Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
“Uh . . . Britta. Sweetheart.” I pull back with a grimace, shifting in my chair and making it ten times worse. “Believe me, I want to kiss you forever, but I have a problem.”
I can’t help but feel a kick of pride when it takes her a full five seconds to focus her glazed eyes. “What p-problem?”
“You know how my wrist is sprained?”
She nods.
I give her a meaningful look that is no doubt brimming with pain.
She sucks in a breath. “How long since you’ve . . . ?”
“Three days.”
Her looking down at my lap and biting her lip doesn’t help matters whatsoever. “Um. Okay. That’s unusual for you?”
“Severely.”
Her eyes are slow to leave my lap, and when they do, they’re a little unfocused. “Your left h-hand doesn’t cut it, huh?”
“It’s like buttering toast with a spoon, if that makes any sense.” Don’t look at her mouth. Or her tits. Too late, I’m devouring the sight of both. Holy fuck, my wife is so hot. “Bottom line, I’m a little too keyed up to be kissing you in public.”
What is that expression on her face? “How much longer until you can . . . ?”
“About a week,” I say thickly. “If I live that long.”
“Oh.” Abruptly, Britta sits back in her seat and crosses her legs, delicate muscles shifting in her throat. That’s when I notice how fast the pulse is beating a few inches above her collarbone. Her dress is too thin to hide her puckered nipples, too, and I nearly crush my knees to death to keep from reaching for them.
“That kiss made you horny, didn’t it?”
“Why do hockey players have to be so blunt?”
“Have you seen a hockey net? There is barely a sliver of daylight between it and the goalie. You can’t hesitate when you see opportunities. There is never time for finesse. Hence the tendency to be blunt.”
“That’s a game. This is real life.”
“You’re right, I’d use a lot of finesse with you, if given the opportunity.” My head falls back, the agony in my nether regions still very much alive and kicking. “But there wouldn’t be any finesse tonight, believe me. I’d probably snap your headboard in half.”
She moans.
The very distinct sound cuts through the crowd and pops my head up like rye bread in a toaster. Is that a tremble flowing through her thighs? What is going on with her? Sure, I’m going through hell, but we stopped kissing a few minutes ago, and she’s still out of breath. Sure, the swimsuit edition in the trash was a strong hint that Britta is attracted to me, but something more specific is going on here.
“It turns you on to know I’m one stroke from blowing up, doesn’t it?”
Pink drenches her cheeks. “Sumner.”
“Tell me I’m right.” I reach over and settle a hand on her thigh, even though it makes my situation worse. “You love that I’m down bad, don’t you?”
“I-I don’t know. This kind of thing has never turned me on before.”
“It’s okay that it does. I’m just wondering why.”
Eyes downcast, she starts to answer and stops. “I don’t know.”
I turn slightly and lower my mouth to her shoulder, kissing the soft skin beside the strap of her dress. “Because you’re the only one I get hungry for. And you know it.”
Her hips twisting sensually in the seat. When she attempts a laugh, it’s shaky. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”
That sentiment is still hanging in the air when the house lights in the arena drop even lower, and everyone stands, screaming. The headliner is walking out onto the stage, guitar in hand, his backup band throwing themselves into the first song. It’s rock music, but it’s a little smoky, with a drumbeat in the rhythm of a heartbeat. A lot of bass.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.
Those words continue to ring in my head. I’d never consider myself seductive. Not on my best day. Seduction is for women, isn’t it? It’s for Britta. Not a giant, like me. Her very existence is seductive. No one has ever used that word to describe a six-foot-five hockey player. But I remind myself of the swimsuit edition she threw away. I think of the way she kissed me. I hear her moaning over the fact that I’m stiff as nails. And I start to wonder if I might be able to seduce her after all.
On a scale from one to ten, how much heartache would that cause me?
They don’t have a scale big enough to measure it. Because sex wouldn’t change the fact that she doesn’t want a real relationship.
She’d hold her ground. And I’d want to put myself in the ground.
Britta takes a few minutes to drain her drink before finally standing, like the rest of the crowd. Her movements are fluid and sensual, her hands smoothing extra slowly down the front of her dress, palms sliding over the curves of her ass, presumably to get out the wrinkles.