Chapter Fifteen #3
His hand in my hair guides me gently, not controlling, just holding on like I’m his anchor.
I look up at him. The sight nearly undoes me.
He’s watching me, pupils dilated and dark, but the hazel ring in his eyes is bright, locked onto mine. His chest heaves beneath his shirt. His face is flushed, his lips parted, and I can see that he’s desperately trying to hold on to control.
The look on his face… pure, unfiltered need mixed with something tender, sends a pulse of heat straight between my thighs. I can feel how wet I am, can feel my body responding to the act of pleasuring him.
“God, look at you,” he breathes. “So, fucking beautiful like this.”
His words make me moan around him, the vibration making him jerk and curse.
I increase my pace, encouraged by his reactions.
Every groan, every whispered curse, every time his hips flex forward involuntarily…
it all fuels me. My jaw aches slightly, but I don’t care.
I’m drunk on the taste of him, on the power of reducing him to nothing but sensation and need.
“Kat... baby...” His voice is wrecked now, desperate. “If you don’t slow down, I’m going to come. I’m going to come down your throat.”
The thought sends another rush of arousal through me, my panties now soaked, my inner thighs slick. I want it. Want to taste him, to feel him lose control because of me.
I look up at him again, never stopping the movement of my mouth and hand, and I know he can see the answer in my eyes.
“Fuck,” he growls. “You want that, don't you?”
I hum my agreement, taking him deeper, and that’s what breaks him. His whole body goes rigid, hand tightening almost painfully in my hair.
“Kat—I’m—”
He comes apart with my name on his lips.
I feel his pulse on my tongue, hot and thick, the taste of him flooding my mouth.
I swallow instinctively, working him through it, drawing out every last shudder and tremor until he’s gasping.
Then he leans against the door for a moment, chest heaving, looking absolutely wrecked as I release him.
“How was that?” I ask, hesitation in my voice, looking for confirmation, but before I know what’s happening, he kicks off his jeans around his ankles.
“How was that?” he chuckles as if I should already know, and then he’s bending down, wrapping one strong arm around my back, and lifts me.
“Come here and let me show you,” he murmurs against my ear, voice completely destroyed. “I need you in my arms... not on the damn floor.”
I squeal at the motion as he wraps my legs around his waist with his other hand.
He’s moving before I even know where we’re going, yanking at the back of his shirt, tossing it off somewhere in the living room as we pass by, kicking off his shoes without missing a beat down the hall as he carries me towards his bedroom.
His lips find whatever skin he can reach—my jaw, my temple, my shoulder—kissing me like he’s trying to memorize every inch.
“That was...” He starts against my throat. “You have no idea what you just did to me.”
“I have some idea,” I say, voice shaky with need of my own.
He huffs a laugh against my neck. “Not even close. But I’m about to return the favor, and you’re about to know exactly how good that felt.
His bedroom is dark, with no lights except for the moon and the lit-up skyline just barely visible through the slim opening between the floor-to-ceiling window curtains. The bed is massive, covered in charcoal gray sheets that look impossibly soft.
He sets me down at the edge of it, hands immediately going to my waist. He’s taken off every inch of clothing he had on between the front door and his bedroom.
Seeing Scottie completely bare for me has my body wanting whatever he’s willing to give me tonight.
His chest is broad and defined, golden skin stretched over hard muscle. My mouth goes dry.
His eyes are still dark with desire, but there’s something else there now—determination.
“It’s your turn,” he says, voice still rough but steadier now. His hands slide up my sides slowly. “But we only go as far as you’re comfortable with, and sex isn’t on the table—not tonight. I don’t want you to worry about it. It’s just you and me, okay.”
I nod, though I already know that Scottie is the one I want to give it all to, yet taking the pressure off tonight helps to settle my nerves a little.
His eyes scan over my body, and I wonder if he can see how badly I want him too.
“Let’s start with this jersey... I’ve been thinking about taking it off you all day. ”
Heat floods through me.
“Take it off,” he whispers, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through the fabric, “or I’m going to tear it off you. It might be a bad omen if I rip my own jersey, but I will, Katerina, trust me.”
My breath catches at the feral promise in his eyes, and a part of me wants to see him do just that.
With shaking hands, I reach for the hem of the jersey, pulling it up over my head.
His eyes track every movement as I slowly pull it off until I’m only in a black lace bra.
Then I unbutton my pants and slide them down my thighs, showing off the black lace set that I wore tonight, hoping that he’d get to see them, and now he does.
“Christ,” he breathes. His hands hover as if he’s afraid to touch me, afraid he’ll break the spell. “You’re perfect.”
“So are you,” I tell him.
There’s a ghost of a sexy smirk that crosses his lips, and then he says softly, “Lie back.”
I do, scooting back on the bed until my head hits the pillows. The sheets are as soft as they looked, cool against my heated skin.
Scottie follows me onto the bed, moving with predatory grace.
He settles between my legs, hands sliding up my thighs, pushing them wider.
His eyes are locked on the damp spot visible on my black lace panties, and he groans.
“Look how wet you are,” he murmurs, running one finger lightly over the fabric.
I gasp, hips jerking up involuntarily. “Did sucking me off get you this wet?”
“Yes,” I whisper, because there’s no point in denying it.
“Fuck, you are my girl, aren’t you?” He asks, and I nod… it can’t be denied.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband and slowly drags my panties down my legs. The way he looks at me, with a hunger I’ve only seen when he’s on the ice wanting to score a goal, makes me feel desired in a way I’ve never felt with anyone before.
He tosses them aside and gently pushes my thighs wider, exposing me completely.
For a moment, he just takes me in, and I have to fight the urge to close my legs.
“Don’t,” he says, reading my mind. “Don’t hide from me. You’re beautiful. Every part of you. You’re a living fantasy that I never could have dreamed up on my own. It’s almost hard to believe you exist and that you’re mine tonight.”
Then he lowers his head, and I feel his breath against my thigh as he presses a kiss to both sides as if to ease me into his touch, and then the first touch of his tongue to my center makes me cry out.
He groans against me, the vibration making my hips buck. “You taste like fucking heaven,” he mumbles between long, slow licks. “I could do this every night.”
I let out a whimper at the thought of this with him every night. How good that sounds… and I believe him.
“Huh? Would you like that, KitKat? To be my after-game snack?”
Something completely incoherent slips past my lips because I can barely think straight with him between my thighs, but it sounds as close as I can manage to a “yes”.
He’s methodical and thorough, learning exactly what makes me gasp, what makes me moan, what makes my thighs tremble. He alternates between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on my clit, never letting me get used to one sensation before switching to another.
My hands fist in the sheets, then move to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands and holding on.
“Scottie,” I gasp when he does something particularly devastating with his tongue. “Oh God—”
He hums his approval, doubling his efforts.
I can feel the pressure building, that familiar tightening low in my belly, but it’s more intense than anything I’ve ever felt on my own. My thighs start to shake; my breathing comes in short gasps.
“That’s it,” he encourages, voice muffled. “Let go for me, KitKat. Want to feel you come on my tongue.”
He seals his lips around my clit and sucks, and I shatter.
The orgasm crashes over me in waves, stealing my breath, making my back arch off the bed. I cry out his name, fingers tightening in his hair, holding him to me as pleasure rolls through me in overwhelming pulses.
He works me through it, gentling his movements as I become hypersensitive, placing soft kisses on my inner thighs as the aftershocks make me tremble.
When I can finally breathe again, he’s crawling up my body, placing kisses on my stomach, between my breasts, along my collarbone, until his mouth finds mine.
I can taste myself on his tongue, and somehow that makes everything even more intimate.
“Now, you tell me. How was that?” he asks softly, brushing hair back from my flushed face as he grins down at me.
“That was… orgasmic,” I manage.
I understand why he couldn’t come up with a way to describe it either and had to show me instead. It’s so good that there isn’t a word to properly convey the feeling.
He lets out a chuckle. “I suppose that’s as accurate as you could be.”
Then he smiles—that devastating smile that made me fall for him in the first place—and kisses me again, slower this time. Sweet and deep and full of promise.
He lifts me and pulls back the sheets, pulling us both under them and setting our heads on the pillow, facing each other.
His arm tightens around my waist.
My fingers curl into his skin.
“What happens next?” I ask, not completely sure where this leaves us.
“I think, whatever we want… Mrs. Easton.”
We fall asleep just like that–together, neither of us wanting to leave.
And there’s no pretending left between us.
Not tonight.