Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
My orgasm built lightning fast. He was my husband now, and something about that, combined with the fact that we could get caught at any moment, had my body bubbling like a hot spring.
“Mine,” he ground out, his voice strained against the shell of my ear as he thrust deep.
“Yours.”
Another thrust.
“Forever.”
“Always,” I echoed, and Aleks picked up his pace, pressing more into me so he could balance my weight as his hand slid between us. He circled my clit, kissing me hard enough to draw blood, and I came with a whimper against that possessive mouth of his.
I was still moaning and shaking when he caught his own release, and the feel of him emptying inside me egged my own climax on, lengthening it until I thought I’d pass out from the vibrations. I was on birth control. I didn’t want babies right now. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t hot when he spilled inside me like that, that I didn’t think about how mad with desire we’d both be when the time came for this man to put a baby in me.
For now, I was perfectly content being a lovesick newlywed fucking in a dark corner as the snow fell down around us.
And I liked his plan — traveling the world together, him flying to see my shows and me flying to watch his games.
One day, we’d settle down.
But right now?
We were just taking off.
Better Not
Summer
Aleks
The sunlight filtered through the gauzy white curtains, bathing the private bungalow in golden hues. The sound of waves lapping gently at the shore filled the air, blending harmoniously with the rustle of palm trees swaying in the breeze. It was paradise, the kind of place you only see in glossy travel magazines.
But nothing compared to seeing her here, with me.
Mia stretched out on a towel by the infinity pool, her sunglasses too big for her small face and her bikini barely covering enough to keep me from losing my mind. She was glowing, her skin kissed by the sun, and even though I held a book in my hands, I hadn’t turned a page in ages. My eyes were drawn to her like a magnet, flicking over her every movement, every curve. She must have felt it because she finally looked over at me, lifting one eyebrow above the rim of her sunglasses.
“You’re staring again,” she said, her lips twitching like she was trying not to smile.
“Can you blame me?” I replied, letting the book drop to my lap. “You’re the most beautiful thing here, and that’s saying something, considering this place looks like it was plucked straight out of a dream.”
She rolled her eyes, but the blush that crept up her neck gave her away. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously in love,” I countered, leaning forward and letting my fingers drift to the tie on her hip. I tugged at it lazily, grinning when her breath hitched. “Speaking of love… have I mentioned how much I’m enjoying this honeymoon?”
“Maybe once or twice,” she said, trying and failing to sound unaffected.
For a long moment, I soaked in the feeling of just getting to touch her whenever I wanted, of knowing I had the power to make chills race across her tan skin. I reveled in the feel of the sunshine, the breeze, and the particular drug that was Mia Love.
The season had flown by in a blur after our wedding, Mia traveling the world for her tour and me chasing the Stanley Cup with the guys. We didn’t take it home this year, which was a blow to all of us. All we’d wanted was a back-to-back championship, to bring the Cup back to Tampa and have a boat parade with our friends.
We’d fought hard, grinding through each round of the playoffs and proving to the league that we were still a force to be reckoned with. But in the end, it just wasn’t our year. Vancouver outplayed us and everyone else they faced.
Strangely… I was happy for them, which wasn’t really my modus operandi. Then again, it seemed everything about my demeanor had changed since making Mia my wife. I listened more, argued less, shared the puck more, partied hardly ever. She brought out the best in me.
She also helped me bite the bullet and start going to therapy.
I’d grumbled and complained at first. It wasn’t that I didn’t know I needed it, but it was uncomfortable. It was fucking hard. But every week, it got a little easier. My therapist helped me work through my feelings about my parents, helped me see that who they were had nothing to do with who I was. I was the only one who saw myself that way, who felt that I was destined to fuck up the way they did. And after a few months of sessions, I was beginning to realize that what happened to my parents hadn’t really been their choice, either.