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“Oh,” I cry out.
His tongue creates a relentless rhythm against me as he works his finger in and out. It’s not gentle like last night, but punishing. Like I’ve been bad and he’s teaching me a lesson by way of rough, dominating pleasure. My hips jerk against his face when he inserts a second finger, stretching me apart as he bites down lightly on my clit, tugging my skin in a way that feels so good it’s painful.
My fingers grip his hair, all sense of reason or shame gone. I thrust myself against his face, chasing my orgasm as his tongue slides over me in time with his fingers curling and hitting that spot deep within me.
He doesn’t tear his gaze away from me as I scream his name and explode around him, his movements not stopping until my legs fall limp and my body shakes around him. Even then, he places one last kiss on my clit before crawling up my body and placing a soft kiss on my forehead.
“You’re so pretty when you come.”
My cheeks hurt from smiling, and I’m too undone to respond properly. The only word I can manage to mumble out is his name. “Sean.”
“I’m glad you liked it, baby.” His lips press against mine, and my eyes flutter shut as my skin tingles. “I’m sorry, but I really have to go. I wish I could stay and cuddle you.” He stands, licking his lips and looking back at me in a way that shows me that he’s telling the truth. “Make sure to eat, I made those croissants myself. Stay in bed as long as you’d like. I’ll be back after practice.”
He made me come. He made breakfast himself. The thoughts bury a warm sensation deep within my chest.
Minutes pass before I can bring myself to move.
I find his t-shirt from the day I met him and put it on, bringing the collar to my nose and inhaling deep. It smells just like him. I close my eyes. It smells like his arms around my waist and my cheek pressed against his chest. It is the soft press of his lips against mine, the heated looks that cause my hands to tremble, and the desperate desire I feel when I see him walk into a room.
I take him up on his offer, choosing to stay in his bed, wrapped in his clothes and his sheets. It’s beyond comforting. And I cling to that instead of the anxiety that simmers just beneath, unsure of what we’re becoming, and what I mean to him.
CHAPTER 17
SEAN
The morning practice is supposed to be short, but with my thoughts distracted, time seems to slow around me. My mind is either unable or unwilling to stop turning over the events of last night in my head. My imagination is as real as if it’s happening again, preventing me from focusing on the puck as it flies across the ice, always past me. I can feel the guys staring daggers into my back, but it doesn’t help.
Inhaling sharply, I swear under my breath as memories of Astrid flash back last night. My lips on hers. The way her little hands felt against my skin or tangled in my hair. Her eagerness. Her excitement. The way it felt to buried deep inside of her as she moaned my name.
Connor slaps a heavy hand on my shoulder as he skates past. “Dude, what’s wrong? Get it together, man. Before Tommy benches you.”
I shake my head. I don’t need the words said out loud to know that Tommy picks up on my poor performance. I force myself to think about the ice in front of me, about hockey, about anything other than Astrid and how fucking perfect she is. My determination only works so well. Our time together has replayed on a loop in my brain a thousand times a day since she moved in. And today is no exception. I can’t escape her. And getting out of this practice alive is going to take more concentration and iron-clad will than I have left in me.
Coach Tommy barks out instructions, and the drills start again. The crisp air of the arena fills my lungs as I focus on each movement, pushing aside the distractions that threaten to intrude. We move as a unit, the synchronicity of the team building a collective determination.
“Bro. You’re slow today,” Mike shouts, skating past after I missed a pass.
“Is it that girl?” Cory asks, grumbling, circling around me as we make our way back to center ice.
Is it?
“Guys, focus!” Coach Matt’s order echoes through the arena.
It’s like once those words are out, they plant a seed in my mind that twists its way around everything. And once that seed of doubt is planted, it takes root. Suddenly a mere whisper from a teammate resonates in the recesses of my mind. Is it that girl? The words hang in the air, and I can't help but pause, my gaze drifting momentarily from the puck.
Long enough to have it stolen away again by the defense. Fuck.
Any attempt at immersing myself in the rhythm of the game is for nothing. I can see the ice and the guys in front of me, but I can’t navigate through them, let alone with any direction or purpose.
I’d say I’m going through the motions but that would be generous. It’s more like I’m skating around the ice, taking up space and praying that it will be enough to count as practice.
I start to think I’ve gotten away with it too until Coach calls practice. The guys move off the ice, their conversations abuzz with the usual banter, but my thoughts remain tethered to the man I feel watching me.
But I can’t deal with this right now. The sweat drips down my face and I’m desperate to get into the shower and then get home. And despite my best efforts to walk fast and avoid eye contact, I can sense him approaching as I walk back towards the locker room. Great. I do my best to ignore him anyway, hoping he’ll lose interest as I strip off my gear for a much-needed reprieve.
A cold, cold shower.
“You forget how to play?” Coach Tommy asks, his voice dripping in disdain.
