Page 102 of Offside for Christmas
They slipped out of O'Brien's into the snowy night, and Cole barely made it three steps before he had Ellie pressed against the brick wall beside the door, kissing her like his life depended on it.
"Cole—" She laughed against his mouth. "Your apartment is literally right above us—"
"I know." His hands were everywhere—her waist, her hips, sliding up to cup her face. "Can't wait that long."
"It's one flight of stairs—"
"Too far."
But he forced himself to pull back, to take her hand, to lead her to his apartment. The streets were slick with snow, and Ellie held tight to his hand as they walked. Behind them, muffled Christmas music and laughter drifted up from the bar below.
Cole's hands shook as he tried to get the key in the lock.
"Here." Ellie took the keys from him, her hands steadier despite her breathless laughter, and opened the door.
The moment they were inside, door closed and locked behind them, Cole had her pressed against it. He used his weight—all that muscle from years of training—to pin her there, his thigh sliding between her legs.
"I missed you," he said, his voice rough as his hands framed her face. "God, Ellie, I missed you so much. Do you have any idea what I've been thinking about? What I want to do to you?"
"Tell me." Her voice was breathless.
"Everything." He kissed down her neck, teeth grazing. "I want to take you apart. Make you come so many times you forget your own name. Want to hear you scream loud enough that the whole bar below knows exactly what we're doing."
Ellie moaned, her head falling back against the door. "They're singing Christmas carols down there—"
"Then I guess we'll give them something else to listen to." His hands slid under her shirt. "Fair warning—I've got an athlete's stamina. We're going to be here a while."
"Promises, promises."
He kissed her hard, his tongue claiming her mouth while his hands roamed. They stumbled through the apartment, shedding layers as they went. Her coat hit the floor in the living room. His jacket followed. By the time they reached the bedroom, Ellie's sweater was gone and Cole's shirt was unbuttoned.
The lamp on the nightstand cast soft light across the room. Through the window, Christmas lights from Main Street glowed, bathing everything in warm gold. Snow fell steadily outside, and faintly—so faintly—they could hear "Jingle Bell Rock" playing from the jukebox below.
Cole pulled back just enough to look at her—hair mussed, lips swollen from kissing, eyes dark with want.
"You know what's funny?" he said, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts through her bra. "A month ago, I hated Christmas. Hated this town. And now here I am, about to make love to the most beautiful woman I've ever met, surrounded by Christmas lights, with carols playing in the background."
"Character development," Ellie said, breathless and teasing.
"You ruined me for being grumpy." His fingers found the clasp of her bra. "Made me soft."
"You don't feel soft to me." Her hand slid down his chest, lower, palming him through his jeans.
Cole groaned. "Jesus, Ellie—"
"Stop talking." She pushed his shirt off his shoulders. "And get these jeans off."
He captured her mouth again, walking her backward until her legs hit the bed. She sat, then scooted back, and he followed, covering her body with his. The sheer size of him—broad shoulders, solid muscle from years of hockey—made her feel deliciously surrounded.
"Seven days," he murmured against her neck, his hands sliding up her sides. "I thought about this constantly. About how you taste, how you feel, the sounds you make when you're close."
"Cole—" Her voice was needy.
He pulled her bra off, tossed it aside. "About making you come on my tongue. Then on my fingers. Then on my cock." His mouth closed over her breast. "How many times do you think you can handle?"
"As many as you can give me." Her hips shifted beneath him.
"That's my girl. Competitive even in bed." His hand slid down her stomach to the button of her jeans. "I like it."
