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“It must be difficult to want me like this and not give yourself permission to have me,” he says in a thick voice, caging me in against the door.
“You think very highly of yourself,” I say in a croaked voice.
“Do you want to touch me, Kennedy? Maybe see what I’m working with? I bet you’re curious.”
“Or maybe you’re just hoping I’m curious,” I retort.
“Or maybe you actually are,” he challenges. “And are too afraid to act on what you really want, and what you want is me.”
I'd expected many responses from him, but this was not one of them. The tension between us is palpable, almost a living thing in the small space of his room. It crackles with electricity and pulses with heat. For a moment, all I can hear is the whoosh of my own heartbeat and the ragged breaths that Shane and I take.
“Maybe you’re right.”
Shane's eyes darken at my admission, his lips parting slightly as if he's taken aback by my boldness.
"Not so cocky now, are we?" I murmur, pressing my body closer to his. I can feel my nipples harden beneath my shirt, aching for his touch as much as it infuriates me.
"Maybe," he says huskily, his voice rough with longing. “Why don’t you find out.”
We're a dangerous game of push and pull; desire unleashed among raw words. Our connection is primal, its potency unnerving. But there’s an honesty in his eyes that keeps me anchored in this room and this moment.
Without another word, I reach out, trembling fingers lightly brushing over the bulge in his jeans.Fuck, he’s big.I daydream about how he’d fill me to the brim if I ever allowedusto happen. His breath hitches at the contact, but he doesn’t stop me. Instead, he lets out a soft moan, his forehead tilting forward against the door.
“Kennedy.”
“You’re right,” I whisper against his lips before breaking away from him completely. “I wanted to touch you.”
He blinks at me bemusedly before chuckling softly under his breath. The cockiness has returned to Shane’s eyes now, sparkling brighter than ever.
“Are you impressed with what you found?”
“Gia was a lucky girl.”
“Don’t do that,” he cautions. “I was honest with you. Don’t use it against me.”
“Whatever.”
"So what now?" he asks after a long moment, his voice a gravelly murmur that sends a quiver down my spine.
"What do you mean?"
"Well," he breathes, his eyes flickering to my lips, "you've touched me. I can't help but feel it's my turn."
A shiver of anticipation passes through me as I remember what it feels like to be touched by this hockey god.
"I think," I say in a low voice, “if we do this again that we're going to need some ground rules for this little arrangement of ours."
"Rules?" Shane quirks an eyebrow at me, the corners of his lips curving into a half-smirk that makes my stomach flip.
“Yes, rules. You have a genie wishlist and I have some rules.” I take a step back from him, putting space between us so I can think straight.
As much as I'm drawn to him – as much as every fibre in my body is screaming for his touch - I need to ensure I keep my emotions out of this as much as possible. Emotions can’t be trusted.
"Alright," Shane says after what seems like an eternity of silence. "What are these rules?"
I take a deep breath before answering, hoping my confidence in my voice doesn't betray the nervous beating of batwings in my chest.
"Firstly, no kissing."
