Chapter 27 #2
I try to just be in the moment. Surely, that’s what my therapist would tell me.
I hear Elena’s voice saying, When you get too much in your head, try to just be in your body. Look around and focus on the here and now, not what you need to do next, or do better, or do tomorrow.
But I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t advise me to blow the hockey player I’m fake dating, the hockey player I work with, no less. And doing it a few weeks after a painful, public breakup.
My chest tightens. Not with regret, but with worry. I’m not sure what happens next, and the uncertainty makes me feel itchy.
The dip of the mattress catches my attention. I lift my head a few inches. Thor pads across the covers, stopping inches from Lake, then settling into a cat ball and closing his eyes.
Thor!
That’s it.
Carefully, so as not to wake man or beast, I ease away from Lake. I hold my breath, hoping he won’t wake up as I escape his arms, then scoot over to the edge of the bed, swing my legs to the floor, and survey the scene.
Relieved that the big hockey player and big Siamese furball are sound asleep, I pad quietly out of the room, snicking the door closed. I head to the kitchen, where I spotted the half-assembled cat tower earlier.
This is my happy place. It’s easy-peasy, and I can finish it in way less than forty-five minutes.
I root around in my bag for the Swiss Army knife I keep with me, then get to work assembling the rest of the baskets, perches, and shelves for the cat.
When I’m done with time to spare, I step back, admire my handiwork, and close the knife.
I listen for sounds from the bedroom and hear none.
Good.
I slip back into the bedroom, where Lake’s asleep on his side. And folks, the challenge for perfectionist Remy Hatmaker is sneaking back under the blanket without disturbing either occupant.
Deep breath.
On tiptoes I cross over to the bed and slowly lie back down. The mattress groans slightly. Lake stirs, but he doesn’t wake.
Like I’m a puzzle piece, I slot myself carefully back into place, lifting his heavy arm and setting it around my breasts again, the owl watching my every move.
And she nails the dismount!
With a victorious smile I keep to myself, I let out a soft breath and close my eyes.
Pretty sure it’s been about forty minutes of nap avoidance now when Lake’s hand coasts down from above my breasts to below them. His arm’s wrapped around my waist, and soon his fingers are traveling lower.
He’s taking a slow, sensual path that makes me feel a little shimmery.
A lot tingly as his hand drifts even lower.
I can’t help it—I move a little closer to him.
He shifts behind me, wedging against me, and I haul in a breath.
He’s impressively hard. And he’s letting me know, pressing his erection to my ass.
A soft breath ghosts past my lips.
I squirm around a little, seeking some relief from this sweet ache. If I were home, I’d reach for a toy, watch a video, imagine a scenario.
I try to breathe past the pleasure, to ignore the desire.
I can deal with this tonight when I’m alone.
There’s no time right now. But when his fingers skim down my stomach and he’s playing with the waistband of my pants, my brain short-circuits, then goes offline.
Impulsively, I reach for his hand, cover it with mine, and urge him a little lower.
A groan rumbles past his lips, deep and hungry.
All the risks flash before my eyes again. All the consequences. But I’m stretching my neck, easing closer to him, and getting so, so lost in this sensation. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve been touched, though that’s not true.
But maybe it’s been forever since someone touched me like this. With words, and deeds, and talented fingers that inch underneath my pants.
“Oh,” I gasp.
“Mmm,” he murmurs against me as his fingers travel down the front of my white panties. He dips one strong finger between my thighs, pressing it firmly against the wet fabric.
I can feel, rather than see, his satisfaction.
“This is so unfair,” he murmurs, stroking the damp cotton.
“What’s unfair?” I ask on a rough pant.
“Leaving you like this.”
I tense for a second. Is he going to just…take off? Then it hits me. His alarm is going off. Oh. Right. He has to go. I’m about to make this easier for him and bolt out of bed when he lets go of me, twists around in the covers, and grabs for something on the other side of the bed.
His phone.
I swallow, pushing off the blanket so I can get out.
But the man isn’t the fastest skater on the team for nothing. When he hits the off button on the alarm, he reaches for me again, jerks me against him, replaces the blanket, and says in a low, commanding tone, “Rule six. Waking up is fun too.”
His hand slides between my thighs, where he cups me.
The sound I make is obscene. A desperate, greedy whimper. I try to hide my face in the pillows. But as he slips his fingers inside my panties this time, his throat rumbles. “Let me hear you.”
This man is barely touching me and he’s already assuming I’m going to be loud?
“So cocky,” I say, but the words are muffled when he strokes my wetness, a slick, tempting slide of his fingers.
“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.