Page 56 of In My Hockey Era
Like,bigbig.
A strangled sound catches in my throat, and his head lifts just in time to catch the expression on my face.His eyes darken, amusement flickering behind the hunger.
“Problem, Quinn?”he murmurs, his voice rough with heat.
“That depends,” I manage, my breath coming fast.“Are you planning to use that thing to kill me?”
His sharp exhale is almost a laugh, his forehead drops to mine for a second before he tilts his head, mouth finding mine.“Not tonight.”His lips curl.“Unless you beg.”
Oh, hell.
I barely get a chance to react before his hands are suddenly on my thighs, and then—oh wow—he lifts me like I weigh nothing, and presses my back against the wall.
I gasp, arms locking around his neck, but he’s solid, steady, his strength is so effortless I could probably let go completely and he wouldn’t even notice.
His hands slide lower, gripping beneath my ass, holding me up like I belong there.
Maybe I do.
Maybe I always have.
My heart slams against my ribs, a rush of heat licking through me, and I need more.My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him back to my mouth, and he groans into the kiss, his grip tightening, his hips shifting just enough to remind me exactly what I’m dealing with.
A broken sound escapes me, part frustration, part please.
His answering growl is low and dangerous, his lips trailing down my throat as he walks us toward the bed.
“We need to slow down,” he mutters, voice wrecked, but his hands contradict him, kneading my thighs, sliding beneath the hem of his jersey that I’m still wearing.
“No, we don’t,” I argue, already reaching for the hem of his shirt, ready to get my hands on all of him.
He half-laughs, half-groans, and drops me onto the mattress, and before I can move, he’s on me, his weight pressing me into the bed, his incredibly skilled mouth finding mine again.
We kiss and kiss and kiss, like we’re making up for every moment we spent resisting this, every second wastednotdoing this.
Is this what weeks of bickering gets you?
We’re combustible.
Simmering between us is a kind of all-consuming chemistry that refuses to be ignored.
I tug at his shirt again, desperate to feel his skin, to map every inch of the muscles I’ve spent too much time thinking about.
He leans back just enough to smirk down at me, catching my wrists, pinning them above my head.
“Slow down, Luce,” he murmurs, his voice all gravel and heat.
Not Lucy, or Quinn like he calls me when he’s teasing.Luce.I melt a little more.
“We’ve got all night,” he reminds me.
My stomach flips, my breath catching as his eyes rake over me, taking in the way my body arches beneath his.
“Then stop talking and start proving it,” I whisper.
And with a deep, wicked chuckle, he pulls the jersey off from over my head.
I help him with my bra, because I’m impatient like that, and with a flick of my wrist, toss it across the room.
