Page 208 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

I’m sure from the outside looking in, there’s nothing to hide. Everything is on display. That vulnerability only fuels the brewing connection that’s ready to burst into physical lovemaking.

“To think this is real,” he murmurs, almost in a trance. “Five years. Five fucking years of wishing things ended differently. Now, here I am in the back of my Jeep. The vehicle I imagined would be where I kissed you fervently. Where I’d fuck you passionately. Where I’d enjoy every press of your lips, every whimper and moan, and admit how much I admired you back then.”

His words make my heart swell as his admission sinks in.

“I told myself if I ever got the opportunity… one fucking chance to change things and reveal how much I adored you, Mikayla, I would. How madly in love I was for you but feared overstepping and revealing the truth about my feelings would tear us all apart.” His eyes lower to my breasts, landing directly on the tattoo that symbolizes our crew.

The memories that followed us through the years we were apart from one another, with the small hint of hope we’d come back together again.

He strokes himself slowly, the movement drawing my attention, only to pause at the noticeable ink that’s along his length.

He didn’t…

My jaw drops, and I feel like the air in my lungs has been stolen. It takes everything to get the words out, to say something that reflects my mangled thought process that’s being swarmed with emotion.

“Ace…” I take a second to breathe. “That’s…that’s…”

“Mickey may have been a nickname another gave you, Mikayla, but I couldn’t let that significant symbolism go,” he confesses and dares to smile. “Like a symbolized cartoon that brings the world so much joy just by his image, I finally allowed myself to accept what an impact you had on my well-being. My family. My existence. I decided inking that memory where I could be reminded by it every day—multiple times a day—would be the best blessing and curse.”

He begins to approach me now until he’s right between my legs.

We gravitate to one another so effortlessly, his lips briefly claiming mine before he shivers as though the mere touch in this emotionally tense moment is everything he’d ever dreamed of.

“I told myself it would be a blessing to get you back… and curse if that decision five years ago meant I’d never get a chance at claiming our Heartbreaker Queen’s heart again.”

He lowers his head until his lips press firmly on the tattoo between my breasts, ensuring the touch is firm and lingers for a few seconds.

“I needed a permanent reminder, so I got Mickey tatted on my cock, Sweetheart.”

His half-opened eyes peer up to see my widened ones, his admission finally settling in. The truth. Hearing him admit it only confirms I’m not hallucinating. That this isn’t some prank or joke to whisk me away into an illusion or groom me into publicly giving him affection like Jayce would way back then.

His words were as genuine as the emotions written in the lines of his face and the hollows of his alluring blue eyes.

He regretted our parting so much, he needed to tattoo it on his cock…

“Fuck, Ace,” I whisper with trembling lips as a single tear rolls down my left cheek. “God, you know if you told me… I would have taken you back.”

“I know, Sweetheart.” His tender voice is everything. “Only, I wanted to earn it. To earn another chance. To do everything to grow and realize how badly I wanted this. Wanted us.”

He leans his forehead against my chest, taking a shaky breath.

“I dove into hockey not only because it’s one of my passions but because I needed the distraction. To be surrounded by the drive to reach new heights and grow as a man. Not just the boy who had to force himself to realize the girl of his dreams got away,” he admits. “Hockey is something I love, but it’s what I needed to experience to finally accept that someone else took that top spot.”

He pulls back so we’re eye to eye, then places the palm of his hand against my chest, right over my beating heart.

“That the trophy of my endearing passion is in a woman’s possession. A woman named Mikayla Cross Johnson, who carried the biggest heart in the world.”

How does one not shed tears after hearing such a heart-shattering confession?

“Ace,” is all I can get out before our lips collide. If I tried to use my words, I’d do nothing but shed tears and utter rubbish.

What I can do is use my body to show him just how grateful I am for his enduring love. To be proven that I’m not only deserving of love but that the intense emotion stems from the depths of his heart and not out of some sort of gain in return.

Our kiss is nowhere near tame.

It’s hot.

Sloppy.

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