Page 55 of Meant for Stone (Meant For)

“The question is”—his fingers are still playing with my nipples—“when you beg me to stop, will I stop?”

“You talk a big game.” I kiss under his chin. “The question is, can your cock deliver?”

“Oh, gorgeous.” He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me up. “I’m going to love making you eat your words.” He hoists me from the bed, and I yelp. “Time for a shower.”

He walks toward the bathroom, placing me down on the counter before walking over to the white shower curtain and pulling it back to start the water. He pulls the curtain closed before coming back to stand between my legs. His mouth comes down to kiss me, and he places his hands beside my hips. One of my hands goes to his hip, but the minute I touch him, I want more, so I grip his cock, jerking it. His hands go from beside my hips to my knees, pulling them up so my feet are on the counter. I rub him up and down my slit once before he slides into me, and there on the counter, with the hot water steam filling up the room, he makes me come two more times before we actually get into the shower.

I don’t know what time we fall asleep, the both of us trying to get as much of each other as we can. I put my head down on his chest, listening to his heart beating before I drift off. My alarm rings in what feels like two seconds after I’ve fallen asleep. He reaches over me to slap the phone and then mumbles, but not before his knees kick my leg to the side, and he moves his hip to slide into me. “One more time,” he murmurs into my neck, and I don’t answer him. I just close my arms and legs around him, savoring every touch. I make a mental note of how he feels close to me. How his hair feels in my hands. How he fits into me like he was made for me.

We both groan before he rolls over to his side, taking me with him. “I need coffee,” I say, and he reaches for the phone on the bedside table. One eye opens to watch him fumble with the phone. He has to release me to dial the number to room service. “Hey, can I get a pot of coffee, some French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and fresh fruit?” He looks up at me. “Thank you,” he says, hanging up the phone. “Twenty minutes.” He lies back down in bed and pulls me to him.

“That’s a lot of food.” I laugh as I put my hands on his chest and place my chin on them.

“I need it.” He looks down at me. “After last night and this morning.” I kiss the middle of his chest. “What time do you have to leave?” His voice is soft.

“My plane is at ten,” I answer him, looking at the clock on the side table and seeing it’s just a bit after seven.

“I can’t even believe you’re here,” he says. “How?”

I laugh and sit up in bed, reaching over to grab the bottle of water I snatched from the desk when we got out of the shower. “I messaged Gabriella for help.” I take a gulp as he places two pillows behind his head, propping himself up with his arm bent under his head. The sheet barely covers his hip and his cock. I sit next to him, crossing my legs under me with one of my knees on his uncovered hip. “She said she had a spreadsheet your uncle Matthew makes every year when the season starts.”

He laughs. “It’s an Excel spreadsheet organized by month and then each month by date. No one really uses it.”

“Well, it’s a good thing he did that because I was able to find you right away.” His hand lies over my knee. “I then called my father, who got me a private plane.” His eyes open. “I didn’t like that you were angry, and according to Gabriella, you sucked so bad on the ice.”

I’m expecting him to be insulted by the comment, but he isn’t. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“So I finished work last night, rushed home, changed, grabbed my bag, and said I would be in this afternoon.” The tightness comes to my chest as if someone stands on top of me with one foot in the middle of my chest. I lean over to kiss his lips softly before throwing my leg over his hips and sinking down on his cock. Knowing there are other things to talk about, knowing the reality is that no matter how much I want this to work, it feels like it’s impossible. Yet, as soon as I see him, all I want to do is make it work. Neither of us says anything as we come again right before the room service arrives. I slide into the bathroom while the guy sets up and then walk out, wearing another one of his T-shirts that I took from his bag to Stone in his shorts, pouring me a cup of coffee.

“Here you go, gorgeous.” He leans forward, kissing me behind my ear.

“Thank you.” I smile up at him, taking a sip of the coffee. I have two more hours with him, and the last thing I want to think about is when we will see each other again.

I sit in the chair, facing him at the little table in the corner of his room. He pulls off the covers of the food and hands me a fork. “Just dig in,” he urges, stabbing a sausage with his fork and biting into it.

“When do you get back home?” I ask.

“This afternoon, we leave at noon.” He grabs a piece of bacon. “Then I have a game tomorrow, Thursday, and Saturday.” The wheels in my head spin. “Then I’m off again for another three games on the road in Canada.”

“That sounds like a lot,” I tell him, and he shrugs.

“It’s the norm,” he explains, and even though I knew he traveled with his job, the reality of it is all coming to light.

“What about you?” he asks me, and I look down at the eggs in front of me, picking up a piece.

“I’m going to be swamped for the next two months,” I inform him and see the way his eyes darken over, “between new case files being handed to me and that huge case I’m prepping for trial.” I swallow down the eggs that feel like they’re going to get stuck in the middle of my throat. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to get away.” The words hit me hard. However, sitting here with him having coffee after having another one of the best nights I’ve had, even though I’m already exhausted for tomorrow, I’m not ready to give up on this yet. My heart speeds up to the point where I let out a little cough to get the rest of the words out. “Let me check again and see what I can fit on my end.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

stone

Iwatch her sit in front of me, playing with her food. “I’m going to be swamped for the next two months.” She looks up, and I try not to let her know how much this news bothers me, but I know I can’t hide it. My breathing comes in spurts. “Between new case files being handed to me and that huge case I’m prepping for trial.” She swallows, and I can tell she’s having a hard time with it. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to get away.” She inhales. “Let me check again and see what I can fit on my end.”

I push away how much that whole statement bothers me. “You need to eat,” I remind her, and she looks up at me. “Chances are, you’ll stay at the office late and forget to eat.”

She smirks. “I want to argue with you.” She holds up her fork, and I can see the heavy conversation is past us. I know we should talk about it. I know there is so much more to say, but I think we’re scared of what the outcome actually means.

“Of course you do.” I wink at her. “If you want to have makeup sex, all you have to do is ask for it.”

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