Page 108 of Score on You

“I want you,” I clarify.

“You already have me. Completely. Forever.”

“Not completely.”

He chuckles. “I beg to differ.”

Warmth blazes in my cheeks regardless of the chill in here. “You haven’t let me…”

Ridge lowers his gaze to where mine has settled. “What’s that, sweetness?”

“Um, I want to…” Nerves muffle my request.

“Say it,” he urges.

“Put your penis in my mouth,” I blurt.

He rolls his lips between his teeth, most likely trying not to laugh. “You wanna suck my cock?”

I nod as my face flames. “Uh-huh.”

Ridge slides forward. “Give me a blowjob?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

In a fluid maneuver, he scoops me off my skates and rushes to an opening in the boards. “Want a private tour of the locker room? It’s not much, but the floor is padded.”

“How can I resist an offer like that?” I don’t, obviously.

He slams through a door and puts me down. I’ve barely regained my equilibrium when he lowers to undo my laces. Relief sighs from me once I’m freed from the torture devices. Ridge shoots me a grin before removing his own. While he does that, I take a moment to examine where we are.

The space is what I expect. Two walls have storage stalls. A bench occupies another. Rows of hooks are drilled above, available to hang whatever equipment players strip off. The final side is occupied by a large shower. A sterile scent hangs heavy in the air.

I turn in a slow circle. “Smells… clean.”

Ridge snorts. “Luke is very particular when it comes to this facility.”

“And he won’t mind that we’re about to…” I still can’t get the words out.

His mouth slants into a wolfish smile. “Defile each other?”

“This isn’t about me.” I gesture to a certain part of my anatomy.

“We’ll see.” He unfastens his jeans, dropping the denim to mid-thigh.

My eyes widen at his erection that’s practically waving for attention. “No boxers?”

“Nah, I chose to be optimistic.” His bare butt meets the wood bench with a slap.

“That’s going to leave a mark,” I giggle.

“The imprint of my ass will give this place character.” He twirls a thick roll of tape around his finger.

“Where did that come from?”

“My dirty mind.” An efficient yank loosens a long strip from the spool. “I might be out of the game, but I’ll never forget how to wrap like a pro.”

“Wound tighter than tape on a hockey stick,” I recall.

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