All the Way (Hot Jocks #2)(58)

As we lie together on my bed, our limbs entwined and my heart so full, for some strange reason, a memory pops into my head. And once it’s there, it refuses to fade.

Over the holidays a few years ago, I went to church with my mom, and something the pastor said in his sermon stuck with me. He said that sex is like a Post-It note. The more you stick it, the less sticky it becomes. If you fill your life with casual sex, later it will be hard to have meaningful intimacy with just one person because you’ve trained yourself to expect the opposite. At the time, I wrote it off as nonsense, but I guess it’s stuck with me for a reason. And deep down, I know there’s some truth to what he said.

Before Becca, I’d become so numb to sex. So blasé about everything that it hardly felt important or special anymore. Now I’m learning that with her, there’s nothing casual or ordinary about the way we are together. The way she trusts me so completely, gazing up at me with those big soul-filled eyes. The way she gives herself so freely, even when she’s scared. These simple moments with her mean more to me than all the hookups in the world.

That’s when I know. I’m totally and completely head over heels for this girl.

“I need you,” she says, breathing hard into my neck as the warmth of her hand closes around me, stroking.

I reach for the bedside table for a condom, but Becca’s hand on my shoulder stops me.

“Do we need one?” She meets my eyes with a soft look.

“I—” I’m speechless for a second. She’d let me go bare? “I don’t know. I’m clear, but what about . . .”

She shakes her head. “I’m on the pill.”

All the oxygen leaves my lungs as her lips find mine again. I’m hit with a powerful surge of emotion so strong that it would have knocked me on my ass had I not been lying down.

Maybe everything I’ve been taught about love was wrong. Maybe love is eating sushi on the couch with the girl you can’t get enough of, and laughing until your stomach hurts. Maybe love is that calm, happy feeling I get whenever she walks into a room. Maybe love is Becca, and I’ve just been too stupid to notice it until now.

“Shakespeare didn’t know anything about love,” I murmur.

“What are you talking about?” Her hand stills against me.

My lips twitch with amusement at the sudden memory of the awful poetry I studied in high school. “When the pear tree blossoms, it also weeps,” I whisper against the side of her neck.

“What? Can you please fuck me?” Becca whines, rocking her hips over mine.

“Yes. I’m about to, angel.”

And with that promise, I slide home, groaning at how warm and wet and wonderful she feels.

Fuck.

All my restraint is tested as she begins lifting her hips in time to my thrusts, demanding more.

“Slow down. You’re going to make me embarrass myself.”

She meets my eyes, the hint of a smile on her lips. As she touches my stubbled cheek with her palm, we slow our pace—enjoying watching each other.

“Thank you for running with me today. And for the orgasm in the shower, and for the sandwich . . .”

“I love you, Becca.”

Her eyes widen, and suddenly I wonder if I shouldn’t have just blurted that out—if maybe I shouldn’t have said it during sex at all. Maybe there are rules about that kind of thing.

But then a tear slips down her cheek, and her lips touch mine. “I love you too.”

My heart squeezes inside my chest. Those words on her lips are the most beautiful sound in the world.

We make love slowly, deliberately, taking our time with each other to wring out every last ounce of pleasure possible, like we never want this moment to end.

But then our slow, leisurely lovemaking seems to speed up as Becca gets closer to the edge.

“Harder,” she mumbles, clutching my ass.

I groan as I give her what she wants—every inch of me.

“Oh, fuck, Owen. It’s so good,” she says just before she comes undone.

Gripping her tightly, I hold her close as she trembles around me. After her orgasm, she’s sensitive, and I slow down for a moment, my hips moving in lazy thrusts as she comes down from the high.

We kiss again, and then I withdraw. “Turn around, angel,” I say, helping her up.

Positioning herself on her hands and knees before me, Becca tosses me a sultry look over her shoulder and wiggles her behind.

“I’m going to spank that sexy ass if you keep that up,” I tell her.

She raises one brow, taunting me. “Come on, then, big boy. Or are you all talk?”

“Definitely not all talk, babe.”





23




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My Favorite Goalie





Becca



It’s another Friday night at Hawks stadium, the same rap and pop music blaring through the speakers, the same fans screaming their heads off in the seats, and of course, the same players flying across the ice at top speeds.

But something about tonight is different. Higher stakes. As if the entire crowd has their fingers crossed for good luck.

It’s the last game of the regular season before the playoffs begin, and there’s a certain magic in the air that I can’t quite describe. Elise and I are watching from the same third-row seats we always get, both of us screaming and cheering until our throats are raw. I’m always enthusiastic on game day, but I can confidently say that I’ve never cheered louder than I have tonight.