Page 47 of Slapshot Bride

The blanket gone, the t-shirt I gave her riding up on her thighs to reveal the tiny shorts she has on. Her palms are resting on my shoulder, hair now blanketing her face as she tries to shake me awake. She’s very gentle with it, saying my name in a quiet, apologetic voice.

“Easton. Hey…”

“Hey…”

Our eyes meet in the darkness, hers glowing.

“Sorry. You fell asleep. I was going to walk you upstairs, but you are very large and I'm very small, and I think I overestimated my logistics.”

I laugh. It’s groggy from sleep, and tired too but I can’t help it.

The image of this woman, who weighs about a hundred and fifteen pounds, attempting to haul my six foot two ass up a flight of stairs, is the funniest thing I have heard in a week.

She rolls her eyes. The corner of her mouth twitches.

“Well, you’re awake now.” She taps my shoulders once more. “Come on, it’s bed time.”

She shifts to get off me, leans her weight forward on her knees and starts to swing her leg back over the couch and in doing so, by approximately half an inch, she shifts directly on my bulge.

A gasp flees her lips. Her eyes land on mine.

My laugh dies.

She freezes. For a second, we stay there, wordless.

In the dark, with the blue light of the credits, all I can see are her eyes. Wide. Locked on mine.

Her hands are still on my chest, and her hips are frozen exactly where they are, which is exactly where I don't have the discipline to pretend they are not.

“Riley...” I groan and try to shift, but that only makes it worse. “Maybe you should move. I can’t exactly turn this off.”

The pressure of her soft body against mine has me rock hard within seconds, and there’s no way she doesn’t feel it. Every inch of me is pressed against her.

Fuck.

I want to apologize for this. For the other day. For all of it.

The apology is already on my tongue when her fingers come up and press gently against my lips.

Her lips are still parted, and I see her tongue sneak out to wet them.

My eyes trail the motion in the dark, and a groan forms in my throat. She’s killing me and she has no idea.

Her hand drops, slowly, and lands flat on the center of my chest, over my heart.

“Easton…”

“Yeah…”

“Can you… m-make me forget? Just for tonight.” Her voice is shaky.

I look at her in my shirt, in my house, on my lap, with her hand on my chest, and I think about every promise I made in the shower a few nights ago to a man in a mirror who was not going to be careless with this woman, and I know I’m on the verge of throwing it all out.

“Is…” She licks her lips again. “Is that okay?”

My hands reach for her waist instinctively, and my fingers dig into her supple flesh. She shudders against me, pressing her more firmly against my hard member.

“Riley… sweetheart, I can’t…”