Page 125 of Pucking Strong

“Want you.”

My gaze darts to his beautiful, sad eyes. “Henrik—”

I gasp as he wraps his arm around me, slipping his hand up under my leather jacket. His fingers splay possessively across my back. Then he reels me in until I’m practically straddling his leg. He’s still in his skates and hockey pants. His other hand drops to grip the front of my T-shirt. He pulls me closer. I can smell his faint athletic musk, practically taste the salt of his perspiration. Our noses brush as he breathes me in. “Du ärminman,” he growls.

Then he’s kissing me.

Oh my god, Henrik Karlsson is kissing me. I can’t even process it. His hands are on me, I’m practically straddling his thigh, and he’s kissing me. And what did he say? Fuck, why did I never learn Swedish? Two semesters of Latin utterly wasted.

His lips press to mine, his beard prickling my chin. The second I stop thinking and actually start kissing him back, it’s like a volcano erupts in my chest. I’m molten with need, fingers gripping his face, as I press back into his kiss, lips parted, eager for more.

Both his hands go around me, splayed on my back as he pulls me in. My cock is pressed against his padded hockey pants. Thank god. Maybe he won’t feel how hard I am. When you’ve been wandering in the desert for as long as I have, that first drop of water was always bound to send the senses haywire.

I try to memorize this moment—the feel of his iron hands at my back, the bitter taste of salt in his kiss, the warmth of his breath panting with mine. I groan against his mouth, my fingers brushing down the column of his sweaty neck. With a tease of my tongue, his lips part for me, and then we both detonate. I gasp again as he pulls me in tighter, arms banded across my upper and lower back. I’m on my toes, straddling his thigh. My hands brush into his sweaty hair, and I’m flying. He tastes so good, like power, and strength, and raw fucking passion.

“What are we doing?” he groans against my lips.

“Flying too close to the sun.” I kiss him again, never wanting to stop.

“Alright, break it up you two!”

“Yeah, jeez. Keep it in the bedroom.”

I gasp as Henrik suddenly pushes me back. I’m left reeling as he locks his elbows, placing me firmly away from him. Oh fuck, what did we just do? I glance over my shoulder to see everyone in the PT suite staring at us. Yeah, I definitely just climbed onto my half-naked husband’s lap and rode his thigh while he choked me with his tongue. In front of a live audience.

That just happened.

That was our first kiss.

Henrik drops his hands away from me, and I’m left swaying on the spot. Thank god I’m turned away from the room so no one can see my raging hard-on. Stage fright already has it deflating fast. Some people are into public displays, but that’s never been me. I was just so desperate for Henrik to see me, hear me, that I didn’t care that we weren’t alone.

Henrik.

He sits on the edge of the table, ice pack wrapped around one shoulder, hair a mess from my hands. His lips are parted, still wet from my claiming kiss. And he’s looking at me like I’m the answer to every question he’s never thought to ask.

I have to remember this moment. I want it tattooed on my brain. The way he’s looking at me now? He’s not seeing Teddy the intern, who once walked into traffic, or Teddy the PT, who wraps ice packson shoulders. He doesn’t even see Teddy the caretaker, who over-bakes cookies and braids Karro’s hair. For the first time in six long years, the man I’ve loved and longed for seesme.

And I think he likes what he sees.

This is all too much for my brain to handle. I feel like Icarus again, tumbling through the air, feathers flying. “Good job out there,” I say, offering him my hand like a total asshole.

Confused, Henrik shakes it, his hand calloused and warm as it wraps around mine.

I pull away, stepping back. “So, anyhoo … I guess I’ll just see you at home. Glad we could get that cleared up. Okay, bye.”

He stands. “Teddy …”

I turn around, heart in my throat. “Yeah?”

He towers over me in his skates, and it’s such a fucking turn-on. In reality, the skates only add, like, an inch or two. But I’m still fighting the desperate urge to blurt out the words, “Hold me.”

Instead, he only holds my gaze, uncaring that the room is full of his teammates. “I asked for two ice packs.”

I grin, heart flipping. “Get the intern to help you. I’m off the clock.”

Feeling like that’s a much cooler line to use as my exit, I flee the room to the sounds of the laughter and whooping cheers of our friends.

“That’s a pretty dress.” Karolina traces her finger over the lines of a purple ballgown in her favorite princess book.

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