Page 38 of Nash

And I can do nothing but hold on. Nothing but cling to him as he takes my body any way he likes it. Takes care of me in a way that has my heart expanding in my chest.

“God, yes,” I say through a ragged breath, feeling my orgasm build beneath my skin. “Harder,” I say. “I want all of you.”

“Fuck,” he groans, pumping into me harder than before.

Everything in me narrows to the sensation, to the absolute pleasure ricocheting through my body with each powerful thrust. He’s so damn strong, and holds me so tightly, not even a thought of letting me fall as he fucks me on the counter.

I couldn’t have dreamed up a better partner. Couldn’t have imagined someone like him existed and wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t feel every single inch of him right now.

My body tightens, my release careening through me. I moan his name as I come, clenching and pulsing around his cock as he continues to pump, drawing out the pleasure as he finds his release inside me, the two of us breathing heavily as we come down from the high.

I go limp in his arms, and he smiles down at me before kissing me.

“So, breakfast?” he asks after we’ve caught our breath.

“I don’t know if I can walk,” I say, only half-joking. I’m thoroughly and delightfully exhausted.

He shifts a little, and before I know it, he’s cleaned me up and I’m in his arms, being carried to my bed. He climbs in beside me, wrapping his arms around me from behind.

“So, no food then?” I tease.

He kisses along my neck before he rolls over and grabs his phone. He wraps his arms around me again. “I’ll order,” he says, pulling up his food delivery app. “And while we wait, I’m going to have you as an appetizer.”

I shiver, wondering how he can be as insatiable as me.

“Done,” he says, setting the phone back down. “We’ve got thirty minutes. Think you can handle a little more?”

I smile at him, getting lost in his blue eyes. I’m realizing I want to handle as much as Nash is willing to give me.

“Try me,” I tease.

And he does.

He really, really does.

CHAPTER 11

NASH

A Coyote checksme against the boards, the impact so hard I swear my fucking teeth rattle. A blast of pain shoots through my shoulder, but I push through it. Shoving away from the guy, I skate past him, gliding along the ice with laser-focus on the puck that the Arizona Coyotes just stole.

It’s third period, with seconds left in the game, but it feels like we’ve been playing for twelve hours—the Coyotes putting up a hell of a fight. One that has them tied up with us right now?—

The Coyote dekes Pax, the fake so good even I didn’t catch it, and he soars toward our goalie, Fender, taking his shot.

I hold my breath, the puck flying in slow motion toward Fen?—

And a centimeter beyond his gloved hand, the puck hits the back of the net.

The buzzer sounds.

Game over.

We lost.

Fuck.

Pain rushes my body as we skate off the ice, the adrenaline that’s been numbing it leaking out of my body. I do my best to focus on Coach’s post-game speech, but the weight of the losscoupled with the pain makes it difficult. Once he releases us, I all but sprint to the showers, hoping the hot water will help my shoulder.

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