Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
“Yep,” he says with a grin in his voice. He wraps his other arm around my chest, locking me against him, his face buried in the crook of my neck as he draws dizzying circles on my clit. “Show me why, Remy. Show me why I’m so cocky.”
He strokes me with a steady, thorough rhythm that has me rocking gently against his fingers. He brushes his talented mouth against my neck as he touches me. Then along my collarbone as his fingers tease, then push.
I gasp.
“That’s it. You’ve fucking got it, baby.”
I shudder out a breath, my hips picking up the pace, seeking more of his fingers. He reads my every move, tapping my clit with his fingers, then stroking me through all my wetness. I’m slick and hot, and it’s too much.
It’s almost embarrassing how much I want this and how much I want to hide from it too. The admission of it—the intensity—is terrifying.
But Lake’s kisses are breaking me down as he drags that beard across my neck, as his lips travel across my collarbone, as his fingers stroke and glide and then speed up. He’s following my lead, chasing every move I make, urging me on.
Then, he crooks his fingers inside me, and I tip over. Everything’s shiny and bold as pleasure bursts, hot, fast, demanding. I cry out.
I can’t see straight. I can’t think. I just shake and moan, my vision a lovely black blur as he strokes me through my release. In the corner of my mind, I’m aware of his groans and grunts, deeply sexy sounds that thrum through me right along with my pleasure, still hitting me. Then I feel the push of his hard cock against my ass, our clothes a barrier.
But a barrier that’s not stopping Lake. He’s gripping me tight, holding me close and…rubbing against my ass.
Oh.
Ohhhh.
His breathing is ragged, and as I come down from the high of my orgasm, I register my surroundings again. My eyes blink open right as Lake eases his hand out of my panties and lifts his fingers to his lips.
I crane my neck, catching a glimpse of him behind me, grinding against me—no, rutting against me—as he licks the taste of me off his fingers.
And moans.
Low, ragged, salacious.
“Fuuuuuck,” he grunts, then pumps his hips against my ass again, panting like he’s running a race.
Or, really, finishing it. His face twists as he bites out a groan, shuddering. His pumping stops. He gives a slow, final thrust, a wind-up toy winding down.
I want to ask so badly. I want to say the words “Did you?”
But I don’t have to. His breathing slows, his eyes float open, and the glassy look in them starts to fade away.
He lifts a hand, drags it through his hair, and shakes his head, like he can’t believe what just happened. His gaze drifts down to his boxer briefs. And he rolls his eyes—at himself.
I bite the corner of my lips, shift around a bit in the bed, and steal a glance. Well, it’s not every day you get to see the evidence that someone’s into you. And I like what I see.
I roll my lips together, sealing in all sorts of pride, all kinds of satisfaction.
He breathes out hard again and cuts through the tension with a few words. “Told you I was this close.”
I laugh, feeling on top of the world.
He grabs my face, turns me toward him, and gives me a hot kiss that makes my head swim and my heart sing.
But it only lasts five seconds. When he breaks the kiss, he says, like it pains him, “I have to go.”
He needs to get ready for the game, and I need to go home and change. “You probably need to shower too,” I deadpan.
That earns me a smack on the ass.
28
THE EXES IN THE BUILDING
REMY
Technically I don’t have to be here for the game, but when Mabel texts me that she’s got her Knight jersey on and is bringing the “family”—Clementine, Skylar, and Trevyn—that’s reason enough to stick around. I’ve finished the VIP tour and some prep for the week, so I put my work aside now that it’s time for warmups.
Speaking of, I’m still warm from the sixth rule of napping. I haven’t stopped thinking about what happened under the sage green blanket.
As I head down the corridor toward the rink, I replay those moments again. Who even was that woman grabbing his hand and shoving it between my thighs?
Let me hear you.
Other things repeat too.
I’m this close.
All those ragged words of his echo in my mind, and I swear I can feel his beard whisking against my shoulder, his firm lips pressing open-mouthed caresses to my neck, his magic fingers finding that spot inside me.
I make a tiny noise in the back of my throat that I should not make in public. A quick glance around confirms I’m alone. But still. I need to get my thoughts together. I clench my thighs as I walk—which, for the record, is kind of hard to do. I try though, like I can squeeze out the desire. News flash—I can’t.