Page 165 of Pucking Strong

He drops his forehead to my shoulder, both hands clinging to the front of my shirt, as he mutters something in Swedish.

“What’s that, baby?” I tease.

“Do it,” he says in English. “Take me, Teddy. Show me what this can be.”

Oh god, his submission is such a fucking turn-on. I’m usually the one who likes to play the brat and then get railed. Henrik’s request feels like a gift, something precious and rare and so delicate. I have to be careful. I can’t mess this up.

As if he can sense the swirling shift in my thoughts, he tips my chin up. The blue of his eyes is so warm and inviting. “The time for hesitation between us has long passed. We need this, ja? We’re ready.”

I nod, tears in my eyes. “Yeah—or—I mean, ja. Whatever. Fuck, Henrik, I’m sayingyes.” I chase the words with another kiss, his soft beard hair bristling against my lips.

Our hands are everywhere as we pull at each other’s clothes, dropping our shirts to the floor. God, his skin feels like a furnace. He runs so hot. I brush my hands over his hairy chest, groaning with relief to feel him in my arms. Fuck, he’smine.

“Mitt hjärta—wait—”

At first, I don’t register his words. I just keep kissing him, shoving my hand inside the tight band of his lounge pants until I feel the warm silk of his dick in my fist.

He groans, his forehead pressed to mine. “We can’t do this here. We’ll wake Karolina.”

The utterance of her name has me pulling away, gasping for air as I glance around. We’re standing half naked in the living room with my hand down Henrik’s pants. Now that Karro is using crutches to get around the house, she could come out here andinvestigate. Knowing our girl, she will. She’s too damn curious for her own good.

I push away from him. “Bedroom?”

“Yours or mine?”

“Yoursismine.” I pull him forward. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice when you moved all your stuff back into the closet? By the way, we’re renovating your perfect bathroom.”

“Oh, are we?” There’s amusement in his tone, but there’s an edge too. My quiet Swede is very particular about having everything just so.

When we get into the kitchen, I turn to him and stop. He all but collides with my chest. Hands on his shoulders, I hold his gaze. “There’s only one sink, Henrik, which screams bachelor pad. And if you haven’t forgotten, you’re married now.” I wiggle my ringed finger in his face. “And you gifted that bathroom tomeas a wedding present.”

His smile widens. “Oh, did I now?”

“You did. And if you think I’m gonna share a sink with you, you’re crazy. I may share clothes and colognes, and, yes, once in Sweden, I accidentally used your toothbrush. But if you love me, you’ll invest in a second sink.”

He leans away in surprise. Then his brow furrows as he clearly considers my words.

Shit, there I go again, letting my mouth run away with me. And Henrik is too damn literal. He takes me at my word every time. He’s never actually said the words yet, even if I think he might feel them. Did I just set him a test? Some bar he has to jump over? If he loves me, he’ll get me a sink.

Seriously? Why the hell didn’t I tell him to get me a Porsche? Or a trip to Southeast Asia?

God, I can’t think about love sinks now. My husband just asked me to paint his insides with my cum, which is a memory I’ll be replaying in my mind until the end of time. Groaning again, I grab his hand. “Come on.”

He follows me down the hall and back into our bedroom. The lights are off, but a glow of yellow light stretches across the carpet from the bathroom. His side of the bed is so orderly and minimal.Mine is a mess of books I only pretend to read. I’m always too tired at night to focus on the words on a page. My new eye massager is plugged in atop the teetering pile. That I do use. It’s amazing—

Focus, Teddy!

I don’t even know what we need. I’m so out of practice. Henrik and I are definitely sexually active now, but up to this point, we’ve restricted everything to hands and mouths. I don’t think I have any condoms. Lube, yes. I introduced Henrik to the wonderful world of lubed hand jobs last week. He doesn’t like fooling around in the shower, something about the water confusing his sensations. But he definitely liked the feel of my lube-slicked hand pumping his cock until he blew a load on my face.

We should use a condom, right? I don’t bottom for anyone unless they’re wrapped. But I haven’t bought any condoms while I’ve been living here. It felt too much like a jinx. Wish and plan too hard for something, and the universe makes sure it doesn’t happen, right? Goddamn it, these stupid, superstitious hockey players are rubbing off on me. Now, my version of the Stanley Cup playoffs is finally here, and I’m unprepared?

I turn to Henrik. “Please tell me you have condoms.”

He leans away. “What? No, of course not. Do we really need them?”

“Honestly, we’ve been a bit lax when it comes to protection. Everything just sort of happened, and then I wanted it to keep happening, and it felt so damn good.” I close my eyes, relishing the memory of the first time we came together on the bathroom floor. “But safety matters. I mean, I got tested. I showed you the results.”

“You did, but—”

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