23. Chapter Twenty-Three #2
My fingers curled into fists, my muscles tightening from my fingers, up my arms, into my jaw, making the muscle there pop as I waited her out. The warmth in her eyes gave me an answer, had me shifting to close the last inch between us.
“Say it, Merri.” Because it wouldn’t end at with a kiss, or even my fingers dipping into her fucking sexy lace underwear. It would end in my bed. I’d accept nothing less and I needed her to know that. To be there with me every step of the way.
“Touch me.”
My approval rumbled low in my chest as I cupped her jaw, fingers tangling in her pretty curls. The first brush of lips, soft and testing, earned me a sigh that shot straight to my gut. Her palms pressed against my chest, and I covered them with my own, fighting the urge to crush her against me.
“That’s what I’m talking about, now. How about we take this to the bedroom?” No more games, no uncertainty. I wanted everything—her moans, her sighs, the way she’d feel wrapped around me. Tonight was just the beginning. Every challenge, every victory, every loss. I wanted it all with her.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, lashes lowered. When those summer-green eyes found mine again, her smile ignited every nerve ending in my body.
“Lead the way, Shep.”
I hauled her against me, crushed my lips to hers for a long minute, sucking her lower lip between mine, resisting the burning need to delve deeper, take more. “Oh,” I said against her mouth, “I’ll show you the way.”
She twisted, dipped down to retrieve her dress.
“Leave it for now. You won’t be needing clothes for a while and I wanna watch your body move.”
She slanted me a look, but tossed the dress on top of the Ping-Pong table.
Her easy motion ratcheted up my need. Would I even make it up to the bedroom?
Big talk for a guy with a hard-on the size of Virginia in my pants.
Maybe we could crawl up on the Ping-Pong table?
I gave it a testing shove. The image of the table collapsing beneath us hit me and I lodged my hand at Merri’s bare waist and guided her away.
“Up the stairs.” I left the “quickly” unspoken.
I let her lead because I wasn’t an idiot. And only an idiot would miss out on the show she put on between the table and the stairs. The swing of her hips, her ass barely concealed in a tiny scrap of black lace, those endless legs…
She tossed a grin over her shoulder, flipping that glorious hair. “Enjoying the show?”
“Every minute of it.” Truth, but my pulse hammered and need thundered through my blood like a hurricane. “But let’s take it to the bedroom.”
She hit the stairs, climbing fast, and the motion put her ass right at eye level.
Too tempting. I pressed a loud, smacking kiss to the curve, earning a startled laugh as she jumped up another step.
Then we were running, laughter chasing us down the hall.
I grabbed her hand, tugging her into my bedroom, then lifted her clean off her feet to toss her onto my bed.
Her laughter filled my loft, bright and unfiltered, and revelation hit me like a perfect shot finding the back of the net. Everything I wanted lay within reach. This woman in my bed, my daughter down the hall, Stanley Cup ring on my finger. The ultimate hat trick.
I covered her body with mine, heat roaring through my veins. “Gimme,” I growled, sliding my hand under her thigh and hitching her leg high against my hip. Her skin was silk beneath my palm, but it was that wicked grin, the way she arched against me, that nearly stopped my heart.
I palmed her through black lace, discovering slick heat. “Fuck me, Merri, but you’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”
The evidence coated my fingers.
“Take them off. See for yourself.”
She shimmied and I tugged, then slid my fingers into velvet heat. Her body clenched around me as she arched. “That feels perfect.”
“Perfect?” I shifted, rocking my dick against her leg. “That’s gonna feel even better.”
Her nails bit into my shoulder. “Show me.”
I eased my fingers deeper, her moan shredding my control. “What if I wanna feel you come all over my fingers first?”
She groaned, her panting breath echoing the pounding of my heart. “Next time.”
The promise in her “next time” gave me the strength to pull away. I stood, working my jeans open, kicking off shoes. “Take your bra off, Merri.”
She did, her perfect breasts bouncing as she flopped back down. It took everything inside of me to not fall on her like a madman. Like a starving beast. Because that’s how I felt. My pulse thundered in my ears, echoed in my dick.
I’d never been more conscious of getting this right. Not that I’d ever done it wrong, of course.
But this was Merri.
My Merri. I wanted her to be my Merri, wanted to be her man, and I’d never wanted such a thing before.
My head wanted to explode nearly as much as my dick. Anticipation wreaking havoc on my body, need for her catapulting from just beneath the surface to the breaking point between one heartbeat and the next.
All our games, our challenges, had led here. Inevitable as a perfect shot finding the net.
I moved between her thighs, spreading them wide. Her hands left the sheets to cup her breasts.
Holy hell.
Pure perfection.
Someone up there liked me. A lot.
“You gonna hold those pretty tits for me, Merri-bean?”
She writhed, arching her back and letting her gorgeous breasts bounce freely. Much more of that and I’d explode before we even got to the good part.
“You’re right.” I answered her unspoken demand as I guided my dick into her wet heat. “I’ll get a move on here, if you hold those pretty babies up for me to see.”
She scrambled, her fingers leaving the sheets to dig into the soft pillows of her flesh as I stretched her open with my dick.
I’d wanted her too long, need building until my balls ached with it.
I gripped her thighs and powered into her, every thrust giving her a bounce.
Pink bloomed across her cheeks, her chest, darkened her nipples.
“Play with your nipples, baby. They look so hard and cherry, give ‘em a little attention.”
Her moan shot through me as she obeyed, thumbs circling the tight buds.
For all her sharp wit and fire, Merri was surprisingly quiet—except for the little gasps, the soft, breathy moans that sent my pulse into overdrive.
She liked this. Liked me guiding her, touching her, claiming every inch of her with my hands and words.
Then she bit that plush lower lip, and my restraint nearly shattered. Mine. The thought slammed into me like a freight train. I needed to taste her, to map every inch of her skin with my tongue, to hear my name on those gasping lips until there was nothing left between us but heat and need.
Merri Wylie defied description.
From her sassy attitude to the curves she hid under those swishy skirts. Fuckin’ perfect.
I tightened my hands on her thighs, moving her so I could thrust even deeper. Her thigh muscles quivered, telling me I’d found the sweet spot. She gasped, chin tilting skyward, belly trembling, and then her pussy clenched around my dick, a warm, wet clench that sent me right over the edge.
I sank down over her, still surrounded by her heat, slowly easing in and out of her body, drawing out our pleasure.
I shoved my arms beneath her, my lips finding the curve of her jaw, her throat, the gentle slope of her breast, tasting everywhere I could reach while holding her close.
Her tits crushed to my chest, her legs limp along mine. I didn’t want to move.
I exhaled a long breath and nuzzled into her hair. “You good?”
She feathered her fingers through my hair, over the shell of my ear, over and over, soft and slow. “I’m good.”
I twined my fingers through hers. “I refuse to be distracted from my victory.”
“Victory?”
I rolled onto my back, dragging her onto my chest, tugging her leg until I had her splayed over me, her skin smooth temptation under my hand.
She freed her fingers from mine, rested her head on her fist atop my chest and caught my gaze. My fingers tingled with the need to touch her and I feathered them through her bright red hair.
“You can’t keep my Pop,” she said.
“Why not?”
She plopped back down, her cheek on my chest, her breath fanning over my skin. My body heated again, pulse quickening, but I zeroed in on the sound of her voice, the words she murmured into my chest.
“My mom died of cancer. Ever since, I’ve had stupid levels of anxiety and my career of choice hasn’t exactly been a cakewalk. The Pop is my thing. My comfort. I need it when I work games, to stay focused and make good decisions.”
“Well, that just sucks.”
“It does. But it’s how I cope.”
“No, not that, though that sucks, too. But it sucks that you have a legit reason to keep the Pop.”
She slapped me. I covered her hand with mine, flattening her palm to my flesh.
“The Pop is your thing, huh?” My voice dipped, curiosity lacing the words.
“Yes.”
I traced the bumps of her pretty knuckles, her soft skin. “It’s sorta my thing now, too.”
“Too bad.”
“And you’ve been working games just fine. Making kickass calls even without the Pop.”
Her eyes fluttered closed. “You don’t believe in superstitions or good luck charms.”
“Well now, we’re not talking about just any old bit of luck.” I shifted, tightening my grip on her hand. “We’re talking about bonafide Joonie Pop kind of luck. That’s an entirely different beast.”
She snorted a cute little giggle into my chest. Enough of the serious conversation. I rolled her onto her back.