Page 73 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot
She’s thanked me twice already, but I’ll take it.
I let my fingers linger, my thumb brushing lightly against the fabric, just enough to tease, and lean in closer, catching the faintest trace of her perfume—a mix of something sweet and floral that makes my pulse quicken.
Unable to resist, I tilt my head and press a soft, deliberate kiss against the curve of her neck.
She inhales.
Lets out the tiniest groan.
My cock stiffens when she shifts again, lilting her head to the side—it’s an invitation to keep going. Keep kissing her neck.
So, I do.
My lips trail lower, brushing against the sensitive parts of her skin, the sound of her breath catching again is enough to make me tighten my grip on her thigh.
God damn, I’m in the mood to fuck.
Maybe I can ask the driver to keep going around the block and?—
“Gio,” my date murmurs, voice barely rising a fraction.
I raise my head. “Hmm?” My reply is against her skin, the vibration of my voice next to her ear earning me the slightest shiver.
“I think we’re here.” She taps me on the leg. “We’re not driving anymore.”
Fuck.
She’s right.
The car has indeed come to a stop, the soft idle of the engine now filling the silence.
The timing sucks.
I pull back just enough to glance out the window, catching sight of the private lot outside the arena, illuminated by overhead lights. My jaw tightens, a mix of frustration and anticipation bubbling to the surface.
This moment? Ruined. But the next one will be perfect, I’m sure of it.
Her gaze follows mine, brows furrowing slightly as the wheels in her head start to turn. I can see the questions forming behind those curious eyes.
“Wait—are we at—?” she begins, turning to face me fully.
“C’mon,” I cut her off, sliding my hand from her thigh and grabbing hers, giving it a tug. “You’ll see.”
Her hand tightens around mine when I help her out of the vehicle, though whether it’s from excitement or nerves, I can’t tell. Maybe both. She steps out gracefully, clutching her bag while her eyes sweep over the building in front of us.
“Oh my God, what are we doing here?”
She sounds like a kid on Christmas morning and I can’t helpbut feel a swelling sense of pride as I lead her toward the private entrance.
“Did you bring me to skate? I’m in heels,” she asks, her voice laced with playful suspicion.
I shake my head as I swipe the keycard over the door pad and pull it open, holding it so she can walk in ahead of me.
“Trust,” I say, grin widening.
She steps through cautiously, her high heels clacking softly against the concrete floor. Her hand grips my arm, steadying herself as if she doesn’t fully trust the shoes she chose for tonight.
The moment we step inside, we’re hit by an explosion of cool air, the unmistakable chill from the rink’s air conditioning wrapping around us.
