Page 92 of Ice Queen

When I lift my head, her teeth are digging into her bottom lip, eyes blissed out.

“Then you can watch as I finish myself off a second time with my vibrator.”

My eyes widen, dinner and a show? Sign me the hell up.

I have never in my life shared a night with a woman who made me feel so damn cherished at the end. Maybe that’s why my Mamá used to tell me not to have sex just to have sex, not that I listened. The way she looked into my eyes with nothing but trust and admiration caught me so off guard that I was hit with every emotion in the book.

Relief that she actually trusts me, fear that I’d mess it up, doubt that I’m actually enough for her. But then, something far more devastating: love. Not the kind I thought I had for Millie, but visceral, mind-numbing love. The kind that makes you do stupid shit just to see them smile.

She isn’t here for my name or the money that comes with it. She’s here for me. Just me. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that she’s ruined every chance for there to ever be someone else. Not that I’d want there to be. It’s Kait or nothing.

It’s not even because the sex itself was great. It’s because she checked in with me every so often. Asking if I was okay, or if something was too much. She softly whispered praise when I did something she liked. How she loved it when I told her what I liked. It was an evening spent getting to know each other on a level I didn’t know was possible.

I finally convinced her to show me how to use the paddle, and the little minx turned around and used it on me. The power exchange was monumental, something I never knew I’d be into. At this point, I’m convinced she could ask to put me on a leash and let her walk me around like Maggie, and I’d drop to my knees faster than she could blink.

“Can I try to make you chocolate chip pancakes again?” Kait asks, her hand lazily drawing circles on my chest. I didn’t even realize she had woken up.

Kissing the top of her forehead, I nod. “Morning, Princesa.”

She hums softly. “Good morning.” Her lips press into the middle of my chest, placing a few soft kisses there, her eyes still closed, and a content smile on her face.

If there’s one sight I could have every morning for the rest of my life, it would be this. Her hair draped over my arm, sated and happy against my chest. Getting to hold her is a privilege I hope I never take for granted. She groans as she rolls over, giving me a view of her round ass, before she hops out of bed and disappears into the bathroom.

Is it too early to pull her back into bed?

I stare at the ceiling, following the blades of the fan round and round until I lose count of its rotations. In the past, I’ve been the one who does all the work. The women I’ve been with just wanted the bragging rights to say they’d been with me. Honestly, that lost its luster years ago. I haven’t been “Playboy Sammy” in the way the media paints me since I was playing in Chicago.

I’d never had the opportunity to play around with toys. Granted, we’ve read about fifty books that have them in them. It’s always piqued my curiosity, but why explore that with someone I’d never see again?

This entire experience was life-changing, and not in the way you’d think. It showed me something I didn’t know was possible. It showed that I can be soft and let someone else drive, trusting her with my pleasure. I didn’t hate it at all. In fact, I want her to do it again and again.

I leave again tonight to meet back up with my team for one more game before we have a little break before conference finals, and I really don’t want to. I can’t wait for the season to be over, just so I can spend more time at home with her.

“If we make it to the finals, will you come to a home game?” I ask when she comes back out.

She stops mid-step and narrows her eyes at me. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to watch because you guys are crazy superstitious.”

“I know, but it’d mean a lot if you came.”

“I did, twice.” She lobs back with a wink.

My head hits the pillow, a laugh bellowing from my chest. When I finally get a hold of myself, she’s standing in the middle of the room, wearing the black Henley I had on last night and a smile that I want to see every morning.

“If you want me there, I’ll be there.” She walks across the room, stopping to give me a minty kiss before pulling the door open and disappearing behind it.

I want her there more than I’ve ever wanted anything else. If we play our cards right and make it to the finals, the last game should be a home game. If I can pull her out on the ice, plant a kiss right on those luscious lips of hers in front of the entire world, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

Put an end to every freaking rumor they try to spin to fit whatever narrative they want. In the same breath, I want to hide her from everyone until I put a ring big enough to see from space on her finger. She’d probably hate that, though. Wait, what? Where did that thought even come from?

Panic slices through me. One night with this woman, and I’m already thinking about tying her to me for life? But then the look she gave me last night after we were finished pops into my mind. Hooded eyes, a dopey smile, goosebumps that popped up as I trailed my fingers over her skin, looking every bit like she was already mine, the panic ebbs a bit.

Keeping her close might have been for my own selfish desire to keep her safe, but I don’t regret her being here. I don’t regret the feelings that have made a home in my heart, ones that brought life back to what was dead and buried. I do regret giving her this room, though.

I’m going to have to work on that. I can’t set the room on fire without risking the rest of the house going up in flames, too.

Why don’t you just ask her to sleep in your room, idiot?

Huh, that’s actually a good thought. Thanks, brain.