Page 86 of In My Hockey Era
This time, when I ask, hedoeshave protection.He doesn’t tell me this with his words, he just grabs something from his nightstand drawer and readies himself.
It’s sexy, seeing this side of him.I’ve gotten to know so many sides of him these past few months—the playful side, his nurturing side…but this?This is something altogether and decidedly different.More intimate.
And when he lifts me, positioning me on top of him, it’s his eyes that really get to me.They see everything, and when he finally joins us—they slip closed—just for a second and he exhales roughly.
And I feel everything.All of him, and it’s too much.
His fingers trace my skin, settling at my hips.“You okay?”he murmurs, voice low and wrecked.
No.
Not even a little.
Because this man isruining me.
And the worst part?Iwanthim to.
I tip my head back, catching my breath, trying to gather even a fraction of my composure.It’s impossible.
Instead, I slide my fingers up his chest, making him groan.“Can you—can youtrynot to be so good at this?”
His lips quirk up.
A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face.“Not when you look at me like that.”His thumb strokes along my cheek, his eyes dark anddangerous.“I’ve waited too long to have you like this, Quinn.No way in hell I’m holding back now.”
And he doesn’t.Soon, I can’t take it anymore.
“Ben…”
That’s it folks.I only manage that first syllable before a wave of pleasure knocks the breath from my lungs.
Then my brain sorta fixates, rather inconveniently, on wondering if anyone ever calls him Ben.
Then a second even stronger wave of pleasure, and I make an unintelligible whimpering sound.
“Yeah?”he asks on a groan.
“Yeah,” I confirm.
• • •
I should be asleep.
My body is completely spent, muscles like jelly, my skin still humming with the aftershocks of what just happened.My brain?Useless.An overheated, scrambled mess.
And yet—I’m wide awake.
Bennett’s arm is heavy across my waist, his body warm and solid behind me, one big hand tracing absentminded patterns over my bare hip.Neither of us has moved much sincecoming back down to earth, tangled up in his sheets, the glow of the city outside spilling soft light across the room.
I shift slightly, just enough to turn and face him, resting my chin against his shoulder.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.
Iam.
I don’t even have the energy to deny it.
“I’m processing.”
