Page 86 of Huge Pucking Play

"Perfect timing."

She smiles, her eyes still shining with tears. "It's like everything is falling into place, isn't it? Even though none of it was planned."

"Sometimes the best things aren't." I raise my glass of sparkling cider. "To us. To our future. To figuring it out together."

She clinks her glass against mine, her face beaming with joy. "To us."

Chapter 24

Cyn

The hot water hits my skin like a thousand tiny kisses. I close my eyes and let the steam wrap around me, a cocoon of luxury in this ridiculous hotel shower that's bigger than my first apartment's bathroom. My heart is so full, since Garrett looked at me across the table and said the words I'd been waiting to hear. He loves me…

I adjust the temperature a notch hotter and grab the bottle of citrus-scented shampoo sits on the marble shelf. I pour some into my palm, work it into my hair, and let myself enjoy this moment of absurd luxury.

Six months. That's how long we've been together. Six months since he rescued me when I had no phone, no money, no shoes and no way to find my friends in that jam-packed Las Vegas casino. Six months of discovering the man behind the famous hockey career, behind the carefully measured coaching persona he shows the world. Six months of learning that Garrett Hughes snores when he sleeps on his back, that he can't function without coffee in the morning, and that beneath all that muscle and masculinity is a man who adores his cat.

Moving in together. Jesus. It's a big step. The biggest I've ever taken with anyone.

For the first time in my life, I'm not second-guessing or overthinking or waiting for the other shoe to drop. I'm simply happy. Happy in a way that feels like floating, like being drunk on champagne, like summer sunshine on bare skin.

I work conditioner through my hair, taking my time. Garrett said he had some emails to send, business that couldn't wait. Something about player trades and contract negotiations.

I find myself rushing, suddenly impatient to be with him.

I rinse my hair and reach for the fluffy hotel towel, anticipation building in my body.

I've barely turned off the water when the shower door opens. Steam billows out in a cloud, and there he is—Garrett, already naked, eyes dark with something that makes my breath catch. He steps in, the space suddenly smaller, warmer. "Couldn't wait," he says, voice rough at the edges.

"I thought you had emails to—" My words dissolve as his mouth finds mine, hungry and insistent. My back meets the tile wall, cool against my shower-heated skin. The heat of his body pressed against mine makes me moan.

"Fuck the emails." His hands cup my face, thumbs tracing the line of my jaw. "I’ve been doing nothing but thinking about you naked in here the whole time."

I laugh against his lips. "I missed you too."

He reaches behind me to turn the water back on. It sprays across his broad back, droplets catching in the light. Even after all these months, the sight of him naked still stuns me—the wide planes of his chest, the defined muscles that speak of years of discipline, and that cock…oh my God, that cock.

His fingers trail down my neck, my collarbone, cupping my breast like it's something precious. I arch into his touch, suddenly greedy. Six months together, and still, every time feels like the first time, like discovery.

"God, look at you," he murmurs, reverence in his voice. His thumb circles my nipple, and I gasp. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Sweet talker." My voice sounds breathless even to my own ears.

He grins. "Just honest."

Then his mouth is on my breast, hot and wet, and talking becomes secondary. His tongue draws circles, his teeth graze sensitive skin, and I dig my fingers into his shoulders, needing an anchor. Steam rises around us, making everything dreamy, unfocused—everything except the points where his body connects with mine.

His hands slide down my sides, grip my hips, then lower, lifting me slightly. I wrap my legs around his waist, impressed as always by his strength. Water flows between our bodies, adding another layer of sensation.

"Tell me what you want," he whispers against my neck.

"Make me come," I manage, barely able to get the words out.

He presses me harder against the wall and his hand moves between us, fingers finding the center of me with practiced ease. I whimper as he strokes, slow at first, then building rhythm.

"Like this?" His eyes hold mine, watching my reaction.

"Yes," I breathe. "God, yes."

---