it feels to touch her, kiss her, be intimate with her.

Her body is warm and soft, but also hard and muscular, and it fits perfectly against mine. My cock is so excited to have her rubbing and gently grinding on my lap, and I know she feels it too.

“I may have been exaggerating about that micro-penis thing,” she whispers with a sexy smirk.

“Yeah, I know.” I go back to kissing her, but now I’m letting my hands wander too. She’s still wearing the athletic pants and long-sleeve top she wears on game days, and it’s molded to her body, preventing me from being able to explore the way I want to. So I nudge her top up a little, allowing me to come in contact with her soft, silky skin.

Is it even softer than I remember?

How is that possible?

She has an incredible body. I know that just from seeing her at the arena, working out or working on us or on the ice. I remember thinking her breasts were big as a teenager, but they were actually the perfect size; not too big, not too small. A perfect handful. Maybe even a mouthful.

I slide my tongue against hers, deepening the kiss and letting my fingers work their way under her sports bra. I don’t even care about her breasts, as long as I can keep touching her.

“This feels way too constrictive,” I whisper.

“It is.” She lifts her arms, and I manage to get both her shirt and the bra off together.

“Oh fuck, they’re beautiful,” I murmur, staring at her breasts.

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