Page 15 of He Has MVP (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
The pent-up lust bursts from the bindings of my patience, goodwill, and reason. Holding her in two arms, I flip us over, fully prepared to take her all the way, for the full ride, when the puppies bark and yip, then jump on top of me as if it’s all a game and they have no intentions of being left out.
“Fuck.” I shove Larry off my back, shielding Pink from the assault of their prancing paws and playful nips. “Get the hell off me. Off the bed.” I wave my arm, shoving the puppies aside.
They of course, come back for more, fully engaged in the game now. Pink laughs.
I look down at her, the candlelight flickering against the classic features of her pale face, soft and sensual in this aroused state, all stern seriousness gone. The tightness returns to my chest like she owns the vise that grips me, turning the screws. Because she does.
I smile back at her in spite of that because I’m a fool and I don’t care. I’ve never been foolish over a woman before, but so far I like it. A lot.
“I think it’s a losing battle,” she says.
“Miss Obvious.”
She laughs. I turn over onto my back and shove the dogs down to the foot of the bed on her side again where they belong, below her feet in the corner.
“Stay.” I sit halfway up and speak sternly to the animals while I hear Pink snicker, mocking me. My gut tumbles like I’m a kid on a whirling amusement park ride. Fucking A. I am so gone.
Lying back down next to her, I gather her into my side so that her head nestles against my shoulder and I can feel every part of me touching her somewhere.
“I wish we weren’t wearing these fucking pajamas,” I whisper. She giggles. a giddy zap shoots through me, and I think I understand the whole concept of Cupid’s arrow.
“Another time,” she says, her voice sleepy. Then I do something I’ve never done before to a woman I’ve been with, I kiss the top of her head. I want her, but I’m willing to wait because there’s so much promise.
Quiet bliss permeates me, bringing on peace and sleep.
No matter that there’s a storm raging outside.
* * *
The next morningis clear with some sun, though there are clouds on the horizon and the wind is still strong. Maybe the storm is over and it’s turned out to sea. A good sign.
It’s early. I can tell from where the sun peeks through on the horizon. Pink is still asleep, so I sneak out of bed to feed the pups in a blatant attempt to keep them busy and get some morning alone time with my girl. Because I’m thinking Pink is definitely my girl.
Locking the door behind me, I slide back under the covers with her, stroking a hand down her side, into the dip of her waist and up over the curve of her hips and down her elegant thigh. She squirms and emits a delicious, boner-inducing sigh. I lean in and nuzzle the delicate skin of her neck, the fine hair tickling my nostrils, her scent intoxicating.
Pink’s eyes flutter to life, opening up wide and staring straight at me. An initial smile fades as she looks around and then out the window.
“Sunshine?” she says. Then she bolts upright, pushing me away. “The storm’s over.” Shoving the covers aside, she jumps from bed before I can stop her. She hurries to the desk and flips open her laptop without sitting in the chair.
“What the hell, Pink? Where are your priorities, girl?”
Staring at the screen and clacking the keyboard, she says, “Exactly where they need to be. With any luck the Internet is up again and I can get some work done.”
She slams the computer shut. “Shit. It’s still down.” Spinning around in her chair, she says, “I wonder what’s going on with this storm. This radio silence is killing me. Since there’s a lull maybe it’s possible to get a ferry off the island.”
“We can try that. You might need to dress, though.” I give her an appreciative smirk. She rolls her eyes.
We dress and go to the kitchen to let the dogs outside and get something to eat.
“How about if we pack up the car and take the dogs with us in case we can catch the ferry?”
“Ryan and Chelsea won’t be back until Monday. My condo has a strict no dogs rule. Are you going to keep them with you? You live in a fancy building downtown. I bet they don’t allow dogs.” She scowls and I grin. “Now who’s the practical one?” She throws a dog biscuit at me.
“Anyone ever tell you that you have a violent streak?” I ask.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a brat?”
“No. Pretty much ‘dickhead’ is the preferred label.”
