Page 237 of Cross Check

We both know he’s nothing but a nice guy, but a thrill still zips up my spine as he carries me down the hall. The filthy words move down my body like a caress, not stopping until they reach between my legs.

For a man who had almost no bedroom experience before we got together, he knows all the right things to say.

“On my ass,” I answer. My cheeks burn with a mix of lust and curiosity. Another thing I haven’t tried, but have always wanted to. “If that’s something you’d like.”

“You’ve helped me learn I’m definitely an ass man.” Grant kicks the door to his bedroom open and walks across the rug. “And painting yours with my cum is a recent fantasy.”

Hell.

I love when he doesn’t bother to hold back what’s on his mind. His bluntness is sexy, and when he drops me on the mattress, I rest my hand on my stomach, desperate to touch myself.

“Is there anything you want to do before that?” I ask. I keep my eyes on him while my fingers wander. I play with the waistband of my underwear, and the whimper Grant lets out fuels my longing. “Or should we skip straight to the ass part?”

“I never want to rush when I’m with you.”

He pulls off his socks and his athletic shorts, nudging them out of the way with his foot, but leaves his shirt on like he promised. His gray briefs show off the hard work he’s put into every grueling practice so far this year, and I’m so ridiculously attracted to him.

Lean abdomen muscles are visible under the hem of his shirt. His thick thighs and defined calves round out his beautiful physique, and he’s such a man.

His skin flushes when I brush my knuckles against my clit. His cock strains against his briefs and he dips his hand in his underwear, adjusting his length so the tip is tucked into the elastic waistband.

“Do you want to watch? Do you want to touch me?” I slide my underwear off so I’m naked except for my earrings and necklace, just like he wanted. “Maybe something else?”

“I want to touch you. I always want to touch you,” Grant croaks, and he ditches his underwear too. He climbs on the bed and settles between my thighs, making sure to prop my head up with two pillows. “I’m going to get you off, then I’m going to fuck you nice and slow.”

“What happened to the guy who isn’t sweet?” I whine when he takes my nipple and twists it. The bite of pain subsides when he follows it up with his mouth, licking my nipple to soothe the sting. “Fuck.”

“He’s still here. Fucking love these earrings.” He touches my ear again, the graze of his fingers light and delicate against the diamond. “You’re so gorgeous when you dress up, Lia.”

I squirm on the sheets, the glide of his words leaving a torturous wake when he kisses my neck. He sucks on the skin there, but it’s not enough to not leave a noticeable red spot. Grant never marks me—not in a place people could see and ask questions—and I love that he’s just on the cusp of control.

“And I love your crop top.” My hands touch his shoulders and down his back. They slide to his stomach, and his body jolts when my fingers brush the head of his cock. “It’s sexy that you wear what you want.”

“Glad you think so,” he rasps. He moves his mouth, kissing my collarbone and the top of my chest. His lips roam over my skin, and he stops when he gets to my necklace. He runs his tongue along the silver chain, wetting the pendant at the bottom. “Can I dress you up more?”

“How?” I ask, my brain turning fuzzy when he ruts his hips and bumps his cock against the inside of my thigh. “Do you want me to put clothes back on?”

“Never.”

The hand with his tattoo—the mark that traced over my own handwriting—wraps around my throat. It’s far from the first time he’s done this, but with half his clothes on and my breath a low gasp when he squeezes, it’s more intimate than before. A change in the power dynamic where he’s completely in control.

His palm is big, and I love the way his callouses scrape against my windpipe. It’s a reminder of his strength, of the brute force he exhibits on the ice and how heavy he lifts in the weight room, and I wrap my legs around his waist to draw him closer.

“I like your jewelry the most,” I say, sinking into oblivion at the new pressure.

It’s not hard enough to make me stop breathing, but it’s a juxtaposition to the careful way he rocks forward so his cock presses against my entrance.

“Do you want to come?” he asks, his free hand teasing between my legs. He doesn’t push inside—not yet—and I wiggle beneath him. “Or do you want to wait?”

“I want to come. Please.”

“That’s going to be easy with your pussy full of my fingers and your throat decorated with a hand necklace, isn’t it?” There’s another hard squeeze as he slides two fingers inside me, and my back arches off the bed. “Such a needy girl.”

A moan rattles out of me. I’d normally try to stretch out the sensation for as long as I can, but I am needy. I’m goddamn feral to have him inside me, to feel the possessiveness that always comes out when he’s caught in the moment of passion, and I move my hips in an effort to help him get deeper.

“Three,” I whisper. “I can take three.”

“Nah.” Grant positions his body right over mine, his mouth back at my ear. His exhale is warm and divine at the pressure point on my neck, and I gasp for air. “My girl can take four fingers, and you’re going to say thank you after.”