Page 13 of He Has MVP (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Don’t be afraid to touch me, Pink. I’m all yours. Take what you want.” His words are quiet, his voice deep with meaning and truth and a good measure of arousal. Not quite enough to match my own, I calculate, but unmistakable to my overwrought pussy.
He sits still and controlled while I’m all squirmy excitable nerve endings. I clear my throat.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I’m well aware that I’m the one being ridiculous, but I lift my chin and force a change to serious business.
“I’m going to bed,” I say. Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say, but the words are out and I push myself to a stand. He stands with me, with all the grace of the ballerina I used to be. I feel clumsy and shaky, uncomfortable with the truth that my shakiness is due to him, not the wine.
“Good idea,” he says, close to my ear, his body heat warming me, my skin tingling with his nearness, and my willpower to separate from him, to put any distance between us, too weak for the task.
“I didn’t mean—” I say, not even having the willpower to lie about my body’s intentions as they win out over my sensible smart mind. Foolish me.
But any reprimand I might have coming to myself evaporates when he touches me. A light touch on the small of my back, no force, nothing but that powerful animal magnetism that defines Aiden the Conqueror, the MVP of players. I’m lost—maybe even conquered. And I don’t care.
We move to the bedroom as if on a cloud of lust until we open the door and step inside, the lantern I left earlier lighting our way. Before he closes the door behind us, the puppies, all three of them, chase us inside, scrambling through the door and leaping onto the bed, panting with sudden life from their naps an instant ago, the pick up in wind and rain must have disturbed them.
He laughs at the same time as I groan, but I’m ladylike enough to keep the groan to myself.
