Page 36 of Knottingley Ever After
Tongue sweeping in to tangle with mine, teeth grazing my lower lip in a way that pulled another helpless sound from my throat.
The tension from the ice had coiled between us all morning—every stolen glance across the rink, every chirp, every time his scent had wrapped around me like a dare.
Now he was cashing in, and I was more than happy to lose this particular overtime.
Breathless, he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against mine. Water dripped from his dark lashes, hazel eyes gone molten gold at the edges. My legs squeezed tighter around him, heels digging into the small of his back, and a low chuckle rumbled through his chest—rich, taunting, the kind that made my stomach flip in the best worst way.
“So, Pinky,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough over the steady patter of water, “you like handing over the reins, or do you prefer calling every shot?”
I smirked, dragging my nails lightly down the back of his neck just to feel him shiver.
“Pick your poison, Santori. I’m versatile.”
He hummed, the sound vibrating against my collarbone where his lips brushed next.
“So you’re saying you like a man who knows how to lead.” His hips rolled once, teasing, pressing the hard line of him against my core through the last barrier of his soaked boxers. “With reason. Or maybe… just for me?”
The arrogance should’ve grated. Instead, it curled warm and low in my belly.
“With reason,” I shot back, nipping at his jaw. “Don’t let it go to your head, Twenty-One. Or maybe do. I like watching you preen.”
Another chuckle, this one darker.
“We’re on borrowed time before some nosy bastard comes looking for their star winger. Clock’s ticking, O’Shea.”
I grinned, wicked and unrepentant, grinding down against him just enough to make his breath hitch.
“Then you’d best speed up the process, Captain’s pet project.”
Matteo’s eyes flashed with pure delight.
“Support yourself for a second, Trouble.”
I tightened my arms around his neck, core clenching in anticipation as he shifted. One hand stayed anchored under my thigh, the other hooked into the waistband of his drenched boxers.
He shoved them down just far enough. His cock sprang free—thick, veiny, flushed dark and already glistening at the tip. The sheer sight of it, heavy and insistent against my inner thigh, sent a fresh rush of slick flooding between my legs, mixing with the water still streaming around us.
He stroked himself once, twice, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving my face. Then he pressed me back against the tiles, lowering me just enough to slide that hot length along my entrance, coating himself in my arousal.
The friction dragged a gasp from both of us.
“Last chance to bail, Pinky,” he warned, voice strained, forehead pressed to mine again. “Say the word, and I’ll set you down, get you fed, pretend this never happened.”
I laughed, breathless and bright, the sound echoing off wet tile.
“You think I’m a quitter? After what you saw on the ice today?”
His grin turned feral.
“From what I saw, hell no. But if you pull that skull-save shit without eating again, I’m gonna be pissed.”
I rolled my eyes, even as I rocked against him, chasing more of that delicious pressure.
“But you’re fine with something as strenuous as fucking me on an empty stomach? Hypocrite.”
Matteo barked a laugh that dissolved into a groan as he notched himself at my entrance.
“That’s gonna be real short-lived, sweetheart. We’re definitely doing lunch after this. Multiple courses. I plan on keeping you vertical long enough to watch you demolish a plate of something that isn’t disappointment.”
