Page 3 of Slap Shot Daddies

I grin, my eyes meeting his with a spark of challenge. “Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

His hazel eyes darken just slightly, like storm clouds gathering, and I know at that exact moment how absolutely screwed I am.

We linger near the improvised dance floor in the living room, engaged in a playful exchange of sharp, flirty remarks. I can’t suppress my laughter at his dry humor, enchanted by the way his lips twist into a smirk of amusement each time I counter his jibes.

Without quite realizing it, we edge closer together, the teasing evolving into something more potent, a crackling electricity that dances between us.

"Come on," I say with a mischievous grin, setting my drink aside and reaching for his hand. "Let’s dance."

He arches a brow in mild surprise, yet he allows me to draw him onto the dance floor. The instant his hands settle at my waist, a surge of heat shoots through me, electrifying my senses.

I surrender to the music, my body moving fluidly against his, feeling the defined contours of his torso beneath the worn, threadbare fabric of his tragically old hoodie.

He matches my movements seamlessly, his grip on my waist tightening just enough to convey a sense of possession, his body emanating a warmth that envelops me as we grind together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that seems to suspend time.

The heat swirls through my head, mingling with the buzz of alcohol. When he leans down, his breath brushes warmly against my ear, barely a whisper that I struggle to comprehend.

And then his lips capture mine, and I melt into him.

His mouth is hot and insistent, a perfect blend of roughness and tenderness, teasing yet demanding in its exploration.

His fingers dig firmly into my waist, pulling me impossibly closer, until the music and the crowd dissolve into an inconsequential blur.

It's just him and me, lost in the undeniable, magnetic pull that neither of us is resisting any longer.

I break the kiss, breathing hard, my lips tingling from the force of it. His hazel eyes blaze into mine, filled with an intensity that mirrors my own, his chest heaving rapidly as if he's just as swept up in this moment as I am.

"I need air. Wanna go outside?" I say, grasping his hand with urgency.

"Air?" he repeats, his voice a low, playful murmur. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

I just laugh and tug him through the sea of people, weaving past half-drunk teammates and friends who sway and chatter, oblivious to the world outside their immediate revelry.

We push our way out the front door into the night air.

The sudden temperature drop strikes me like a splash of cold water, my overheated skin prickling as the cool breeze sweeps over it.

We barely make it to my Jeep parked in the driveway before he turns me around, his hands firm and urgent, pressing me gently yet insistently against the passenger side door.

His hands glide down my arms, tracing my skin like a gentle breeze over water, before moving over my ribs and finally gripping my hips with a firmness that seems to commit the shape of me to memory.

His lips find mine again, insistent and deliberate, as if each touch is a note in a symphony only we can hear.

I fumble for the handle, the metal cool against my fingertips, and shove the door open.

Before I fully grasp what's happening, we’re clambering into the back seat, the world outside fading into oblivion.

As soon as the door clicks shut, sealing us in this private cocoon, I straddle him, my fingers slipping beneath his hoodie to explore the warm expanse of his skin beneath the fabric.

“This isn’t something I usually do,” I whisper, my words brushing against his mouth like a secret shared in the dark.

He chuckles softly, his fingers teasing the hem of my dress, a playful promise in his touch.

“Me either,” he replies, his voice a velvet murmur.

I don’t believe him. And truth be told, I don’t care.

I dive back into the kiss, surrendering to the sensation of him.

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