Chapter 7
SEVEN
CJ
I pull back enough to breathe, enough to see her kiss-swollen lips. Her eyes are dark and a little dazed.
“Come home with me.” The words jump out of my mouth before I can tackle them to the ice.
I hear it in my voice—low, rough, and pleading like a breakaway one-on-one—and I immediately brace for the glove save. This is usually where a sane person says, “No, CJ, be serious,” and shuts the door. I fully expect Olivia to do that, and it will likely set me back with her.
Instead, Olivia blinks once, takes a small, steady breath, and nods. “Okay. Let’s go.”
For a beat, I just… stare. I’ve taken slap shots to the ribs with less impact than her words.
“Yeah?” I rasp, because my brain is a hamster on a Ferris wheel, and vocabulary seems like a myth at this moment.
“Yeah,” she says with that quiet conviction she has when she’s about to lift a building with her bare hands.
Something in her shoulders unclenches. Her fingers are still fisted in my jacket. I peel them gently free so I can hold her hand instead, and, God help me, I kiss her knuckles like I’m in some black-and-white movie and she’s the only thing in color.
We race down the stairs, then we’re outside, cold air biting at the heat coming off both of us. I tuck her close as we walk to my car. She lets me, which feels like another small miracle.
The drive is quiet, not awkward. Not empty. Full. We hold hands, and my heart races out of control as we drive across town to my apartment. Streetlights strobe over her skin, and I keep catching my breath at the curve of her cheek, the line of her throat, the way her mouth is soft now, kissed-lazy.
My building is brand new, all clean angles and key fobs.
I park in my spot in the underground garage, jog around to open her door—because my mother did, in fact, raise me right—my heart thumping like warm-up drums. In the elevator, I punch the button for the top floor and move to the opposite corner like I’m trying not to crowd a skittish wild animal.
Olivia curls her fingers in the lapel of my coat and pulls me back where she wants me. “Closer,” she says, soft as sin.
I go. Of course, I go.
We kiss until the elevator dings and the doors glide open. Then we’re heading into my apartment.
My place smells faintly like cedar and laundry detergent, the way every hockey guy’s apartment does when he spends half his life hanging gear to dry and the other half buying candles to mask the stink of the hockey gear.
Floor-to-ceiling windows show Maple Creek scattered with lights, the rink three blocks away lit like a spaceship.
I toss my keys on the console, suddenly grateful that I stress-cleaned my apartment earlier today. For once, I don’t bother with a joke to lighten the mood. I just stand there, hands planted on my hips, and let myself look at her.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, because not saying it feels like lying.
She steadies herself with one palm on the wall as she kicks off her shoes. “Take off your clothes.”
I grin and reach back, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it aside. My hair is a mess from her fingers and the night. She steps in, slides her hand up my chest, and pulls me down to her.
My chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with her. “You sure?”
Her chin tips up. “I’m sure.”
I meet her halfway.
This kiss is different. Not a question. An answer.
She opens to me like she’s been wanting to for a week, for a month, since the second I leaned on her office doorframe and said something stupid to make her roll her eyes.
My hands find the curve of her waist, the warm give of her there, a live wire under my palms. She hums into my mouth, and I swallow the sound like I’m starving.
We bump a console table, and a framed photo of the team threatens to faceplant.
I fumble it upright without breaking the kiss, because priorities.
Then I’m walking her backward toward the living room and the big couch that has seen a thousand naps, zero women, and one horrible flu week where I watched four seasons of a cooking show and decided I could pan-sear anything.
“Bedroom,” she whispers against my mouth.
“Yes, ma’am,” I breathe, and she lets me tug her down the hall.
There’s a point right before you step onto the ice where the air changes. It’s colder, sharper, tuned. That’s how it feels crossing my bedroom threshold with her hand in mine. I click on the lamp, and the room fills with a golden glow.
I turn back to her, and suddenly, I’m shy. Me. The guy who chugged a nightmare smoothie for a thousand bucks. I feel like I’m holding a puck I can’t afford to drop.
“We don’t have to—”
“CJ,” she says, and every syllable is a touch. “I want to.”
She reaches for the buttons of her shirt. My girl. Smart, practical Olivia. Slow fingers, careful concentration. The backs of her knuckles skim my bare chest when I step forward, and my breath turns into something unsteady.
“Hi,” I say, because my brain is a raccoon with a shiny object, and the shiny object is her.
She smiles. “Hi.”
I get my hands on the zipper of her pants, and for the first time in my life, I’m grateful for the hand-eye coordination God bestowed on goalies.
“Tell me if I do anything you don’t like,” I say, trying to hide how nervous I am. “Tell me if you want slower, faster, more, less—”
“More,” she says immediately, voice breathy.
I give her more.
The jeans slide down her legs with a whisper. She steps out of them, and I step back because I have to see her. She’s perfect—all pale skin and curves.
My mouth goes dry. My hands get sweaty. I can’t stop staring at her.
“Liv,” I say, because that’s the only word still on the shelf.
Her fingers hook in my belt and tug me back to her, smile turning a little wicked.
“You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to forget how to breathe,” she says.
“Same,” I admit, and then I quit looking and start touching.
We take our time without taking too long.
There’s a sweetness to it, her laugh when I swear because her skin is softer than anything I’ve ever touched, the way she says my name like a secret, threaded with a heat that burns steadily.
Sparks, sure, but also the beginning of something slower and deeper. A banked fire that could last forever.
We crash backward onto the bed and both let out an “oomph” as we land on the mattress. Olivia giggles. I grin as I pull her into me and seal her lips with mine.
She wiggles against me, slipping her panties off and dropping them off the edge of the bed. Then she unhooks her bra.
I can’t resist looking at her then.
I roll her under me and kneel between her thighs, staring down at her perfect curves. “Gorgeous.”
She blushes slightly. “Touch me.”
My hands find her tits, and I mold the smooth globes in my palms. She moans, arching closer, and I take that as a good sign. My fingers stroke her nipples, turning the little nubs into stiff peaks. Olivia is panting beneath me, and hearing her sexy reactions has me burning hotter and hotter.
My cock is a stiff pipe in my pants, and I grit my teeth as it surges against my zipper.
“CJ,” Olivia whines.
I lean down, wrapping my lips around one of her nipples. She cries out, her fingers tangling in my hair and holding me against her. I roll my tongue over the sensitive bud, my teeth graze along her skin, and she writhes against me.
“More,” Olivia orders.
I nod, switching to her other breast. I give it the same careful attention as the first. My mouth worships her until she’s an impatient mess beneath me.
Olivia grinds against me, and I get the message, kissing my way down her stomach to settle between her thick thighs. Her pussy spreads before me, and I take in her dripping folds. She’s soaked for me, and my pride swells at her reaction.
Leaning forward, I bury my face in her sweet pussy. We both moan as I take a long lick up her center. Her flavor explodes on my tongue, and I’m instantly desperate for another taste.
“Oh, God!” Olivia cries as I eat her out.
My tongue circles her clit, and I wrap my lips around it. I jiggle the sensitive pearl with my tongue until Olivia’s legs are clamping around my head. She’s close. I can hear it in the way she’s breathing, in every twitch of her body.
I lick a path down her core and circle her snug opening. Once, twice, and then she’s breaking apart underneath me. Her hands twist in my hair, and she screams my name as she comes undone.
I lick up her release, my tongue desperate to catch every last drop.
“CJ!” Olivia cries, wiggling away from me.
“Sensitive?”
She nods, breathing hard. I crawl back up her body, licking my lips as I stare down at her.
“Naked,” she says, eyeing my pants.
I hop off the bed and hurry to strip off the last of my clothes. Then I’m crawling between her legs again. My cock is poised at her tight entrance, and we lock eyes.
“Last chance to tell me to stop,” I manage, hovering, braced, shaking like a rookie about to play his first game.
“Don’t stop.”
I swallow hard. My control snaps, and I kiss her as I ease into her slowly. She’s so damn tight, and the sensation of her velvet heat enveloping the tip of my dick has my eyes rolling back in my head.
She gasps as I thrust into her fully, and I freeze, my mind struggling to wrap around what just happened and what I just felt.
“Are you a virgin?” I blurt out.
She blushes. “It’s not a big deal,” she mumbles.
I stare down at her like she’s an idiot. “Not a big deal? Fuck, Liv! If I had known, I would have bought champagne, covered the bed and house in roses.”
“I hate champagne and roses.”
I close my eyes briefly. “Okay, I would have gotten a bottle of Moscato and a bunch of peonies.”
A small frown puckers her brow. “How did you know that was my favorite? You know what, never mind.”
She shifts underneath me, and I curse. She giggles, squeezing her pussy around my length.
“Princess Angel Baby,” I plead as she rocks beneath me.
“I’m good, CJ. Now fuck me,” she orders.
I’m powerless to do anything but what she asks.
I start to move in and out of her, my pace slow and testing. She moans my name, and I swear that the sound she makes is going to live under my skin forever.
We move together faster, finding a rhythm that feels natural, like we’ve been doing this our whole lives. She’s so tight and hot wrapped around me. Tingles rush down my spine, and I grit my teeth to keep from coming too soon.
I need to make tonight good for Olivia. It needs to be perfect. She deserves that. She deserves everything.
“There! Right there,” Olivia moans.
I clench my teeth, angling my hips so that I hit the spot inside her that has her clinging to me. Her body tenses beneath mine, all of her tightening around me. Her pussy is practically strangling my cock, and it’s taking everything in me not to bust.
Her legs lock around my hips, and her nails dig into my shoulders as she gets closer to her peak.
“More,” she whimpers, her grip on me tightening.
I thrust into her harder, bending my head and kissing her. I kiss her like a promise, like a prayer. She meets me kiss for kiss, touch for touch, and when I think I can’t possibly hold it together, she loops her arms around my neck.
“CJ—” She gasps as she breaks apart.
I lose it in the best possible way, following her over the edge. “Fucking hell, Princess Angel Baby.”
She chokes on a laugh as I collapse beside her before my arms give out and I crush her beneath me. We don’t move for a long time. The room hums, the lamp throws soft halos onto the ceiling. My heart gradually slows to its normal pace, and I take a deep breath.
“Hi,” I say again, because apparently that’s my post-sex vocabulary.
She huffs a laugh against my collarbone. “You already used that line.”
“Did it work?”
“It did,” she admits, her fingers drawing idle patterns on my chest that absolutely guarantee I will never forget this bed, this night, or the exact path those fingers take.
Eventually, I roll over to grab water from the nightstand and hand her one.
She thanks me, takes a drink, and sets the glass down on a coaster because, of course, she does.
I pull the quilt up and tug her close so her back is to my chest, my arm heavy over her waist. She melts into me like we were built from the same mold and someone only recently remembered to put us back together.
“You okay?” I murmur into her hair.
“Mm,” she says, and I feel the sound more than hear it. “I’m… more than okay.”
I decide to try honesty on for size. “I haven’t—” I start, then stop, a little embarrassed by the truth. “I don’t bring people here.”
“To your apartment?”
“To bed,” I say. “I was a virgin, too.”
“Really?” she asks, her eyes wide.
“Yeah. I should have told you.”
“Yeah. I should have told you, too.”
Something tender flickers across her face, something I’m not sure she knows she’s showing.
We fall into an easy quiet. The faint hum of the city outside is joined by a softer one of the heater kicking on. I can feel each of her breaths where my palm rests under her ribs. In. Out. In. Out. Like the simplest drill in the world.
A thought sneaks up on me as my eyes get heavy. It’s ridiculous. It’s fast. It’s exactly how my life works when something finally makes sense.
I don’t want to sleep alone again.