Puck & Make Up (A Rush Hockey #7)

Chapter 12

Twelve

Dessie

“ H ow do you know about that?” he rasps and the nerves in my stomach ramp up.

There’s a fucking tornado happening inside me, and I struggle to keep my expression placid, to not turn and haul ass out of his house.

This is…

Well, this is the biggest step I’ve taken since?—

Jett.

“Fuck, sugar,” he growls, and I jump, nearly bolt.

But before I can so much as skitter back a step, his big arms are wrapping around me and he’s hauling me against his chest in a tight hug that squeezes every bit of fear out of my body.

“How’d you know?” he asks.

“About the food or the movie?” I manage to push out, my lungs protesting.

This is terrifying and yet…I know that I’m not leaving.

Maybe my picker is still broken, maybe I’ll get hurt in the end, maybe this will all go wrong…

But I don’t think so.

Fox is…

Well, I’ve never felt like this before.

And I’ve never had someone treat me like this before.

So…I’ve decided to pull on my big girl pants and see this through to the end.

“Either,” he says, smoothing his big hand up and down my back. “Both.”

I dare to reach up and hug him back, to press my front fully to his, to rise on tiptoe and settle my hands on his broad shoulders. “I pay attention too.”

And then he does the most wonderful thing.

He smiles at me, drops his forehead against mine. “Fuck, sugar.”

“What?”

“I knew I liked you,” he whispers. “Right from the beginning, I knew it.”

My pulse pounds through my veins.

“But I didn’t know it would be this easy to love you.”

I inhale, everything cell in my body freezing and then realigning. Unlocking. Opening up to…

Fox.

He bends his head, pressing his mouth to mine, and…

It’s everything .

Soft but with the lightest brush of rough from his beard. Confident, his lips parting mine without preamble. Hot —his tongue sweeping in to tangle with mine. His groan vibrates through his chest and then he’s lifting me up, setting me on the counter, stepping between my thighs, and kissing me until my lungs protest, until my heart’s pounding, until I’m basically a melted pile of goo.

“Goddamn, sugar,” he rasps when he pulls his mouth from mine.

“It’s your fault,” I say.

“Yours,” he counters, cupping my jaw. “For giving me this.”

“It’s just a movie and dinner.”

“No.” He presses his lips to mine for a brief but intense kiss. “You’re giving me you .”

He’s not wrong.

Even if I can’t give voice to that fact yet.

He taps his finger to the tip of my nose. “And I knew you’d taste sweet as sugar.” A wink as he lifts me down then lightly swats my ass. “Now am I parking my ass on a stool and watching you cook my favorite meal? Or are you putting me to work?”

The man can chop some veggies.

And he didn’t get mad when I got distracted watching him and burned the sauce, making him have to run out and get replacement ingredients.

And his face when he saw what I brought for dessert?

I’ll never forget it.

Or the kiss he laid on me afterward.

It’s just chocolate pie from River’s Bend’s bakery and homemade whipped cream.

But we both know it’s more. So much more.

Now, we’re both full of chicken and pasta and pie, and I’m sitting on the couch as he loads up the movie. Thank God he has a video game console to play it on, though I guess we could have streamed it from somewhere.

It wouldn’t have been the same, though.

Yeah, it’s silly, but I like this better.

There’s something about falling into the ritual of opening up a DVD case, pulling out the disc and putting it into the player, then sitting back as the movie’s home screen fills the TV screen that feels right.

“You know,” he says, pointing the remote at the screen and changing the input so that we see that home screen, “I know that I’ve been striking out on the whole job search thing, but maybe I’ve been focusing on the wrong thing.”

I tilt my head to the side, study him closely. “What do you mean?”

He sits down next me. “Have you ever thought about going back to school?”

My first instinct is to say no freaking way, but…

There’s something that stops me.

He tracks that hesitation.

“Well, that’s not an immediate no,” he says lightly.

“No, it’s not.” I let him tuck me into his side. “I just…”

“What would you want to study?”

“It’s silly,” I say, “but I always thought it would be interesting to take business classes.”

“Yes.” He snaps his fingers. “That’s perfect! Business management.”

“What?”

“The inventory at the bar. The new ordering system. Streamlining the kitchen. You’ve got Monroe’s working more efficiently than ever. And that wouldn’t just be a one-off. You’d be great at it.”

“I—”

He turns to me, huge smile on his face, and it calls to that kernel of excitement inside me.

“You know what? I think I could be.”

“I know you would be,” he says, touching my cheek, “but no hard sell on my front. Think about it? Sit in it? And then if it feels right we’ll figure out the next steps?”

If it feels right we’ll ?—

I love him.

I love this man, and I probably have for far longer than I’m willing to admit.

But before I can find the courage to give voice to that thought, the movie starts to play.

And then I’m sitting next to man I love, watching his favorite movie.

Pretty Woman.

The last thing I remember is the gorgeous Julia Roberts covered in bubbles.

The next thing I’m aware of is…

Movement.

My eyes fly open, and I realize that Fox has me cradled against his chest and is carrying me upstairs.

“Shh, sugar,” he murmurs, holding me a little tighter. “I’ll tuck you in bed then go sleep downstairs. Don’t worry.”

“I can make it home,” I say.

“I know you can.” He bends and settles me on something soft—a bed, I deduce with my excellent reasoning skills. “But it’s a long drive and I’ll worry. So, you’re going to stay and sleep here.”

“Is that an order?”

He flicks on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room with softly glowing light. He’s smiling but there’s a thread of steel in his eyes, and I know he’ll fight me on this…because he cares. “Do I need to make it one?” he asks quietly.

“Do you like playing dangerous games?” I counter.

Now his smile turns wicked. “Only with you.”

My pussy spasms. “ Fox .”

A hand on my cheek. “Sleep, sugar lips,” he says—or rather orders (and settles warmly against my heart, same as the previous one). “I’ll see you in the morning.” He tugs the blankets up and over me. “Night.”

I catch his hand before he can leave. “Or you could stay,” I say softly. “Stay and sleep with me.”

Heat in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to just sleep, sugar.”

Another spasm, heat and desire gathering between my legs. “That’s okay,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t be able to just sleep either.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

Then his fingers tighten around mine, our gazes connect, and the need in his deep brown eyes steals the last of the air from my lungs. “You sure?” he asks gruffly.

In answer, I use my free hand to find the corner of the blanket he tucked over me and toss it back.

“Kind of need the words, sugar,” he says, his fingers flexing around mine, his body tense and poised on razor’s edge.

I don’t even have a moment of hesitation before I tell him, “I’m sure.”

For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move—but then…he does.

His body comes over mine, pressing me into the mattress. He’s heavy—not unpleasantly so, especially when he braces himself on his elbows, one on either side of my head, and his legs settle between mine.

“ Oh ,” I whisper when I find my pelvis suddenly cradling his.

So that I feel all of him.

It’s glorious.

And big.

And mine .

“Like that, sugar?” he asks with a wicked smile.

“Yes”—I hook a leg around his hip—“though I’m hoping it’s going to get better.”

“Oh, it’s going to get better .” He shifts so that one of his hands is free and trails it up along my side. At the same time, he drops his head, pressing our mouths together, and the kiss he gives me makes me forget to breathe, makes me forget to think, makes me forget to do anything except to want .

“God, sugar,” he rumbles as his fingers find the hem of my T-shirt and slip beneath the fabric to caress my side. “Your skin is like silk.”

His fingertips are rough, the calluses from hockey abrading my skin in the best way. I shiver, goose bumps rising on my flesh, but he doesn’t stop, just continues shoving the fabric of my shirt up, exposing more and more of my flesh to that heated gaze of his.

When it’s bunched up just beneath my breasts, he shifts again, giving it one quick tug and pulling it over my head.

The fabric flies across the room and then he’s reaching beneath me, undoing the clasp of my bra, tugging the straps down my shoulders, my arms, tossing that scrap of material to the side just as quickly as he’d done my shirt.

“Fuck,” he growls, “you’re beautiful.”

And I’ve never felt more so.

It’s impossible to do anything but believe those words with the desire etched into his expression, the need blazing through his eyes, the gentle, reverent way he touches me.

One big palm cups my breast, kneading my flesh.

“Oh, God,” I moan when his thumb traces over the hardened bud of my nipple. He rolls it between thumb and forefinger, putting those roughened fingertips to good use and I can’t hold still. I grind against him, riding the hard ridge of his erection, feeling my pleasure build to almost desperate levels.

I’m ready to explode.

Need for this man, need for more —it tears through me.

I have to get naked, have to touch him, have to feel him inside me.

Luckily, he seems to read that desperation in me and drops his head, kissing his way along my jaw, down my throat, pausing at my breasts.

“These tits are fucking mine .”

He sucks at my nipple, sending wave after wave of pleasure through me and my fingers dive into his hair, holding his mouth against me, keeping him there, soaking in the sensation—the heat of his mouth, the rough stroke of his beard on my skin, the flash of his teeth, the soothing stroke of his tongue.

I gasp as he switches sides.

Rubbing that beard along the underside of my breast, pinching my nipple hard enough to make me gasp then assuaging the sting with his tongue. It’s teeth and lips, touch and teasing, but not hurry .

Because he even though desire is ripping through me, he’s not in any rush. He takes his time worshiping my breasts slowly before kissing his way down my abdomen, inch by inch.

A flick opens the button of my jeans.

A nudge pushes them down, down, off.

And then his fingertips are playing with the waistband of my underwear, drawing it down an inch, kissing the exposed flesh before coaxing it down another inch. Then another, another, another . Until I’m completely exposed to him.

He parts my legs, tossing one over each shoulder, and?—

His tongue traces through my folds, a sleek, hot brand that arrows in on where I need him the most.

“Fuck,” he rasps, eyes blazing into mine. “Sweet, so fucking sweet.”

And then he goes back to ravaging my pussy with his mouth, putting his beard to good use, dragging it over my sensitive flesh. His tongue circles my clit and he nibbles, lightly teasing that sensitive bud with his teeth, ratcheting my pleasure even higher.

Every muscle in my body is taut.

Every cell is on knife’s edge.

My lungs are heaving. My eyes are unfocused, my thighs are squeezing so tightly around his neck and shoulders that he might not be able to breathe, but I can’t bring myself to loosen my hold, can’t do anything but stay poised on that narrow edge when he slides a finger inside me.

It’s thick and hard, and he curls it up, stroking against the inner walls of my pussy.

I shudder, that pleasure closing in.

“Fox,” I plead, not wanting to go without him.

“No, sugar.” He slips another finger in and orders, “ Come ,” thrusting hard and deep inside of me…

And I have no choice.

There’s no stopping it.

The train is barreling down the tracks, the countdown has begun to send the rocket off into space, the boulder is rolling down the hill threatening everything at the bottom…

And my orgasm is tearing through me.