Page 308 of Wild Card 13

"I've carried heavier hockey bags." I started walking, her weight settling against me, warm and real. "You've got better curves, though."

Her laugh was soft, breathy against my neck, and I felt it travel down my spine. The kitchen fell behind us. Hallway. Stairs. My dress shoes clicked on the wood, each step taking us closer to where I'd spent too many nights staring at the ceiling, wondering if I'd ever have her here.

The master bedroom door was already cracked. I pushed it open with my shoulder, and the moonlight hit us, soft silver through the wide windows. The bed was unmade, sheets tangled from the morning, and I set her down on the edge of it, slow, my hands sliding from her back to her waist, not letting go.

She looked up at me, her glasses still crooked, her curls a mess, and her brown eyes held mine with something I'd never seen her wear before. Not guarded. Not careful. Just Lucy, raw and open and trusting me.

I lowered myself over her, one knee on the mattress, my handfinding her thigh where the dress had ridden up again. Her skin was warm under my palm, softer than memory, and I traced the edge of her hem, feeling her breath hitch. Her hand came up to my chest, fingers spreading over my heartbeat, and she didn't push. She pulled. Fingers hooking into my shirt collar, drawing me down until our lips were a breath apart.

"I'm not gonna disappear," I said, the words rough in my throat. "I'm not gonna wake up tomorrow and pretend this didn't happen."

She shook her head, a small smile breaking through. "I know."

Her thumb traced my collarbone, and I watched her eyes go darker, heavier. "But you're still wearing too many clothes."

I kissed her then, hard and deep, my hand sliding up her thigh, under the silk, until I felt the lace at the top of her stocking and the bare skin above it. She gasped into my mouth, arching into my touch, and I was done thinking. Done holding back. I let my hand press higher, my fingers brushing the heat of her through the thin fabric, and she bit my lip.

This time, I wasn't going to run. I was going to stay, and I was going to make sure she knew it—every second, every touch, every sound she gave me.

I pulled my hand back, just long enough to hook my fingers into the sides of her underwear and drag them down her thighs. She lifted her hips without being asked, and the trust in that small movement hit me somewhere deep. The lace slid past her knees, past her ankles, and I tossed them somewhere behind me without looking.

Her dress was still bunched around her waist, and I spread her legs, settling between them on the mattress. The lake light caught the damp shine of her, and I forgot how to breathe. She was already wet, already ready, and the sight of her like this—open, waiting for me—made my mouth go dry.

I pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. She shivered. Another kiss, higher, closer. Her hand found my hair, fingers threading through the mess of it, and she tugged, just a little, just enough to tell me she wanted more.

I wanted more, too. I wanted to learn every sound she could make, every way she could fall apart, and I wanted to be the reason she did.

My mouth found her, finally, and the taste of her floodedthrough me. Salt and want and everything I'd been missing since that hotel room—but this was different. This wasn't temporary. This was given. Her gasp broke above me, sharp and desperate, and I heard her say my name on the exhale like she was letting go of something she'd been holding for years.

I pressed my tongue flat, then curved it, finding the rhythm she liked from memory. Her hips twitched, a small roll against my mouth, and I gripped her thighs to hold her still—not to stop her, just to keep her close. She was warm and slick and mine. All mine.

Her fingers tightened in my hair, her breath coming faster, and I watched her stomach flutter with each pass of my tongue. She was close. I could feel it in the way her legs started to tremble against my ears, in the way her voice broke trying to get my attention.

"Ty, I?—"

I didn't stop. I doubled down, pressing harder, deeper, until her whole body arched off the mattress and a sound tore out of her that I wanted to bottle. She came against my mouth, shaking, gasping, and I held her through every wave, drinking her down, not letting go until she went soft and limp beneath me.

I kissed my way up her stomach, her ribs, the valley between her breasts, and when I reached her mouth, she tasted herself on my lips. She didn't seem to mind. Her hand came up to my jaw, thumb tracing my cheekbone, and her eyes were heavy and dark and full of something that made my chest ache.

"You're not done with me," she said, her voice hoarse. "Are you?"

I shook my head, already reaching for my belt buckle. "Not even close."

Her hand found mine before I could get the buckle open, fingers curling around my wrist, stopping me cold. "Let me," she said, and the soft command in her voice made my chest tighten. She sat up on the edge of the bed, her dress still bunched around her waist, her glasses somehow still crooked, and she pushed my hands aside. Her fingers worked the leather, deft and sure, and the metal clicked free. She pulled the belt slowly through the loops, like she was savoring it, and let it fall to the floor with a soft clink.

She didn't stop there. Her hands moved to the buttons of my shirt, one by one, starting at my collar and working down, herknuckles brushing my chest with each release. I held my breath, watching her, the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way her tongue touched her bottom lip. When she reached the last button, she spread the fabric open and pushed it off my shoulders, letting it fall behind me. Her palms flattened against my pecs, warm and steady, and she looked up at me with something raw and unguarded in her eyes.

I kissed her again, my hands finding her waist, pulling her against me. She tasted like she had in the kitchen—like wine and want and everything I'd been missing. Her fingers worked the button on my pants, pushing them down my hips until they pooled at my ankles. I stepped out of them, kicking them aside, and stood there in nothing but my boxers, her hands still on my stomach, tracing the line of hair below my navel. The way she looked at me—like I was the only thing in the room worth seeing—made my throat go tight.

Then she pushed me back onto the bed. My back hit the mattress, and she was on top of me before I could blink, her thighs straddling my hips, the heat of her pressing against the thin cotton of my boxers. Her curls fell forward, brushing my chest, and she looked down at me with a smile that was half mischief, half something deeper. "My turn," she said, and I felt the word in my groin.

She reached down and hooked her fingers into the waistband of my boxers, dragging them down slowly, deliberately, until I was bare beneath her. The cool air hit my skin, and then her hand closed around me, warm and sure, and I bit back a groan. She guided me to her entrance, the tip pressing against her slick heat, and she held there for a long moment, just breathing, her eyes locked on mine. "This is real," she said. "I need you to know that."

"I know." My voice came out rough, broken. "I know it is."

She sank down onto me in one slow, steady motion, and I lost all thought. The heat of her surrounded me, tight and wet and perfect, and she let out a breath that sounded like a wordless prayer. My hands found her hips, gripping the curve of bone, and for a second I forgot how to move—forgot how to do anything but feel her. She started to ride me, slow at first, a rolling rhythm that made my eyes close and my jaw clench. The lake light caught the sheen on herskin, the way her curls bounced with each roll of her hips, and she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I let her set the pace, my hands sliding up her thighs, over her stomach, cupping her breasts through the bunched silk of her dress. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on my chest, and her rhythm quickened, her breath coming in soft, desperate sounds that I felt in my bones. I arched up into her, meeting each thrust, and the friction built between us like a wildfire. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, and I watched her fall apart above me, her whole body clenching around mine as she came with a sound that broke the quiet of the room—a raw, honest cry that made her name the only thing in my head.