Page 90 of Ice Me Out

“Hater!” I spat around a mouthful of chicken kabob.

“Consistency? The man scored four goals against the Stars before the third period,” the other analyst argued, looking as confused as I felt.

The skeptical analyst shrugged. “It’s impressive, but the opposing team also had a weaker defense. I don’t expect him to hit a hat trick every game, but I hope to see him keep the momentum.”

The camera cut to a montage of Hart’s goals and celebrations, along with a few dust-ups, including one with Tyler Wright from the Texas Titans, who, low-key, put a whooping on Hart.

That’s just my unbiased opinion. I don’t know what Sweet Hart did to that man, but that ass-whooping was personal.

I settled back into the couch, listening to stats and predictions for the Warriors game against the Devils, then reclined with a throw blanket once I was full and the game started.

The players skated out, and I smiled when Hart removed a glove and shot his index and middle finger to the camera, forming a perfect V.

“I see you, Sweet Hart.”

Twisted

Vera

I jolted awake and was freaked out by the shadowy silhouette sitting in an armchair across the room. I squinted in the darkness.

“Hart?” I called out, clutching the sheet to my chest.

He chuckled low and said, “I’m taking your Black Card.”

My shoulders slumped, and my breath whooshed out of me.

“Per rules and regulations, you don’t have the authority to snatch my card, no matter how valid or atrocious the offense.”

“You would die first in a horror movie,” he joked.

“I was 70% sure it was you,” I replied, moving to toss the comforter off me.

“Don’t get out of bed.”

I froze. “Why?”

“Because… I like seeing you in my bed. And no, don’t ask me to expound.”

“There’s no way you’re saying that and not explaining yourself,” I challenged.

“It’s late, and we got our asses kicked tonight.”

“I saw. Come to bed.”

“I’m not tired,” he remarked, still partially shrouded in darkness.

I quirked a brow. “I can change that.”

He laughed and pushed himself to his feet. He climbed into bed, walking on his knees until he reached me. He leaned down, pressed a kiss to my forehead, giving me a window to pull his shirt over his bulky shoulders and discard it. I reached for the hem of my camisole when he stopped me.

“Let me.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

He lowered himself and ran his fingers over the silk. He pulled back just enough to lift the camisole over my head, and paused to admire me under the faint glow of the city lights. I parted my lips, and Hart didn’t hesitate. I exhaled into the kiss and settled against the mattress as he moved between my thighs that instinctively fell away. We stayed like that for what seemed like forever—bare chests pressed together, leaving no space between us, exchanging heartbeats until our need for each other became unbearable.

Hart sat back on his heels and reached for the waistband of my sleep shorts. I lifted my hips off the bed, allowing him to slip them off with a gentle tug. He sucked his thumb between his lips, moistening it before pressing it against my clit, applying gentle pressure.