Page 117 of On Thin Ice

I squeezed his hand, letting my thumb trace over his knuckles. “I might be emotionally constipated, and I don’t have the first clue how to be in a relationship, but evenIknow you’re supposed to get your boyfriend something nice for Christmas.”

He laughed, the sound full of so much fucking joy that it nearly made me start crying again, and then he kissed me, his big hands coming up to cradle my cheeks. “Now that I know I’m allowed to get you something, you are in so much trouble.”

I pulled back slightly, confusion furrowing my brow. “What do you mean, now that you know? Why wouldn’t you be allowed to get me a gift?”

Bell’s smile dimmed a fraction, his eyes dropping to where his thumb traced a path over my cheekbone, before he dragged his hands away and slid them into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Umm, cuz you said you didn’t want anything.” It was posed as more of a question than a statement.

“What?” I searched my memory for when that might have happened, coming up blank at first, then?—

“Oh.”

A few weeks back, we’d been sitting on the sofa watching footage for an upcoming game against Winnipeg, and he’d casually asked what I wanted for Christmas. I’d barely looked up from my iPad when I said, “To beat fucking Toronto.”

“Yeah. Oh,” Bell said, mimicking my tone. “And when I tried again, saying, ‘No, like stuff.Gifts,’ you just shrugged and said, ‘I dunno. I don’t really need anything.’”

It wasn’t like I’d meant to shut him down. I just hadn’t been thinking. Or rather, Ihadbeen thinking. About hockey. Our jobs.

“I didn’t realize …”

“It’s fine.” He waved me off, but the slight tightness around his eyes told me itwasn’tfine. The realization that I’d hurt him—even unintentionally—made my stomach sour with guilt. “I just figured you weren’t into the whole gift exchange thing. Like maybe we weren’t serious enough for that yet.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve been that serious about you since that night in D.C.” I caught his hand again and brought it to my lips. “I would have bought you anything you asked for.”

Something shifted in his expression, the hurt giving way to something warmer. More playful. Sexier. His eyes darkened as they swept over me from head to toe.

“I don’t want stuff,” he drawled, surprising me by sinking slowly to his knees, a wince of discomfort showing on his beautiful face as he moved.

Memories of the way he’d let me—the way he’dencouragedme—to use him last night sent molten heat rushing through my veins as his fingers hooked into the waistband of my pants, blue eyes looking up at me through golden lashes.

“Just you, E.”

And it hit me suddenly, the thing about Bell I admired so much but hadn’t been able to name.

He was someone who could take the wreckage of a man’s soul and find the beauty in it. Could help that man see the beauty, too.

Someone who forcefully craved physical connection, but never let it make him small.

He was brave enough to own his desires, and he knew when to wield them with power or with grace.

He could offer himself to me with one hand and seize me with the other.

Bell had that rare and powerful combination of vulnerability and strength. What made him remarkable was how he could simultaneously be submissive while maintaining complete agency and power in our relationship. His gift was his emotional intelligence, his comfort with vulnerability, and his ability to see and accept me fully.

He knew exactly what he was doing going down on his knees in front of me, and Jesus Christ, it was the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever seen.

I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding. My fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for him, but I didn’t.

“You sure?” I asked hoarsely.

The glint in his eye felt like a tether snapping taut between us.

“You took what you needed from me last night,” he said, his voice a sexy rasp. “Let me take what I need now.”

And fuck, how could I ever deny this man anything?

I sank into his touch, the overwhelming, undeniable truth of his love for me.

And for once, I let myself be wanted. Let myself believe I deserved it.

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