Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(49)

His reasoning was, get this, every man needs a loyal *. Like I said, nasty motherf*cker.

It wasn't long before we found ourselves kissing again. I didn't want this to be moving so fast, but it was clear we had an attraction to each other, both mentally and physically. Her age bothered me. I was exactly three years older than her, and in my head that was a big gap. Maybe if she was twenty-one and I was twenty-four that wouldn't have been such a big deal.

Ami giggled, and the breathy moan that followed was enough to send me over the edge and change my direction.

I was pressed against her and between her legs, torturing myself. All this kissing led me to believe that maybe, if I gave her something, not sex, but something, maybe we could slow down a little.

"What do you like?" I whispered in a low, husky tone.

"I don't know," she whispered back hesitantly, almost questioningly. Her eyes closed as her breathing hitched. I pressed my lips to her skin, just below her ear and then lower, trailing down her neck until I reached the opening of her shirt.

"You don't know?" I asked, sliding my hands down her back until they came to rest at the hem of her shirt, sliding just beneath the fabric where my fingers found her skin, the tips of my fingers dipping lower. "Why not?"

I didn't think she could speak. Her heart was pounding so hard I could feel it against my chest as if it was trying to beat for mine. My lips returned to her skin. "You can tell me what you like."

"Just kiss me," she demanded, letting out a moan.

My lips found hers and her hands drifted over my chest, stroking down my sides until they reached the bottom of my shirt. Following my lead, they boldly slid under my shirt.

I moaned, a low, throaty sound, deepening the kiss. She must have caught onto my intentions at some point, probably about the time I switched our positions on my couch, and I was hovering over her, my arms tangled around her.

She sighed, parting her legs and curling one over my calf to urge me forward. When she felt my erection against her, she wiggled against me, instant pleasure vibrating through my stomach as she rocked once until she shifted again.

I pulled my lips from hers, panting for a moment, before my kisses got a little rough.

And then Leo knocked on my door.

Fucking jerk.

"Go away!" I yelled, resuming what Ami had started, and I intended on finishing.

Her body transferred a familiar warmth when I pressed against her, not wanting to ever leave this position. My eyes focused on hers, moving my hips against hers. She felt me there, her fingers tightening in my hair as she wrapped her legs around me. I wanted to do it again, feel the friction once again, but Leo was still knocking.

Unfortunately, Leo was there for a reason, we had to get to practice.

With a heavy sigh and a necessary adjustment, we untangled ourselves, and I stood up, reaching for her hand. Her fingers linked with mine, her heavy eyes told me she wanted nothing more than to pull me back down on her. I wanted that, too.

I ended up leaving for the rink, but I did have the idea that maybe I could take this in a different direction tonight. A direction both satisfying and safe.





The blue line – The line separating the attacking/defending zones from the neutral zone.




We ate Chinese food while sitting on the couch before Evan left for game 69 in Anaheim. I couldn't keep my mouth shut anymore. He was heading out on a three game road trip, and since the incident with my family, I wasn't going to hold anything back from him.

"Is there something bothering you?" I asked seriously, around a mouth full of noodles.

"No, why?"

"I just feel like maybe you're holding back." A little part of me knew what it was. Evan wasn't hard to read.

"Nope," he said, taking a bite of chicken, his fork prodding at the container looking for another piece as he chewed slowly.

"I just thought with uh…well, we've been getting more serious, and you seem...scared maybe."

"No…I'm not scared." He shrugged it off, stuffing his mouth with another piece of chicken.

Frowning at his response, and wanting to smack his forehead for not looking at me, I set my own container of noodles down on the coffee table. "You can talk to me about it. You know that, right?"

"I do talk to you. We're talking right now."

"You're right. We do talk...a lot. We tease each other a lot, too," I conceded. "What I mean is you seem to hold back with me like you think I can't take what you'll say or how I'll react because of the shit I've been through. I'm not a china doll, and I don't know how many times I have to tell you that. If you're scared or don't want me here, I need to know."

He blew out a breath, setting his box beside mine before turning himself toward me. "You're really young, Ami. You're eighteen. I'm twenty-one. I'm scared," he admitted. "I'm frustrated and mostly pissed at myself over this whole thing. I can't get it out of my head. Every guy I see, I think it's him, and then I want to run to you and make sure you're safe. I can't do that. Not only can I not because of my career, but I can't because that's not fair to you either. I can't do that because you didn't ask for this overly aggressive hockey player to fall for you. You didn't ask for any of this shit that's happened to you. So yeah, I get frustrated and confused because so much shit is happening right now, and I can't get my head straight. Playoffs are right around the corner. I need my head straight."