Chapter 18
Mauricio POV
Her small weight in my lap was the only anchor holding me to the earth.
The gale outside drove sheets of snow against the glass with the force of thrown gravel, but the apartment was a vault of dry, suffocating heat. The radiator clanked in the corner, venting steam that smelled of old cast iron and warm cedar.
My hands rested on the denim covering her waist, my thumbs tucked beneath the hem of my gray hoodie.
For three seasons, every waking second of my life had been measured in defensive assignments, penalty minutes, and the four-thousand-two-hundred-dollar transfers due to the Scarborough clinic. My nervous system had stayed locked in an unbroken survival sprint.
Now, with Kiyomi Blake straddling my thighs, her small palms pressed flat over my sternum, the brutal tension behind my temples simply gave way.
My jaw muscles went slack. The breath left my chest in a long, shuddering exhale that ruffled the dark hair curling against her forehead.
Her honey-brown eyes were wide, dark, and steady, drinking in the unvarnished surrender on my face.
She didn't look away. Her fingers shifted against my bare skin, her nails dragging lightly across the ridge of my collarbone, setting off a wave of fevered warmth that rushed straight to the base of my spine.
"Look at me, sweetheart," I rasped, my voice thick with gravel.
"I'm looking, Mauricio," she whispered. Her voice was small, breathless, but stripped bare of fear.
I brought my right hand up, my calloused fingers cupping the side of her neck, my thumb stroking the soft skin just below her earlobe. Her carotid artery was drumming a frantic, racing rhythm against my palm—eighty, ninety beats a minute—matching the heavy, sledgehammer stroke behind my own ribs.
I leaned in, brushing my lips against hers.
The contact was agonizingly slow. A soft, reverent friction of warmth against warmth.
Her mouth parted on a tiny gasp, and I took the opening with deliberate patience, tasting the sweetness of her tongue, letting my lips trace the delicate curve of her upper lip before pulling back a fraction of an inch.
"Good girl," I murmured into her mouth, my thumb brushing across her flushed cheek. "Just breathe. We have all night."
A soft, broken sigh escaped her chest, her forehead coming down to rest against the hollow of my shoulder. Her fingers curled into the hair at my nape, holding on like I was the only solid thing left in a whiteout.
* * *
I didn't let her walk.
I slid my left arm beneath her knees and my right arm behind her shoulders, rising from the sofa in one smooth, unhurried motion.
Kiyomi gasped, her arms instantly locking around my neck, her face burying into the crook of my throat.
She weighed almost nothing in my grip—one hundred and twenty pounds of slender grace against my two hundred and twenty-five pounds of armored muscle.
The contrast made my chest ache with a fierce, protective weight that knocked the air from my lungs.
I carried her down the short, dark hallway into my bedroom.
The room was vast, austere, and silent. Pale blue snowlight poured through two tall sash windows, casting a cool, diffused glow across the heavy oak bed frame and the dark charcoal quilt.
I set her down on the edge of the mattress.
She sat there, her bare feet dangling, her small hands resting on the edge of the dark sheets. The gray hoodie fell nearly to her knees, swallowing her frame. She looked up at me through the fringe of her dark hair, her pupils dilated until only a thin sliver of gold remained in her irises.
I dropped to my knees on the braided rug between her legs.
The shift in height put my face level with her chest. I reached out, resting my large, calloused palms on her knees, feeling the fine, involuntary tremor running through her thighs.
"You cold?" I asked, my voice low and rough.
"No," she breathed. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow draws. "Not cold."
I reached for the ribbed hem of the gray hoodie.
"Arms up, Kiyomi."
The command was soft, measured, carrying the steady authority she had yielded to in my truck.
She didn't hesitate. She lifted her slender arms above her head, her gaze locked on mine. I peeled the heavy fleece up over her torso, drawing it off her wrists and tossing it onto the floorboards.
The breath locked in my throat.
She wore a thin black silk camisole, the delicate lace bordering the neckline framing the pale, flawless curve of her collarbones and the gentle slope of her breasts.
Her skin was warm, glowing like polished ivory in the dim winter light, her nipples beaded against the fine fabric from the chill in the air.
My hands came to rest flat on her ribs.
My fingers spanned the width of her torso, callouses rough against her smooth, burning skin. I felt every rapid stroke of her pulse, every hitch of her breathing, as my thumbs stroked the soft hollow beneath her breastbone.
"Look at you," I murmured, the words dragged raw from the bottom of my chest. "You're magnificent, Kiyomi."
A dark pink flush bloomed across her chest, spreading up her throat to her cheekbones. Her hands came down, resting on my bare shoulders, her small fingers digging into the dense muscle of my traps as I leaned forward, pressing my mouth to the hollow of her throat.
She arched off the mattress, a sharp, ragged sound breaking from her lips as my stubble grazed her sensitive skin.
"Mauricio," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"I've got you," I rasped against her pulse point. "I'm right here."
I reached for the drawstring of the flannel sweatpants bunched at her hips. Slowly, deliberately, I loosened the knot, sliding the heavy fabric down the smooth length of her legs, tossing them aside until she sat in only the black lace.
Her bare thighs were parted around my shoulders, her breath coming in quick, shallow puffs that warmed the back of my neck.
I pressed a slow, scorching kiss to the inside of her knee, feeling her fingers knot tight into my hair.
* * *
I stood up, stripped my black compression tank over my head, and tossed it to the floor.
The bed dipped beneath my weight as I climbed onto the mattress, gathering her slender body against mine. I reached down, hauling the thick charcoal quilt up over our shoulders, sealing out the room's draft, trapping us inside a private, heat-soaked sanctuary.
The contact of her bare skin against mine was an absolute, blinding shock.
Her thighs brushed against the heavy muscle of my legs; her small chest pressed flat against my scarred ribs. She fit against me with terrifying, seamless perfection, her head resting on my bicep, her fingers splayed wide over the center of my breastbone.
I rolled over, propping my weight on my forearms, hovering over her in the dim light of the snowstorm.
She looked up at me, her dark hair splayed across the white pillowcase, her mouth swollen, parted, and wet.
Her hands moved to my hips, her fingers gripping the waistband of my shorts, pulling me down by an agonizing fraction of an inch until the heat between our bodies was a solid, throbbing friction.
"Breathe for me, Kiyomi," I growled softly, my face hovering inches from hers.
Her throat worked as she swallowed, her eyelids fluttering. "I'm breathing."
"Tell me what you want," I murmured, my hand sliding down her side, my fingers tracing the delicate curve of her hip, testing the trembling heat of her skin. "Say the words. Tell me you want me."
She didn't flinch. She lifted her chin, her honey-brown eyes blazing with an unshakeable, fierce resolve that made my pulse roar in my ears.
"I want you, Mauricio," she whispered, her voice clear, absolute, and unyielding. "I want all of you. Right now."
A dark, possessive sound tore from my throat.
My hand moved to the back of her neck, tilting her head, and my mouth crashed down onto hers with demanding, desperate hunger.
She met the kiss with an intensity that matched mine, her small hands tangling into the sheets, her hips arching upward to meet my weight as the storm raged outside, drowning the world in white, leaving only the two of us burning in the dark.