Page 67 of The Pucking Arrangement

He catches me instantly, his arm snapping around my waist, holding me firm. And for one glorious second, I’m pressed against him—all that solid heat, all that restrained power coiled beneath his skin, ready to break.

“Careful,solnyshko.” His voice is all dark amusement, a teasing edge I can feel against my throat. “We wouldn’t want you falling.”

My heart is hammering so loudly, I swear he can hear it.

“Too late for that,” I whisper.

His answering growl rumbles through me, low and primal. But then, footsteps thunder overhead.

Ris.

Dmitri steps back, and the loss of his heat is a physical pain.

“Speaking of torture,” he murmurs, “I leave for Vancouver tonight. After the game.”

I blink.My brain is still mush. “How long?”

“Four days. I’m back Friday.” His voice is a low rasp. “We’ll FaceTime, yes?”

The question mark at the end undoes me.

Like even now, after turning me into a trembling mess with just his breath, he’s still giving me the choice.

“Yes.” The word comes out embarrassingly fast. “I mean…that would be… Yes.”

His smirk is devastating. “Good.”

My knees give out.

He catches me again, effortlessly. One arm around my waist, holding me up like I weigh nothing.

And then, because he’s wicked, because he’s him, he leans in, his lips a breath away from my ear. “Patience,solnyshko.” His voice is pure sin. “Save that reaction for when I’m back. I want to savor it.”

Then, just like that, he’s gone. Striding toward the door, pausing only at the threshold.

“Oh, and Erin?”

I make a sound that might be acknowledgment.

“Wear something pretty for me.”

Then he’s really gone, leaving me trembling in front of the mirror, my skin ablaze.

Already counting the hours until he’s back.

Chapter14

No Rest for the Wicked

Dmitri

The house is silent when I step inside at six a.m., my bag dropping with a dull thud in the foyer.

Three days.

Three fucking days of pacing hotel rooms, of running drills until my legs burned, of sleepless nights spent fisting my cock in the dark, her voice—her gasps—haunting my ears.

Three days of remembering how her breath hitched in the gym, how her body trembled from nothing more than my words, how she looked at me.

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